JB: Riddle us this Shawn. Favorite movie and why?
Shawn: Hell Or High Water—because it tells the truth about being poor without making it seem like righteous suffering.
JB: There it is, nicely put. Well champ hanging with you has been stratospheric. But say, can you help me out on a little flash piece I'm working? Here's what I've got:
Three grizzled dudes are pulling a home invasion. A middle aged couple is home. The trio binds and gags them, then has at the home. As the trio heads out the couple's teenaged daughter leaps from the pantry with daddy's nine millimeter beretta and puts two of the dudes down. The gun clicks empty before she can drop the third guy. He's unarmed and built like an ocean liner. He advances but stops. He recognizes her. Five years ago she was the best soccer mid-fielder he ever coached.
JB: Can ya finish that off for me bro'? I'd appreciate it! Heck I'll even buy you a bourbon next time we're speaking easy in a juke joint.
Shawn: Sure, check this out:
"Coach Willis?" Sandy whispered.
"Sandy," the coach says. The name feels strange in his mouth. Sandy, a regular name for a regular girl with great footwork. No one has called him Coach in a long time. That was a lifetime ago. Before the pills and the H. Before finding himself as a stereotypical henchman for wannabe Keyser Sozes all up and down North Carolina.
He starts toward her. He isn't going to hurt her. He wants to tell her this isn't him. This isn't Coach Willis anymore but he ain't the devil either. He isn't trying to get revenge for Cotton and Saul. Screw them. He didn't owe them shit. Sandy started backpedaling. She tosses the gun at him. He ducks it and keeps advancing. He knows how it must look but he has to tell her that he isn't...this. Sandy falls hitting the umbrella caddy on her way down.
"Sandy wait." He's standing over her now, knows how this must look. He sees her pull one of the umbrellas out of the caddy.
Sandy, the best mid-fielder he ever coached. The girl who was fascinated with the Renaissance. The De Medicis and the Venice royal court. Where people hid daggers in their boots and swords in their canes. That's what she had grabbed. A cane not an umbrella. He almost appreciated the pain when Sandy slid the blade between his ribs.
**Find this cat at: Shawn A. Cosby on Facebook. And Twitter @blacklionking73.
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