This was where it all started… my first piece of flash fiction, written for Cara Michaels’ weekly Menage Monday challenge (200 words, three prompts in incorporate into a story). It won the challenge for that week.
“Boy,” I said, “you picked the wrong day to Evel Knievel a bridge.”
The red pickup rocked on its perch but wasn’t going anywhere. Ricky had that thing wedged in but good. He was sprawled out in the bed, bleeding from a dozen cuts suffered when he flew out the back of the cab.
“Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“No, Ricky. It didn’t.”
He shrugged with the shoulder that wasn’t all busted up. “Guys gotta go where he’s gotta go.”
I holstered my gun and leaned on the truck. He was cornered. The bridge jump was his last shot.
We both watched the ferry make distance over the still water.
Ricky groaned and tried to straighten up.
“Hurts like hell, huh?” I asked him.
He took another long look at the ferry before answering.
“You have no idea, Bob. None. All I wanted…. was… it would’ve been so good.”
“You know, Rick,” I said. “There are only two tragedies in life; one is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it.”
He looked up at me. “Rolling Stones?”
He shrugged and spat up a little blood.
“Who the fuck is Oscar Wilde?”