Carlotta wasn’t too happy with the turnout at the garage sale. Her mother’s stuff didn’t even qualify as an antique, it was more tacky than anything.
Her mother had passed away six months ago, and it took her this long to finally get through to her sister Evie that they needed to get rid of it, and the house. Her long-lost brother Charlie hadn’t even bothered to show up for the funeral, so as far as she was concerned, he wasn’t even involved in the decision. Carlotta, if she had her way, would have had a dumpster placed outside of the house and everything just thrown into it, then sold the house as a fire-sale foreclosure, taken the money and gone to Disneyworld.
But no, Evie had to meticulously go through each and every gaudy bit, from the rhinestone elephant that she remembered sitting on top of the TV when she was young, to the hat rack with deer feet as hangers that always creeped her out, to the collection of plates that she had bought at each state she had ever visited, and her most recent love of scrapbooking. They’d kept the house, even through her time in the nursing home, even though Carlotta had resolved herself that her mother was never coming home.
She moved among the patrons, allowing them to haggle with her. Many things went for less than a dollar – she just wanted this crap out of here. She saw a young man with wire-rimmed glasses looking through the doilies that her mother had draped on the couches and chairs in a Victorian style that reminded her of old ladies’ homes.
Her first thought was, Gay, definitely gay. She saw that he wore a T-shirt that had only the symbol of Pi on it. He moved on to other things – ladies’ gloves, macramé plant hangers, ugly frames.
“Excuse me,” said a woman, holding up a sewing basket with all the trimmings, “how much?”
Carlotta shrugged. “Five dollars?”
“Okay,” and the woman set the basket down on the ground, fishing out her wallet.
Carlotta took the money and then heard someone say, “Hey, gimme that!”
Carlotta turned to see the young man she had labeled as gay staring down at a boy who looked about seven or eight years old. The boy had in his hand a faux fox wrap that she was surprised hadn’t been eaten by moths.
“No!” the boy yelled. “Mama, I want this! Mama, mama, mama…”
The mama in question was the lady with the newly-bought sewing basket. “That’s ugly, Gene, put it back.”
“I want it! I WANT IT!” and he threw himself on the ground, wailing.
Carlotta stared at the little boy, then at the mother who had a look of anguish on her face. The young man reached down and snatched it out of his hand.
“She said no, so I get it,” he said, and turned to Carlotta.
Gene screamed even louder. “Gimme that, bad man!”
The young man ignored him and approached Carlotta. “How much?”
As Carlotta opened her mouth to quote some obscenely low price, the boy had gotten up and ran at the man, tackling him at the back of his left knee. The man buckled and fell, taking the table behind him down with him. The boy fell on top of him, trying to rip the fox out of the man’s hand.
The only thing the mother was doing was yelling at the boy to stop it, and Carlotta saw no male figure around. Then the boy bit the man’s hand, making him yell, and drawing blood. The man lashed out and gave the boy a mighty shove, sending him into the next table and knocking that over, breaking glasses.
The man turned to the mother. “Jesus Christ, lady—“
Carlotta couldn’t believe what was happening, as the boy went at him again. This time the man was ready for him, and grabbed him. “You can’t always have what you – “ then he screamed as the kid thrust a finger in his eye. The man jerked back, dropping him and the faux fox.
The boy screamed triumphantly and ran down the driveway, out into the street. He didn’t see the black car barreling toward him, and probably didn’t even feel the impact as he was struck and crushed underneath the car.
The mother screamed, and everyone ran to the scene, someone already whipping out his cell phone and dialing. Carlotta watched as he ignored the cries of the people, the mother, the driver, and everyone, and reached down to grab the faux fox discarded on the ground. He turned to Carlotta and said again, “How much?”
She blinked at him. “How can you—“
“I worked on Grand Theft Auto. This is nothing. How much?”
“Take it!” she screamed, as the ambulance came around the corner.
The young man inclined his head, “Thanks,” and he went to his beat up car just a few driveways down.
Word count: 837
StoryForm app results:
Trait: religious; profession: video game designer; location: garage sale; thing: hairpiece; theme: action.