Trauma in Happyville by Karen Cantwell

Today, over at Julie Jordan's blog, A Place for Writers, she has announced the winner of her ABC Story writing contest. The rules of the contest: write a 26 sentence short story -- the first sentence starts with the letter A and each sentence after must begin with the next letter in the alphabet. I had so much fun with this exercise. You can read my entry below.

For a fun time, everyone should to pop over to Julie's site and read the winning entry, "Quest for the Dress" by Michelle Frank, as well as the other very imaginative and often funny stories. Julie has a great blog going there.

And now, for . . .

Trauma in Happyville
A terrible thing happened to Ethel on her way to church.

Between Main Street and Second Avenue, two small women wearing berets and ponchos appeared out of nowhere.

Carrying AK rifles and smoking French cigarettes, they looked oddly out of place in Ethel’s small town of Happyville.

“Darn if you don’t look oddly out of place in this small town,” she said to the women.

“Everybody’s got a right to be anywheres,” replied the dark haired one.

Forgetting that service would be starting in just minutes, Ethel felt compelled to continue the conversation.

“Give me one of those fine French cigarettes, would you?”

Heartily, the women laughed.

“I don’t know what is so funny,” Ethel said, pulling her sagging panty hose up to a more comfortable position.

“Just, you don’t look they type,” said the light haired one.

Kicking a small stone with her sensible black shoe, she pondered the comment.

Laughter rang out from a nearby building where young boys and girls played happily.

“Many people misjudge me,” Ethel said finally.

No one was going to get Ethel down on this fine day.

“Our time has come,” said the dark haired one.

Puzzled, Ethel cocked her head and gripped her pocketbook tighter.

“Queer one, you are,” said the light haired one.

“Really, I don’t think it is me that is queer,” she answered.

“Should we do it now, or later?” asked one woman of the other.

Time ticked by while silence loomed between the three.

Under a veil of panic, Ethel considered her options.

“Vipers,” said the light haired one finally.

“What?” asked Ethel

“Xenon Vipers,” the woman said.

“Yes, I see now.”

Zowie, went the AKs.

THE END