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Chris-Craft

Michael hated his oversexed dad and his dad’s oversexed new wife. Number four she was. When was the aging geezer gonna call it quits? That very moment the old man and she were down the hatch thrashing about as Michael drove the Chris-Craft. Well, he felt sure they were. He hadn’t looked, of course. He realized his hatred had suddenly become very powerful. It made him think of the exposed rocks. They came out of the water fairly high. Six or seven feet at least. He’d seen them earlier. On a jaunt just he and the old man had taken. They were near them he realized. He could feel it.

Could he do it? Better, would it work? He could say he dozed off a bit, that when he awoke he saw the boat speeding toward the rocks. There was no time to summon the couple in the cabin. Only time for him to jump overboard. Would they buy that? The authorities? Funny, but he felt they would.

He spied the rocks. He’d been right. Slowly he turned the craft toward them. He figured three minutes now. Then his life would change. In some ways better. His old man was loaded.

At first Michael hadn’t seen his dad come half naked through the hatch. "Why’s he crying?" Michael wondered. The bullet struck Michael just below the right shoulder, dislodging him from his position at the steering wheel instantly. His dad veered it sharply to the left. Successfully.

Story by:

Randall Barfield

booksdavid@hotmail.com

submitted at 6:05am

7 April 2009

Randall Barfield's web:

www.authorsden.com/rand