Time for the August Short Story
It’s 18 Augist, the third Thursday of the month. That means it’s time for a story.
Today, Home and Dragons: Mark’s worked hard to reach these final twenty seconds. Who knew his future happiness depended on a dragon?.
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Home and Dragons
Twenty seconds to go. Mark pursed his lips into a small circle and blew the air out, careful to make no sound. If Melissa heard him and had to stop her take, there’d be hell to pay. He put his hand to his head to smooth the side of his hair, but Ginny, his competitor, wrapped her long gold-clad fingers around his and pushed his hand down, mouthing the words, “You’re gorgeous. Stop fussing.”
Collin, the producer standing behind the cameraman following Melissa as she glided along the east wall of windows of the raised dining room, glared at them. Melissa, with her perfect teeth and shiny locks caressing her narrow shoulders and teasing that hint of cleavage, didn’t notice.
This was it. The competition to decorate the top two penthouses in Austin’s grandest downtown high-rise ended tonight. Strain from the past year shivered down his back. When the announcement that the number one televised home decorating contest would be in Austin, Mark’s most stressful year had begun. Months of design tests, screen tests, and nail biting earned him a spot in the competition. But it was only the beginning. Eight weeks of constant designing, shifting walls, smiling, laying floors, carrying furniture up stairs when the service elevator didn’t work, keep smiling, learning to talk on camera, meeting and collaborating with his favorite home-improvement stars no matter how wrong their opinions were, show those pearly whites, Melissa always gets her way, dealing with the construction workers racing to complete the building so the first residents could move in, and keep smiling or you’re out took its toll.
“This competition has been fierce,” Melissa said, her smile perfect. “Just look at this room. A perfect panorama of the city.” Lightning flashed outside the window. The windows rattled. “Even in a storm, this room wraps you in a warm hug.”
Ginny’s dark brown eyes looked down into his—everyone looked down when looking Mark in the face—and her lips also formed that little “oh” as she matched Mark’s calming breath. She was a bitch when it came to getting her way, but that little squeeze made each stand a little straighter.
Andre, Mark’s partner, wrapped his arm around Mark’s shoulders. Mark smiled up at the handsomest man he’d ever known. “We got this, babe,” Andre mouthed.
Another fifteen seconds, and Melissa would wave to Mark and Ginny, camera two would focus on them, and Melissa would announce the winner of the Home Decorating Network’s Seventeenth Annual Best New Decorator Award.
“Soon,” Melissa’s voice, so full of confidence, assurance, and arrogance, flowed with purpose into the microphone, “the judges will enter the front door. They’ve taken your votes into consideration.”
The red light on camera two lit up. “Will the winners be our super-twins, Ginny and the very handsome George?”
Mark watched as Ginny’s dark eyes lit up with her smile as she and George lifted their hands and tapped the matching green rings they wore on their index fingers. Melissa winked at George.
“Or will it be Mark and Andre, the local favorites?” Melissa said.
Andre squeezed Mark closer to him. Mark could hardly breathe, but he remembered to smile. Melissa continued to smile at George.
The light on camera two turned black. Thunder rattled through everyone. The building shook. Still, Melissa held her smile.
“Both teams are winners in my book. Just take a look around this penthouse—”
A high-pitched scream broke through the room.
Another voice yelled, “Oh, my God!”
Still another voice shouted, “Holy shit!”
Melissa’s glowing skin and charming smile turned into flames of wrath, with smoke pouring from her mouth as though she could breathe fire. “That was fucking perfect! Who’s losing their shit on my take!”
Chairs tipped over and objets d’art tumbled and broke on the marble floor as the crew, including Andre and George, raced across the sunken living room and leaped over the glass and steel railing to the east wall of windows, pushing Melissa out of the way.
Collin shouted over the confusion, “Everybody shut it before I fire the lot of you! Places! Let’s take it from the top.”
It was too late. Except for Ginny and Mark and Collin’s assistant, everyone was at the windows.
There was nothing to see except the black of the storm. Power throughout the city was out. Only the production’s generators allowed for any light in the room.
“Did you get it? Did you get it?” repeated Spoon, the director, as he turned to find his assistant director, Lisa, standing next to him.
“In places you little shits!” yelled Collin.
Before Lisa could answer, Spoon yelled to Collin, “We can’t shoot with that thing outside.” Spoon put his arm around Lisa’s shoulders. “This will get us out of these crappy assignments.”
Thunder erupted, shuddering more than windows. Mark and Ginny tightened their grips on each other’s hands.
“There’s nothing out there but a fucking storm!” Collin grabbed Mellissa’s arm and pulled her back to position. “Everybody back in place. Call the fucking judges to get in here.”
“I am not doing that again until—” Melissa yelled.
“Now!” shouted Collin before Melissa could finish complaining.
Lisa, whose scream had ruined the take, pounded the window with her fist. “That was no fucking storm! It was an eye. As big as the window. Whatever it’s attached to could still be out there.”
“Oh,” Collin mocked Lisa as his East London accent dribbled from his lips instead of his usual cool, California flourish. “Lisa saw a bloody eye in the window. Let’s hold production up another fucking week, shall we? We’re not shooting another fortnight just to calm tantrums! Back to work!”
Ginny pushed a loose hair off her face. “His accent’s showing,” she whispered to Mark.
“Always a bad sign,” replied Mark. “He’ll need at least three bourbons to cool down.”
Ginny nodded. “Which means six, which means hell for us tomorrow if we don’t wrap tonight.”
Andre, still looking out the window, turned to Collin. “I saw it too. It was huge.”
George leaned close to the window. “Can’t see shit with the clouds.” Lightning flashed. He jumped away from the window. “What was that?”
“Where?” asked Andre, leaning into the window.
Collin’s cheeks burned red as his lungs pushed air through his mouth. “Has everybody in this place lost their fucking minds? We’re on the fucking fifty-second floor. There is nothing fucking out there but a fucking storm, fucking with my production schedule.” He pushed open the glass door leading to the balcony opposite the gathered crowd. Rain and wind washed into the living room, drenching him as he turned to face the production crew. “Nothing but a fucking storm! Everybody back to work or—”
Collin didn’t finish his threat. Thunder, a roar, maybe a scream, or maybe a little of all three, shattered eardrums and windows on the east side of the building. Three long, dripping claws attached to a scaled and sparkling green arm pushed into the dining room, grabbing Lisa and Spoon and pulling them outside, each screaming for help.
*****
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