Son, You won the Lottery! [WL2019] ...non-Writer

Dave had been riding on Mo’s Magic Bus for two solid weeks. His hair, tangled and greasy and hanging over the shoulders of his paisley Changshan shirt had flies busily laying eggs into his hair’s natty dreads .
It was another great day. Great bud and strong coffee on hand, with the promise of a psychedelic experience later that evening once they arrived at Stokes Farm. Shortly before noon, Dave drifted off into a long nap as the bus clanked and chugged its way out of the Rocky Mountains and down into the high plains desert, filled with sweet smelling sage and evergreen pines.

Stokes Farm was a bustling commune with all the amenities one could need in this 1969 western enclave. Dave, well rested and ready for coffee and more pot, made his way to the central gathering area and pulled up a seat next to the fire pit. A middle aged woman wearing an Indian headdress and flowering skirt, sat down next to Dave and offered a large, carved bone pipe. Dave obliged as she sat down and quickly accepted her offer before noticing that she was topless and fairly attractive. Dave’s interest sparked as she settled in next to him, her long, drooping breasts pointing down like funnels from a service station, but so much nicer obviously than oil soaked paper cups. Dave started up the conversation and then soon realized that they were from the same town in California.

Almost as if the memory finally arrived in her inbox, the woman’s glazed over eyes popped wide with realization.
“Oh….Dave…! Hey, yeah, like I think there is actually a message for you in the main building, at the office. Yeah, I mean, it’s you right? Yeah man you’ve got a message brother” The lady proclaimed, proud that she had remembered this important news and somehow made the connection.
“Whoah, really? That’s like, crazy man”, Dave replied with a slight sense of fear.

What could it be? Dave thought. It was December 21, the official first day of winter. What else was it? Dave thought to himself.
Shaken and motivated by sheer curiosity, Dave made his way to the main structure and found the office.
“Are you Dave Mital?” The old woman behind the desk asked, peering over her bifocals, a glint of cronic in her eyes.
“Yes ma’am. “ Dave dully responded.
“Your mother sent a message here for you, she guessed that you would be arriving here soon enough. You need to go back to Burbank, there seems to be something urgent that you need to attend too” the old woman behind the desk replied.
What could it be, Dave pondered, all kinds of emotions and scenarios running through his mind.
“Is there a telephone that I can use? I need to place a long distance call.” Dave nervously asked.
“There is just one phone, down at the Shell Station on the way to town” The old lady replied. “Just past the Navaho ranch, two miles south of the exit here.”

Dave hastily made his way out to the winding driveway and began the long walk to the Shell Station. Four miles later, he walked up to Hap’s Shell Service Station and bought an ice cold Coca Cola and planted himself into the dusty phone booth that glittered in the fading December sunlight at the edge of the road, in the middle of nowhere. He was going to place a long distance call.

“Mom? I got your message” Dave spoke.
“Hon, I can barely he### y###” Dave’s mother sounded far away and he could only understand every other word, if that much.
“Mom. Speak slowly, I can barely hear you” Dave spoke.
“Son, ### ### # and ### you #### #### ch#### ### t## lottery” she said.
Lottery? Dave wondered. What the heck is that?
Dave eventually hung up the phone, the frustration building to a crescendo. He stammered back into the Shell Station. He inquired on the location of the nearest bus stop and within ten minutes he had hitched a ride into town.

——————————

Burbank California seemed different to Dave as he stepped off the bus. His head still buzzing from the joint he smoked earlier that morning. There was something off about the people that he watched bustling around in every direction. And the cars. They were literally parked at a standstill until slowly crawling along the 110. The Big Boys still looked the same however, so he grabbed a shake on his way home.

He slowly made his way up the paved sidewalk, through the manicured hedges and up to the front door landing. His mother quickly opened the door, all smiles and wearing an apron that was covered in a fine layer of flour. “Honey, welcome home! Come on in, dinners almost ready. Your father is in the Family Room. I’ll join you two in a few minutes.”

“Son, well, well, well. You still with us? You god damned degenerate, sit your but down - and have a whiskey. We’ve got news for you” Dave’s father sternly scolded.

Dave hated this more than anything. His Dad is so wrong and so stuck in the bad old ways of thinking. The survival of the fittest mentality. The conservative, biased, religious, bigoted pile of stench that his Dad and his whole generation perpetuated. His Mom was just trapped, just helpless under his dad’s thunderous grip.

