Barbecue of the Damned

Summer and barbecues, what could be better than that? How about the weekly flash fiction challenge over at Indies Unlimited? What, that happens every week? You gotta be kidding me. They can’t possibly think that we can write a new flash fiction story every week.

Or maybe we can cause guess what day it is… Yep it is Wednesday and time to do some voting. Check out the story below and then head on over to Indies Unlimited and vote. Maybe you will be moved to fire up a barbecue flash fiction story of your own.

The Barbecue of the damned

Barbecue of the Damned

Photo by K.S. Brooks

They say the best memories don’t come from the vacations or family get-togethers where everything goes off without a hitch. I think there is something to that.

We had just gotten settled into our new home and decided to throw a barbecue to get to know our new neighbors.

It is safe to say it did not go as we had hoped, but it certainly was memorable. In the pantheon of our family stories, we refer to it as the barbecue of the damned…

My Uncle Jimmy, not really my uncle more like my mom’s special friend, he was was a fantastic judge of people. He mentioned something when we first pulled into the neighborhood, but mom wanted to give the neighbors a chance, always an optimist. But we should have known, should have trusted the signs.

Mr. Kratz, call me Bob, kept a well-manicured yard. Trimmed, neat, a koi pond with one of those bridges over it in the back. Trees stood at attention, a row of pines, a living wall between yards. And the flowers, how could you miss the flowers. They kept the rose’s heads. Mother would never approve of such a thing. She sharpened the thorns at our old house regularly.

Uncle Jimmy asked me to put the dogs on the grill when the Kratz stepped into our yard. Not an onerous task once they stop squirming. Bob brought his wife, Janelle but I still call her Mrs. Kratz and their daughter Sally. A pretty girl with blonde curly hair, green eyes like bright seaweed, and a scream unlike any I have ever heard.

Through tears and continued squeals the only word I could make out was “fluffy,” whatever that means. Bob screamed at Jimmy who gave as well as he got. I was happy to turn the dog once it stopped squirming.


Remember to head on over to Indies Unlimited and make your mark with a vote for me.

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