Flash Pulp 003 – The Downtown Couple
Tonight’s episode is brought to you by http://skinner.fm
As my grandfather once told me while we were sitting under the Apple trees on a balmy August evening, the long and lonely calls of the neighbour’s cattle rolling over the orchard, the pungent smell of his pipe filling my nose and bringing tears to my eyes:
“If it’s a short script, pad the ad.”
Flash Pulp is an experiment in broadcasting fresh pulp stories in the modern age – 400 to 600 words brought to you Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.
Tonight’s episode is our first foray into weird tales. You may also note, it also marks a change to our musical programming – we will be attempting to maintain a theme for each type of tale, with Paul Whiteman’s version of Gloomy Sunday continuing on as the theme for the program itself.
Tonight’s theme is Mystery by Harry A. Yerkes’ Dance Orchestra.
The Downtown Couple, Part One of One
He wore his jeans low and well cut, her hair took no less than an hour at a mirror.
The corner was a busy one, full of locals trying to get home and tourists shuffling from the historical end of the city to the shopping district. Despite the crowd, the wall of sound the couple were generating parted the flow and allowed them a pocket of empty sidewalk large enough for vigorous hand waving and finger pointing.
“How could you?” she asked for the eighth time.
“You had already broken up with me – it was before we got back together!” he replied, his popped collar waggling with his shoulder movements.
“She’s my cousin!” the woman responded.
“You know she’s a nice girl, but not the kind I’d ever actually BE with.”
“- but you were with her!”
“She’s under age!”
“I didn’t know! She didn’t tell me! She LOOKS Eighteen!”
“She looks older because of the friggin’ hormones from her TRANSGENDER SURGERY.”
“Hey – don’t discriminate.”
“Yeah, why should I discriminate, you certainly haven’t. Maybe I’ll go hook up with your cousin Michael.”
“What kind of talk is that? You know Michael lives in his wheelchair and can only eat through his neck straw!”
Unnoticed beneath their ruckus, the rumbling that had begun moments before now changed in pitch. Their patch of concrete began bucking wildly. The blue sky disappeared, as if it had always only been the interior a balloon, now popped. In its place stood the blackness of space, broken only by the stark pinpricks of stars.
The street split, a sausage cart and vendor picking up speed as they slid into the widening crevice.
A single hairy stalk extended from the hole, its surface a tangle of barbs, each the size of a lamp pole and ending in a spear point.
The arachnid leg stretched high, a glancing blow shattering the corner of a nearby bank branch. Reaching its apex, the towering appendage began to tumble down: inescapable doom for the lingering couple.
Realizing it was the end, he turned to her, arms extended.
Realizing it was the end, she turned to him, delivering a brutal right hook to his jaw.
And thus arose Kar’Wick, The Spider God, reborn.
Flash Pulp is presented by http://skinner.fm. The audio and text formats of Flash Pulp are released under the Canadian Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial 2.5 License.