Dave stared blankly down at his glass of whiskey. His father didn’t drink the cheapest whiskey, but he didn’t drink top shelf, either. He didn’t know what it was, Old Crow or something, maybe a Johnnie Walker? It didn’t matter to Dave, he preferred peyote and spring water.

“Dave, you lazy, ungrateful, self-righteous little twat. You have received this in the mail. Looks like you won the lottery, son!” Dave’s father's face
beamed with sociopathic glee.

Dave looked down inquisitively at the envelope that was thrown down onto the coffee table at his knees, and next to his whiskey.
He opened the letter slowly and solemnly, seemingly already starting to catch on to the terrible joke.

Order to report for Armed Forces Physical Examination

TO: Dave Mital
234 Craner Ave
Burbank, California 91501

You are hereby directed to present yourself for Armed Forces Physical Examination by reporting

AT: Assembly Room, 17th Floor Federal Building 2300 Liberty Ave, Los Angeles, California 90028
ON: January 5, 1970. AT: 7:00 AM
Etc, etc, etc….

Dave, downing his whiskey and ignoring the maniacal laughter exploding out of his father’s face as it loomed in closely, laughing insanely, staggered out the front door and back into the streets of the city of Burbank. He could hear his mother’s uncontrollable cries in the background. He could hear the sound of the metal ice tray cracking open more cubes for his fathers next glass.

Dave was confused yet somehow determined to stare down into the base of his fears and descend into the heart of darkness. He was determined to prove his father wrong and also to never see him again.

———————————————

continued...

———————————————

Three months later, after ‘winning’ the lottery. Dave chuckled to himself, licking a mosquito off of his lip and swallowing it out of spite. The dampness of the jungle morning was a welcome reprise from the long sweltering day-to-day life in the tropics. A bush cracked ahead about 100 yards out.
“Red Sparrow, you got eyes on Charlie at 2 O'clock, 100 yards?” Dave spoke softly into the comm.
“Death Arrow, I can confirm. Charlie will be seeing you in 45, over” RS spoke back, softly.

Dave raised his barrel as he squatted and motioned for his team to drop.

Charlie could be seen. He waited. Charlie waited.
A mosquito landed on Dave’s nose and immediately shoved its needle into his flesh.
Dave squinted, grimaced, and then focused on the pain. He said to himself “go away, I don’t feel you”. The pain disappeared.
Charlie’s head slowly raised. Then his upper torso. He pushed forward through the brush and then stepped out into a clearing 20 yards in front of Dave’s position.
Charlie slowly scanned the environment before quickly snapping into expressive attention upon noticing Dave squatting before him, rifle pointing at his head. He yelled as he lifted his rifle.
Dave pulled the trigger, a burst of shells spit out to his side. Charlie’s face turned into a dark red pie for a brief moment before his body jerked back and into the brush that he had just moments before stepped out of.

God damn, Dave missed Mo’s Magic Bus.

The End

"clicks" meaning what?

I've seen it used to mean "kilometers" but not applicable here ...

Cheers

a reply to: F2d5thCavv2

LOL! Thank you for the insight! I have adjusted this to match the reality that you were looking for!

Cheers!

I liked the bit about the mosquitoes. People who have never had outdoors "work" often don't consider how exposed one is to the elements. It is a rich and intense experience if not often comfortable.

Funny. This morning, when I saw the theme for the short stories, I thought about "winning the lottery" in precisely the way you used the term.

Thanks for the story!

Cheers

a reply to: F2d5thCavv2

Thanks! You should write that story anyways, no way it will be the same! I'm sure it popped up in a lot of our heads. go for it!

Cheers!

Reads like a book. Got a movie running again and the second part was very intense.

I like it

a reply to: EmmanuelGoldstein

Loved Your Take on This Contest Theme! Very Well Done!! Very Well Done Indeed!!!

a reply to: Oleandra88
Thank you!

originally posted by: SyxPak
a reply to: EmmanuelGoldstein

Loved Your Take on This Contest Theme! Very Well Done!! Very Well Done Indeed!!!

Thank you very much!

a reply to: EmmanuelGoldstein

You're Quite Welcome Surely!

a reply to: EmmanuelGoldstein

I really liked it.

Your story is gritty, greasy and 100% realistic.

You have a way of writing that puts me there experiencing it.

Good job!

a reply to: Lumenari

Wow, thanks a lot! I really appreciate the critique!