Sammy, the Gat: “Times Three”

(Sammy, the Gat, is a written-for-fun continuing story. This post contains three flash fiction episodes inspired by three different photo prompts which are listed at the end. “The Gationary of Sammy Speak” for all three episodes is also at the end.)

The gat at the back of my hat rack brings pix of my pater’s ancestral body bag to mind. White iron fence, bulbous memorials to flesh-free stick figs, and weeds (the kind you pull, not puff).
Howtofore, reverie is a luxury I can’t afford. I twist my twizzeler to the left and cop the workin’ end of the Husky Ruskie Crowd Leveler pressing me. I whack the right knobbly of the Moroccan Alley Oop and beam it up as he crash-lands beside me. I lay an extra tap on his cranium and beat it to the side door to salvage the savage Cat.

Flaunting my flatulent flamer, I breach the locked barricade next to the bottle box and bust into an empty 8’ x 10’. No sit-downs. No eat-ons. No see-ya-later-alligators. No Cat.
Aside from some dead creepy-crawlies, an old coin-fed wall phone is the sole survivor of a clean sweep. I a-b-c my pockets and come up in the middle of a desert. No sweat. I don’t see Lawrence of Arabia’s number posted nearby so I don’t got nobody to jingle noways. If I weren’t high and dry, I’d say I was up a creek without a paddle.

I lift the found-sound and my ear-trumpet discerns the Sugababes warblin’ “Red Dress”. Some sorta message, hopefully for me. I rewind the chirpin’ ladies’ and get nadda. Time t’ go. As I back outta the establishment, I see Gypsy-Rose-Lee-From-Behind-The-Bar tendin’ to the fallen Tarzan but I got his AK 47 so I know I’m good.  For the moment.
I bolo the street and hang my circular-sights on a red prom dress decoratin’ a balcony. Somehow, I can’t mentalize the Wild Cat in such a frock. But it’s all I got, so I head for Floor Number Two.

(Click to catch up on Sammy, the Gat.)

THE GATIONARY of Sammy Speak.

a-b-c: v. check out. Alley Oop: n. 1930’s prehistoric cartoon character. barricade: n. door.
beam it up: v. stand upright.   bolo: v. (military) be on the lookout.   bottle box: n. bar.
circular-sights: n. eyes.   cop: v. grab.   eat-on: n. table.   flatulent flamer: n. AK 47.
found-sound: n. phone receiver.  hat rack: n. head. Husky Ruskie Crowd Leveler:n. AK 47
knobbly: n. knee.   mentalize: v. imagine.   in the middle of a desert:  adj. dry; empty.
nadda: adj. nothing.   pater’s ancestral body bag: n. father’s family burial plot.
see ya later alligator: n. door.   sit-down: n. chair.   twizzeler: n. body.

(Photos by Sarah Ann Hall, Friday Fictioneers, May 17, 2013
Danny Bowman, Friday Fictioneers, May 24, 2013
Janet West, Friday Fictioneers, May 31, 2013.)

This entry was posted in Flash Fiction, Micro Fiction, Short Fiction, Short Story and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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