The dirty little mind of Chuck Wendig said this: “Profanity is fun. Profanity is a circus of language where the clowns are all insane and the elephant just stepped on a trapeze artist and something somewhere is on fire.” And has proposed a challenge to incorporate crafty profanity in this week's Friday Flash Fiction. I hope you enjoy:
That Stupid Mother Fucker
“Dirty little numb nut bastard!” I threw my keys into the bowl on the table by the front door, slamming the door shut with a kick. “Goddamn fucking gremlin thinks he can cheat me!” I screamed at the ceiling.
“Ugh,” I sighed. “Hello baby,” I bent down and scooped up my cat, Artemis, before I tripped over him. He purred loudly in my arms becoming boneless as I buried my face in his fur, stepping out of my wet shoes, kicking them away.
“Alright, Artemis, it’s time for Mama to perform a little payback for that shit-faced dick weasel,” I whispered, feeling a sense of giddiness come over me as I walked into the kitchen. I set Artemis on the counter and poured him some cream from the fridge so he’d let me work in peace.
“So he asks me to make him a fucking spell. I make the fucking spell. I gave him the fucking spell. And what does that stupid mother fucker do?” I asked the cat as I slammed my spell pot on the stove top. “He stiffs me!” Sparks erupted from my fingertips in blue and white in my anger.
“Says he doesn’t need the spell anymore. Says I took too long to brew it. I told that maggoty piece of dog shit that it would take a week to brew! A whole fucking week of my life out the goddamn window!” I snatched a wooden spoon from the utensil holder on the counter, spinning it in my hand. “Well this is one bitchy witch he shouldn’t have fucked with!”
“Yep, that’s exactly what I was thinking.” I hit the side of the pot with the spoon; the flames erupted underneath, the clang echoing in the silent kitchen. I started gathering items from of the cupboards.
“Thistle thorns, oil, peppercorns, chicory, dandelion,” I listed off the ingredients as I found them. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to get that much fucking Mistletoe? In the fucking middle of Summer?” I asked Artemis as I poured the oil into the heated pot, letting it come to a boil before adding the other ingredients.
“Double, double, boil and trouble. Fire burn and cauldron bubble,” I sang, stirring the pot.
“Mmmrrow,” Artemis stretched long before jumping off of the counter to curl up under the tiny kitchen table.
“Thrice the brinded cat hath mew’d,” I rummaged through the cupboards again, coming back up with a small bottle, stopped with an eyedropper. When the potion bubbled with a noxious smell I tapped the pot with the spoon again, extinguishing the flames. The bubbles died away quickly. Unscrewing the stopper I dipped the eyedropper into the potion.
“Let’s see how the little fuck likes this spell.” I twisted the cap back onto the now full bottle. Holding the little bottle up to the light I shook it roughly and spoke the incantation, “By the power of the moon and the light of the stars, for every lie spoken mark his face with scars.”
I pocketed the vial and pulled on my coat, stepping into dry shoes and grabbing my umbrella. I found my keys in the bowl and grabbed my purse, “Don’t wait up for me Artie, Mama’s gonna be late.”
The cab ride was short and terrifying in the dark, rain soaked streets. I flew out of the car and into the hotel lobby. I nodded at the doorman as I passed, I had never stayed at a hotel nice enough for a doorman but this prick wouldn’t pay me for my hard work?
“Bullshit,” I muttered, earning a look from the same doorman.
“Floor, ma’am?” The elevator attendant asked as I walked on. I cringed.
“You know, you’d get better tips if you’d just called every woman ‘Miss’, stupid jackass.” The attendant blinked at me, a little frightened. “Ugh, the penthouse, please,” I added grudgingly.
“I’m sorry, you have to have a pass for the penthouse,” he replied meekly.
“Oh, right, here you go,” I said, pulling out a handful of memory dust, blowing it in his face. His features went slack, all recognition gone from his eyes. I reached past him and pushed the button for myself. I tipped him when I stepped off, slipping the dollar into his jacket pocket.
I strode up to the French doors and knocked loudly, another handful of dust in my hand so when the butler opened the door I was ready for him. Stepping past the stunned man I went straight for the wet bar and grabbed one of the crystal tumblers set with the decanter of whiskey. I pulled out my vial of truth potion and with a practiced hand I dripped three measured drops, swirling the glass to coat the rim before it dried.
“That should do the trick, you stupid mother fucker.” I set the glass back down and set the small lavender envelope on the silver serving tray.
The next morning, curled up on the couch under grandmother’s afghan, Artemis purring away on my lap and a steaming cup of coffee in my hand, I watched the news. I couldn’t help but smile as the video of the city mayor played on a loop, the pockmarks spelling out “I cheat on my wife with crab-infested-whores” covering his entire face.
The phone had been ringing all morning. My voicemail was full. But the only thing I was interested in was the knock at my door and the delivery boy who handed over my retainer fee plus interest. I sent him away with another lavender envelope with the invoice for the cost of the spell to break the hex on the poor mayor’s face. I knew there would be a second knock and another ten thousand dollars later that day. Until then the pockmarks would begin to fester and burst with puss.
“That stupid mother fucker,” I chuckled, scratching Artemis behind the ears. “Never fuckwith a bitchy witch.”