High Larry — Hive

THANKS @GMUXX
THIS HAS BEEN A GREAT CONTEST
TO READ THROUGH.
I've got to tell you upfront: This story will not make much sense unless you've read some of the other entries in the ART PROMPT WRITING CONTEST. Much of the 'props' found in my story first appeared in other entries.

There were so many great submissions that I was almost discouraged from writing a story of my own to enter. But thanks to the friends at The Writers Block I decided to try my hand at humor. The story below is that of Larry, the old guy who owns the place in the picture.

High Larry

Larry slid three joints into his pocket, hitched his backpack across his shoulder, hefted the shotgun and stepped into the chilly predawn air.

"C’mon, Jeb."

They always took the same path; across the yard to the old dirt road, down the hill along the fence. At the bottom the little road became a footpath that led briefly through the woods to the clearing by the stream.

"Cold this mornin', Jeb!" Larry put one of the joints in his mouth and lit it. He sounded like an angry cat for a moment, then convulsed into coughing. They stopped walking, waiting for him to catch his breath.

Larry hit the joint again. This time he didn't cough. They moved on. Jeb ran a bit ahead.

"Now what're you thinkin'? You gonna get you one o'them lights? Go ahead. Scare one up for me!"

They reached the bottom and followed the path through the woods. The sky was just starting to lighten when the orb appeared.

"There it is, Jeb!" Larry squatted down and raised his gun, the half-smoked joint dangling from his lips. The first blast scared birds into flight. The second explosion brought the target down.

"Check it out, boy!"

Jeb smiled up at Larry and sat down, his tail sweeping the dirt.

"Aww, Jeb. You good-fer-nuthin hound dog!" Larry tussled the hair on Jeb's head. He looked past Jeb into the woods. "Well, damn."

He stood and walked off the path a couple of feet. Reaching down he picked up a used sandwich baggie. "Damn hippies."

Shoving the baggie in his pocket, he returned to the path and headed toward the stream. The pre-dawn light was getting brighter now, and he could make out a shape in the clearing. Jeb saw it too and ran ahead, uttering little 'woofs' as he trotted.

"Well, I'll be damned." It was a man, lying on his back with his legs crossed swami-style. There was also an empty bottle of Smirnoff, maybe a half-pack of cigarette butts, and what looked to be about twenty empty pill packets. Larry kicked the man's shoulder with his boot. Jeb sniffed around the man's face.

"Figures you'd haf'ta do it here and leave me to clean it up. Damn hippies."

He looked around the clearing at the mess. "Damn hippies!"

Pulling a fresh trash bag from the backpack he started his chores. In went the vodka bottle, cigarette butts and pill trash. Walking around he found another sandwich baggie, an empty Mason jar with no lid, what looked like an entire section of the NY Times, a lid for the Mason jar and some boots with socks stuffed inside.

He stopped and lit another joint. Inhaling deeply, he noticed a colorful mass just inside the woods. It looked like it used to be a woman. What was left of one hand was definitely a woman. Jeb sniffed at it, then ran barking to the edge of the stream.

"Damn Sasquatch. Them hippies never learn."

He left the remains where they were. No way was he lugging dead people parts around in a trash bag. He'd call the cops later and let them handle the mess. Matter of fact, they can handle the dead guy, too. He looked over there, but the dead man was sitting up.

"Hey! You alive?"

The man stood and gaped at Larry. "Where am I?"

"Damn hippies. You're on my farm and you oughta be dead! Now git outta here 'fore I have to use this!" Larry brought the gun up to his hip. It was empty now, but he had to show who was in charge.

The man stared at Larry through bleary eyes. "That fucking Harry. I'm going to kill that bastard." He started stumbling back along the path through the woods.

"Yeah! You do that!" Larry spat on the ground and took a long draw from the joint. Yeah, you do that... damn hippie.

He turned back to his chores. Down by the water's edge were seven holes. He found the camping shovel in the backpack, unfolded it, and began filling in the holes. Damn hippies! What the hell were they diggin' here for?

Jeb's sudden barking made him stop. The dog was up the stream about thirty feet, barking at a burnt spot that was covered in a thin layer of ashes. Larry saw a piece of yellowed paper poking out. He picked it up and stuffed it in the trash bag.

"Damn hippies. What are they doing out here?"

He heard a siren in the distance.

Across the stream, beyond that field and up the hill was Johnny Mortay's place. Larry watched for the next few minutes as the police loudly arrived in SWAT gear. He looked at his watch. 8:04. Time to check the carp.

He walked down to the little trough his granddaddy had cut into the bank. When he reached the trough, there was only a couple of fish there.

"Got-Damn! Hippies! Where's my fishes?"

He looked around. There were no hippies in sight.

"Holy Alinani! What am I gonna do now?" He looked at his watch again. 8:08. He took his last joint from his shirt and lit it. He walked back to the stream and sat on the damp grass.

A silvery glint caught Larry's eye, just above the trees. He looked up in time to see it burst open, spewing forth a dull blue gas that quickly dispersed North, toward the town.

"Damn hippies." He leaned back on one elbow, inhaled deeply on the joint and held it. Across the stream the police arrested Johnny and some woman. And damn. There goes orb eighty-one.

Jeb suddenly stood and faced West, shivering and growling.

"What is it, boy? You see somethin'?"

As he turned and looked to the West, he saw Jeb’s bane. A new sun had appeared on the horizon. Larry had just enough time to look back at Jeb.

" Alinani Akira! Jeb, what have them damn hippies done now?"

Tiny Photo.jpg

Image Credits: @tinypaleokitchen and Zhan Knight.