I've decided to combine my #Fridayflash and Writing Group challenges.
My Writing Group set a challenge using Storywriter Cards. My three cards said - plot - The Last One, Characters (two main) a movie director and a hitch hiker picker upper. This is what I came up with....
The Last One
‘You didn’t convince me,’ Rory shouted, ‘do that again – thumb horizontal, not held down, idiot.’
‘Woz rong wid me thumb?’ the extra whined.
‘Listen, Idiot Face, don’t argue with the director. I say you put your thumb up, or walk your sorry ass outta here.’
‘I’ll walk then.’ He picked up his props and headed for the bushes.
‘No you don’t! Get back here, Dumbass! You can’t just walk out! I need to get this scene wrapped. We move onto the next scene first thing tomorrow.’
‘Tell someone who cares! You tole me to walk! Who’s the Dumbass now?’
The surly extra slung his man bag onto his shoulder. He took a swig from his complimentary water bottle and slammed the lid on. ‘I’m outta here!’
‘No, you’re not!’ Rory screamed, jumping out of his fancy chair and puffing himself up to his whole five feet.
‘You gonna stop me, Weed? I’ve got two foot and forty pounds on you!’
‘I’ll double whatever they’re paying you.’ Rory knew he was wheedling but what choice did he have? He needed this filthy lump of lard or the shoot would go over budget. They’d already shot so many scenes with this idiot. A change now didn’t bear thinking about. And it’d mean all his putting up with this imbecile had been a waste of time.
Ah, filthy lucre worked every time. His feisty hitch hiker picker upper turned around.
‘Orright.’ He dumped his bag on the chalk marks on the grass. ‘Make it snappy. I’ve bin promised free drinks after this crap shoot.’
‘Right.’ Rory just wanted to slug this creep. Where did Casting pick up these losers?
‘Now, boss man, run it by me again…’
Rory sighed, signaled the camera crew to relax. He began his spiel…again. This guy had nothing between his ears. Probably blown all his grey matter with drugs and shit. Rory sighed again and thought about the coke at the party tonight.
‘Well, remember you’re the hitch hiker picker upper. You’ve got your car stashed away in the bushes here. You see the car coming down the lane, luscious girl driving. You stick out your thumb…horizontally. She stops, you sweet talk her, then grab her round the neck -’
‘Yeah, then I swing her into the bushes, have my evil way with her, toss her in the boot of my car and hightail it outta here. Right?’
Rory cringed. This guy was creeping him out.
‘Yeah, you got it.’ Rory tried to relax. He sat back down in his director’s chair. While his camera crew set up, he pictured himself at the party tonight, heading to the men’s room, sniffing a line or two.
‘Okay guys,’ he nodded to his crew, ‘I think Drongo here’s got it. We’re ready to roll.’
‘I heard that, Weed. Want I should walk again?’
‘Sorry. Let’s get this done. Light’s fading fast.’
‘Cut!’ Rory shouted. ‘Pack up. That’s a wrap. See you at dawn.’
‘Why dawn?’ Fazie, one of the camera crew was game enough to ask.
‘Because dead bodies look better in the morning gloom, that’s why. We’re going to be shooting the chick Drongo just ‘murdered’.’
‘Sure boss. Gotta say, pleased to see the back of that guy. You should’ve seen the way he looked at you. Like he could wring your neck.’
‘Fat chance. No doubt he’s in the bar already quaffing his free drinks. Me, I’ve got a party to go to.’
‘Bet you have,’ Fazie said, sotto voice.
Many happy hours later, Rory left the party in the producer’s suite. He needed some air. It’d been such a stressful shoot. All the time he’d given that Drongo. But he’d been the last one to audition and the only one suitable for the part. He looked exactly what a murdering hitch hiker picker upper should look like. No need for Wardrobe to do their thing. He was perfect, except for that sassy mouth.
Rory walked through the bushes that edged the hotel. He wanted to run through the sequence for the morning’s ‘body discovery’ scene…
Satisfied, Rory was about to head back to the hotel and his nice warm bed, warmed by that hot redhead he’d propositioned earlier. Ah, his night wasn’t over yet.
He heard something. He stepped out to the laneway. There was a car crawling down the lane, lights off. He watched, alarmed. He didn’t want anyone messing with his location.
An old beat up Dodge stopped, narrowly missing his expensive leather loafers.
‘Well, if it isn’t Mr Hot Shot Director Weed hisself!’ The Drongo slammed the driver’s door and walked around to where Rory stood.
Rory was disgusted. Drongo smelt even worse than he did earlier, no doubt from all the booze and who knew what.
‘What’re you doing here? We’re finished with you.’
‘No you’re not, Fancy Pants. I’m just runnin’ through the scene again. Gotta get it right.’
‘No need. All we got to do now is find the body in the bushes in the morning.’
‘But don’t I put her in the boot and drive away?’
‘Sure you do. But this location now becomes the place where you dump the body later.’
‘Ah, well then, I can help.’
‘We don’t need your services any longer. You’re done.’
‘Is that what you think Squire?’
Rory’s eyes popped as two beefy hands squeezed his neck. He kicked and clawed and struggled.
‘Am I getting it right Mr Director Sir?’ The vile voice spat into Rory’s ear.
Rory pushed backwards, trying to loosen the hold of those terrible paws.
‘Should I hold my thumbs horizontal d’ya think?’
Rory felt the pressure mounting. His throat rasped as he gasped for oxygen, his mouth open in a silent scream.
‘I always find it’s quicker if I push down like this, see?’
‘Ah the crew’ll be right pleased.’
Rory felt the piss warm in his pants as his legs collapsed. The Drongo lifted him off the ground and crunched his neck from side to side.
‘I heered dead bodies look so much better in the gloomy dawn light.’
Word count - 1021