Tongue Tied - Episode 2

Tongue Tied - Episode 2

J.E. Thompson

Drake felt sharp teeth poking into his chest like so many nails when he woke up. He found himself dangling out of a dragon's mouth, face down, staring at the earth impossibly far below.

His first instinct was to get the scrum out of there. He tried to wriggle free. The dragon clamped its jaw tighter, but didn't bite down. Then it tilted its head so Drake was head first toward the ground.

"If it were me, I wouldn't struggle," Grant's voice said from somewhere. "Bessie's a good girl, and she's promised to do her best not to bite you in half. But you go and make her mad, and--Whooee, she can get a bit testy. You wouldn't like that." Drake strained to see where Grant's voice was coming from. He finally saw Grant perched in a saddle on the base of the dragon's neck.

"Let me go, you lunatic."

Grant looked down over the edge of the dragon. "I honestly don't think you'd like it much were Bessie to let you go," he said. "It's a far piece from here to where you'd stop. You might want to reconsider your request. Not that I'd mind. The price on your head is the same whether you be dead or alive. I just find it easier when I don't have to carry no dead body into the Columns." Grant held onto the pommel of the saddle with one hand, and rubbed his stomach with the other. "Rather have you walk. Last desperado I had to carry gave me a hernia, and that weren't no fun at all."

"Look," Drake said. "I'll give you my share of the money. You put me down nice and easy, and just say you never found me. I got it hid, but I'll tell you where it is if you let me go."

"That's a might tempting offer," Grant said. He used his free hand to pull a pouch of tobacco out of his shirt pocket.

He held onto the pommel with most of one hand, used the thumb and forefinger and his free hand to roll a cigarette. He put it in his mouth, and struck a match along the dragon's scales. He lit the cigarette, took a deep draw. The smoke trailed out of his mouth and disappeared into the wind.

"Yep, might tempting. Excepting for one thing."

"What's that?" Drake asked.

"You aren't exactly known for keeping your word—or leaving partners alive."

Drake's head drooped. The blood rushing to his head made him dizzy. "At least tell this beast to don’t keep my head pointed down."

Grant leaned forward and stroked the dragon's neck. Bessie bent her head toward him and he whispered to her.

Bessie flipped her head like dog worrying a bone and readjusted Drake in her mouth, his neck between her teeth on one side, his thighs on the other, and his feet dangling in the wind.

He felt her wet tongue against his side. "Is this thing tasting me?"

(Want more? Here's the link to Episode 3)
(Did you miss Episode 1? Click here)

Tongue Tied - Episode 1

Sometimes I get the urge to write something out of the ordinary. I am going to put up new episodes of Tongue Tied here once a week. They're short (500 words, or thereabouts) and off-the-wall. I hope you enjoy them.

Tongue Tied – Episode 1

J. E. Thompson

"Put down the knife," Grant said.

Drake tossed the knife from one hand to the other. "I will if you put down that blaster."

Grant bent down and set the blaster on the floor. "Kick it over here," Drake said.

"That wasn't part of the deal. I put down my blaster, now it's your turn. Put the knife down."

Drake bent down, until his knife was inches from the floor, instead of dropping it, he used his crouching position to lunge at Grant.

The moment seemed frozen in time. Drake hurtling toward Grant in mid-air. Grant stood motionless, as if it was inevitable for Drake to plunge the knife into Grant's chest. His weapon lay on the floor only inches from his feet, but five feet below his hand.

Grant raised his left hand. The transparent repulsor strapped to his palm glowed, and Drake stopped in the air as if he had run into an invisible wall, then dropped to the floor.

"It ain't smart to bring a knife to a gun fight," Grant said. He bent down, retrieved his blaster, and holstered it. When he picked up Drake's knife, he laid it flat across his hand and weighed the balance.

Seems haft heavy.

Grant wrenched off the knife's engraved-silver rear bolster, and turned the knife upside down. More than a dozen small white pills rolled onto his hand. Quick dope. He rolled the pills back into the knife and rinsed the pill's residue off of his hand with the shot of whiskey on the bar in front of him. "Another."

The bartender poured another shot into Grant's glass. "Make it a double," Grant said. The bottle trembled in the bartender's hand. Half as much went on the bar as into the glass. "I'm not paying for that," Grant said.

"Of course not, sir. Your drinks are on the house."

"I meant the whiskey on the outside of the glass." Grant fished into his pocket and flipped a silver dollar toward the bartender. "Keep the change."

"Thank you, sir." The bartender put the dollar in his mouth and bit it with sharpened teeth.

Grant watched him and said, "What's the matter? Don't you trust me?"

The bartender paled. He sheepishly dropped the coin into his apron pocket. "It's not that I don't trust you. It's a habit. A dollar is a lot of money--and silver..."

"Don't worry about it. A...whatever you are...has got to do what...you got to do. Am I right?"

"I am a goonfeldt," the bartender said. He puffed out his chest and stood a little straighter. Difficult to do for a creature with a rounded spine. "From a proud line of goonfeldts."

"Like I said."

"We are known for parsecs around as a frugal and careful people."

"With sharp teeth."

The bartender smiled and displayed his evenly-spaced double row of yellowing teeth. They looked like shark's teeth.

"Which is worse, your bark or your bite?"

"I am offended you would compare me to a canine."

"What makes you think I was comparing you to a dog?" Grant said. "Maybe I was talking about a cockamouse."

The bartender snorted and turned away. "If there will be nothing else..."

Grant wiped the bartender's snot off his shirt. "How about some grub?" hesaid.

Drake started moaning and stirring. He started to push himself up off the floor. Grant drew the blaster, rotated the control knob to stun and fired it into Drake's back.

Drake dropped to the floor.

Grant rotated the blaster's control back to the handwritten, 'fry,' holstered the weapon, and turned back to the bartender. "Grub?"

(Ready for more? Here's Episode 2)