Monthly Writing Assignment

The assignment this month was to write a piece and use in it: a house, a fallen tree, a drunken truck driver.

As is my "standard operating procedure" with most of the assignments, this is not a complete piece. I rarely post a completed piece because, once posted, it is considered "previously published" by most editors. So I prefer to post "snippets." That way, if I later decide to do something with the piece, I'm still free to submit it to a publisher as an unpublished piece.

So here's my "snippet."



Howard’s fingers tightened around the phone until his knuckles were shining white. “You know I don’t have my license anymore. They took it away from me.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Yeah,” the voice rasped, “but that’s all behind you.” Howard could hear the note of uncertainty in the Richie’s voice.

Howard’s eyes shifted around the room. He looked at the moth-eaten curtains, the threadbare thrift store furniture, the old TV he picked up from the curb on garbage day. His gaze fell on the pink eviction notice on the counter. He set his mouth in a firm line, ignoring the empty whiskey bottles on the counter and beer cans littering the floor. “Well, yeah. I’ve dried out. Haven’t had a drop in months,” he said confidently.

“So what’s the problem then?”

A coughing fit seized Richie and Howard had to wait until it stopped before he could answer. “I’ll get in a hell of a lot of trouble if they catch me, that’s what.” His gaze fell on the nearest empty whiskey bottle. He tore his gaze away.

“Trust me, they won’t catch you. It’s back woods all the way. The road’s good, but there aren’t any cops. As long as you don’t speed or do something to call attention to yourself, they’ll never know.”

“I don’t know,” Howard began, uncertainly.

“Please,” the voice rasped. “I committed to the contract, and they have to move now. If I don’t get them moved, I’ll end up losing more than just this deal. They’re the sort of people that will sue my ass off.” The coughing on the other end of the line resumed. “Howie, man. You’re my last hope,” Richie gasped between coughing spasms.



“So how are the roads?” Charlene sat a plate of over easy eggs and corn beef hash in front of the old man and waited for him to reply.

He regarded his food carefully and spoke without looking at her. “They’re a bitch, like always. I don’t know why they don’t get the plows out before traffic can pack the snow.” He finally looked up at her, his expression resigned. “It’s like a skating rink.” He grabbed the salt and turned his attention back to his food.

Charlene smirked. “Our tax dollars at work.”

As she turned away, she caught a glimpse of a truck out on the road. She cocked her head sideways and paused. Business had dropped off at the Pine Tree Truck Stop drastically since the interstate had gone in a few years earlier. Now their patrons were mainly locals and truck drivers in the smaller delivery trucks. Big rigs were a rare curiosity these days.

She caught sight of another flash between the trees. It was definitely a semi. And it was hauling ass.

“What the hell,” she muttered to herself and stepped down a few booths to get a better view.

Charlene watched as the big semi burst into view from between the trees. He was hauling a house and cruising down the twisty little highway at top speed. Her forehead wrinkled as the engine growled, downshifting.

She turned and yelled to Pauly. “Hey! Check this out!” But Pauly was busy laughing with one of the customers and didn’t hear her.

She turned back to the window, her eyes widening even more. The truck turned in, still going too fast. She watched as the truck tipped and leaned as if trying to twist itself free from the trailer. For a split second, Charlene thought the driver might get it back under control. But the semi gave up and fell over with a window-rattling thud. The trailer stayed upright for a split-second longer, dragging behind the semi like a reluctant dog. The torque finally got the better of it and the trailer flipped violently.

Charlene held her breath as the house on the back of the trailer broke free, crumbling as it went. It reached the Pine Tree’s sign as a tidal wave of wood, shingles, and plaster. As the tidal wave split around the sign’s base and slowed, the sign itself rocked and wobbled precariously. Charlene watched, hypnotized, as the sign crashed down to join the pile of house debris.

The screeching of chairs being pushed back and the rush of footfalls roused Charlene from her daze. She glanced quickly at the truck as she left her post by the window. It was on its side, its nose partly obscured by pushed up asphalt. The small crowd from inside the truck stop had already neared the truck.

Charlene raced toward the cluster of watchers as the passenger door lifted. The driver’s head appeared first, looking dazed. Then he twisted and wriggled, trying to worm his way up and out the passenger door. He paused for a moment, dangling on his belly, then fell hard to the pavement. The crowd rushed over to help him.

As the first person from the crowd reached his side, the driver stood up and gave his head a hard shake.

“Dang,” he said to himself.

He turned and looked back at the crowd staring at him and the stranger wide-eyed with concern beside him.

“What?” he asked belligerently.

He stared a moment more before giving his head another hard shake. “Where’s the restroom,” he growled to the man beside him, “my eyeballs are floatin’”.