Pink Snowbunnies in Hell: A Flash Fiction Anthology by Debora Geary, Nichole Chase, Nathan Lowell, Barbra Annino, T. L. Haddix, Camille Laguire, Heather Marie Adkins, Julie Christensen, A. J. Braithwaite, Asher MacDonald Page A
Authors: Debora Geary, Nichole Chase, Nathan Lowell, Barbra Annino, T. L. Haddix, Camille Laguire, Heather Marie Adkins, Julie Christensen, A. J. Braithwaite, Asher MacDonald
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up. “What the heck were you doing here, buddy?”
“Well, see now, my wife. Dorie? She says I drink too much. Says ‘pink snowbunnies will ski in Hell’ before she’ll let me back in the house. I was just giving her what she asked for.”
Jason was speechless. He pointed at the snowshoes the other man wore. They were attached to the costume feet with duct tape. “Okay, but why snowshoes?”
“Couldn’t find any skis.”
As he cut the tape and helped get the snowshoes off so he could load Mick in the back of the cruiser, Jason shook his head. He closed the man safely inside and cast his gaze heavenward. He could just imagine the teasing he was going to get for this. The report alone was going to be hard to live down. It was going to be a long night.
“Why am I the only one who gets these calls?” he asked the sky. There was no answer, but he could have sworn the stars twinkled just a little brighter after he spoke.
T. L. Haddix is the author of Secrets in the Shadows, Under the Moon’s Shadow, and Shadows from the Grave, the first three books in the Leroy’s Sins Series, as well as various short stories and flash fiction. She’s now hard at work on the next novel in the series, and can be found at www.tlhaddix.com .
Wedding Heaven, Ltd.
By A.J. Braithwaite
You might think that being a wedding planner is a fun job. Happiest day of people’s lives, blah, blah, blah.
Well it isn’t. Not. At. All.
Usually people are pleasant enough to deal with in the early stages, but even the most easygoing bride and groom transform into Cruella de Vil and Josef Mengele as their special day approaches and the stress levels rise. And the proud parents-in-law-to-be (who are often the ones paying for everything) can be even worse. I was once slapped in the face by a mother-of-the-bride because her daughter had changed her mind about the color of the groom’s tie.
I try to gently tell the not-so-happy couple that they’re going to have a wonderful day, regardless of whether the florist includes roses instead of peonies, or the Rolls Royce has to be replaced by a Bentley. But sometimes people get so fixated on the details they stop remembering why they’re doing this in the first place. I’ve been working at this job so long, it’s gotten to the point where I can predict the success of a marriage just by the way a couple acts during the run-up to their Big Day.
We’re not dealing with just one wedding at a time, you see. Usually there are at least twenty weddings on the go, at various stages, from the laid-back, just-beginning-to-think-about-its to the completely manic, ohmygod-it’s-tomorrows. The only thing that keeps me even partially sane is the support of my four colleagues. They make it all bearable and occasionally even enjoyable. Particularly when we analyze the latest pre-nuptial atrocities in the bar after work.
My chosen career is also problematic when it comes to meeting That Special Person. As soon as the words “wedding planner” leave my lips on a first date, I can see all sorts of alarm bells going off in the guy’s head, like he thinks I spend my working day secretly designing my own perfect wedding and am just waiting for some hapless dude to fit the purple tuxedo I’ve got lined up for him. Second dates don’t come my way too often. I’ve kinda gotten used to it.
Fridays in the office are the worst. The phones don’t stop ringing, and the questions come at me so quickly it feels like I’m running around trying to catch everything while being the only fielder on the pitch. This one Friday, things were even worse than usual.
“What did the Patels want for their bridesmaids’ flowers?”
“The animal trainer says he can do kittens or bunnies for the Fowler photo shoot.”
“Which hotel are we booking for the Willses’ honeymoon?”
“Gastros Catering has been closed down by the health inspectors.”
My replies come out in a staccato stream: “Pinks. No
“Well, see now, my wife. Dorie? She says I drink too much. Says ‘pink snowbunnies will ski in Hell’ before she’ll let me back in the house. I was just giving her what she asked for.”
Jason was speechless. He pointed at the snowshoes the other man wore. They were attached to the costume feet with duct tape. “Okay, but why snowshoes?”
“Couldn’t find any skis.”
As he cut the tape and helped get the snowshoes off so he could load Mick in the back of the cruiser, Jason shook his head. He closed the man safely inside and cast his gaze heavenward. He could just imagine the teasing he was going to get for this. The report alone was going to be hard to live down. It was going to be a long night.
“Why am I the only one who gets these calls?” he asked the sky. There was no answer, but he could have sworn the stars twinkled just a little brighter after he spoke.
T. L. Haddix is the author of Secrets in the Shadows, Under the Moon’s Shadow, and Shadows from the Grave, the first three books in the Leroy’s Sins Series, as well as various short stories and flash fiction. She’s now hard at work on the next novel in the series, and can be found at www.tlhaddix.com .
Wedding Heaven, Ltd.
By A.J. Braithwaite
You might think that being a wedding planner is a fun job. Happiest day of people’s lives, blah, blah, blah.
Well it isn’t. Not. At. All.
Usually people are pleasant enough to deal with in the early stages, but even the most easygoing bride and groom transform into Cruella de Vil and Josef Mengele as their special day approaches and the stress levels rise. And the proud parents-in-law-to-be (who are often the ones paying for everything) can be even worse. I was once slapped in the face by a mother-of-the-bride because her daughter had changed her mind about the color of the groom’s tie.
I try to gently tell the not-so-happy couple that they’re going to have a wonderful day, regardless of whether the florist includes roses instead of peonies, or the Rolls Royce has to be replaced by a Bentley. But sometimes people get so fixated on the details they stop remembering why they’re doing this in the first place. I’ve been working at this job so long, it’s gotten to the point where I can predict the success of a marriage just by the way a couple acts during the run-up to their Big Day.
We’re not dealing with just one wedding at a time, you see. Usually there are at least twenty weddings on the go, at various stages, from the laid-back, just-beginning-to-think-about-its to the completely manic, ohmygod-it’s-tomorrows. The only thing that keeps me even partially sane is the support of my four colleagues. They make it all bearable and occasionally even enjoyable. Particularly when we analyze the latest pre-nuptial atrocities in the bar after work.
My chosen career is also problematic when it comes to meeting That Special Person. As soon as the words “wedding planner” leave my lips on a first date, I can see all sorts of alarm bells going off in the guy’s head, like he thinks I spend my working day secretly designing my own perfect wedding and am just waiting for some hapless dude to fit the purple tuxedo I’ve got lined up for him. Second dates don’t come my way too often. I’ve kinda gotten used to it.
Fridays in the office are the worst. The phones don’t stop ringing, and the questions come at me so quickly it feels like I’m running around trying to catch everything while being the only fielder on the pitch. This one Friday, things were even worse than usual.
“What did the Patels want for their bridesmaids’ flowers?”
“The animal trainer says he can do kittens or bunnies for the Fowler photo shoot.”
“Which hotel are we booking for the Willses’ honeymoon?”
“Gastros Catering has been closed down by the health inspectors.”
My replies come out in a staccato stream: “Pinks. No
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