Stella Artois Comes in Cans (Fiction)

Fiction, Originally Published by 3 Elements Literary Review

This is an excerpt from my short fiction. To read the entire story, please click here.

            Robby strolled toward me, the gun aimed at my head. “Close your eyes,” he said, and his own eyelids fluttered as if he was demonstrating what he wanted me to do.

            Instead, my eyes widened as I watched the copper cloud zoom straight towards Robby’s face. Robby flailed frantically and tried to aim his gun at the bees. I bolted to the driver’s side of my car and crouched. I heard the pop, pop, pop of Robby’s gun and the sound of bullets ricocheting off my car. I wondered if Fix-a-Flat could repair a bullet hole and if I’d remembered to get my spare patched after my last flat. Robby was cursing at the bees, calling them vile names, threatening to kill them, as if he could intimidate them into leaving him alone.

            I bobbed my head up just above the side view mirror, which was immediately shattered by a bullet. My body twitched with fear and my feet slipped out of my sandals. I fell face first. From that vantage point I had a perfect of view of Robby besieged by bees.

            Robby howled in pain and fired off a few more shots. I wondered if it was true that bees die after stinging. I crouched next to the driver’s side door and held my breath. Robby shuffled towards the car, muttering.

            “Ma’am?” His voice sounded weak.

            “Give me my keys.” My tone was uncharacteristically strong. I reminded myself that I was a beer mug, not a wine glass.

            “My bag,” Robby rasped and it was clear all was not well with him.

            I peeked out at Robby, whose face and throat were red and puffy. He clutched his chest as he dropped to his knees, then fell forward. His contorted body resembled a huge hinge.

Read the entire story online here.