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Waiting for the Americans

        My wife doesn't like it when I play attack helicopters, though it's a perfectly harmless game. The baby doesn't mind being levitated through the air to the accompaniment of "budda-budda-budda" chopper noises. But I've been told to stop.
        So we play "Waiting for the Americans" instead. This is a very quiet game. Your wife may not even be aware that you're playing it. All it involves is a father. Sitting quietly. In a corner. With his daughter. Waiting. For the Americans.
        But the Americans do not come, and it's been another long hot month, and the thunder on the horizon is neither war nor rain, merely the discontentment of the sky. One month more, and I still have my wife and baby daughter.
        Well. Really. Do I need to wait for the Americans? After all, I have a hammer. And a shovel. And two burlap sacks. And that, I think, is all I really need.

the end

WAITING FOR THE AMERICANS - very short story - micro story - short short family horror story - brief family fiction story horror - storyhorror - shortstoryhorror - veryshorthorrorstory - crypic horror story - briefstory - short flash fiction story by Hugh Cook WAITING FOR THE AMERICANS - very short indifference story - brief story - micro story - short short horror story about family - short flash fiction micro fiction story by Hugh Cook

THE EMPTY CAN


The middle-aged-woman got on the train, ignoring the can in the doorway, and
GETGO AND MAGGLES GIRL


Getgo, he joined the gang, he was one mean piece of fishknife, as we used to say in the Quarter. Shortly after he joined


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This flash fiction story WAITING FOR THE AMERICANS
first posted online
2004 June 10 Thursday
Copyright © 2004 Hugh Cook
all rights reserved.


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