I was a little reluctant to share this one because I like to think of myself as a pacifist. Please know that I wrote this in the spirit of–oh, what the heck–I wrote it just for fun! Enjoy!
Written with my Thursday Night Group with the prompts: three drops of blood, a cozy place, bad ass and sexy, Daddy wasn’t a nice man–he was an ice man, Emily does her best, go back to what, he reached across the table, out of the habit
Fred reached across the table and grabbed the president of the PTA by the throat. “You think you can do something about this?” he taunted.
Donald Tromblet, the longtime PTA head, gasped and flailed his arms. The other members of the PTA cabinet flinched but were silent. They all knew Donald was a moron, but nobody’d ever had the nerve to confront him. Emily, the second vice president and newbie on the executive committee, held her breath. She had no idea that Fred was such a bad ass and wow, he was kinda sexy too. Generally, she preferred men with more facial hair but she could see a bit of chest hair sneaking out of the top of his polo shirt. She imagined he was one of those furry guys with lots of chest and back hair. Emily did her best to restrain herself, grabbing a paper napkin and fanning herself vigorously.
Marilyn–who’d been on the committee forever since she’d seen three of her own children and four foster children through the K-8 school—it was Marilyn who finally cleared her throat and rapped the table gently. “Now, Fred,” she said in her melodious voice. “Now, now, Fred.” Emily watched her, impressed with her calmness. Rumor had it she was a former nun, but she was now out of the habit. She was married to a former priest. The two of them had apparently fallen in love while chained to the Pentagon’s front gate, protesting a war or a weapon system or something. Emily had heard all kinds of rumors about how wild and passionate they were from their next door neighbors. But in public they both spoke in modulated monotones. “Now, Fred,” Marilyn said again. “I’m sure we can find another way to deal with this.”
Emily wanted to agree but she only stared at her hands. Donald had been a thorn in all their sides, and no one at the school dared stand up to him because he was so rich. Nonetheless he was a terrible bully. Emily finally glanced up shyly. Donald was turning blue, sputtering, unable to speak. Three drops of blood were clustered in the left corner of his mouth. Emily felt a little bad, yet still she said nothing.
Marilyn’s voice grew a bit louder. “We must have a bit of compassion. Most of you don’t know this, but Donald’s daddy was not a nice man.”
Ted Gunther broke in, “What are you talking about? I remember Donald’s Dad. He was the ice man. Everybody loved him.”
Ms. Johnson, the third grade teacher and the council’s only employee rep, had been teaching at the school for nearly forty years. “That wasn’t Donald’s father. That was Ronald’s father.” She rolled her eyes. She was a woman who had definitely seen it all and was ready to retire. She’d already broken up two fist fights on the playground this afternoon. She wasn’t paid enough to break up fights here too. She stood up. “I’m going home to my cozy bedroom where my wife is waiting for me with a glass of chardonnay. That’s right, I said my wife. No point in keeping secrets in front of you nut jobs.” She looked down at Fred, still clutching the squirming Donald. “Kill him, don’t kill him,” she said with a shrug. “I don’t care. But if there’s a body that needs burying, well, there’s a school garden that needs tilling. There are shovels in the janitors’ closets.” She marched out and didn’t look back, deciding right then and there that she would call in sick the next day, and maybe she’d call in sick every day for the rest of the school year. “Go back for what?” she thought haughtily. “They can keep my friggin’ Halloween decorations. My coven and I will manage without them.”