Elana has thrown down the gauntlet once more, and the topic is 'Flowers'. Here goes my foray into this peculiar topic:
Sunflowers are evil. They're crusty brown bug eyes on stalks, with yellow flames all round. They've always creeped me out for some reason. And here I sit in an entire field of 'em. My hands are tied behind me, my arms wrapped around an old cedar post. A splinter is trying to work its way across my wrist, and a daddy long leg has decided to park itself on my sweaty forehead. The trickle coming from my left nostril has stopped thankfully, but Nico'll be back to get it going again soon anyway. Shoulda known better than to trust that weasel Mitch. That's my life though; stupid decisions made while sucking down one too many shots of bourbon.
I can just turn my neck a bit, but my eyesight is still a bit fuzzy. It might be the effects of last night's binge, but probably not. The bruiser has been workin' me over a while now, but there's really not much to cop to anyway. Mitch must have taken the bags and run. I should've let him go in first. He should've stopped to help me up when the first bullet caught me in the leg. Too many things should've happened, but it doesn't matter. By now, he's high-tailing it to someplace south, sportin' his usual half-toothed grin while I sit here busted up. "Ahh, you're ready for more." The fist comes around the left side, the sound of flesh upon flesh mingling with my own savage groan. The punches he dealt me earlier has damaged my ears too much to hear him coming alongside. The pain in my head is beyond excrutiating, and its becoming difficult to concentrate. "You still don't have nothing to say?" The guy's accent would be laughable under different circumstances. The whole situation is like something out of a bad action movie, but there won't be any rescue from Chuck Norris sportin' a Texas star. I already know these guys are gonna kill me. They have the edge, the hardened gaze that cuts right through. They figured a local yokel like me wouldn't hold out this long, that I'd be spilling my guts by now. I may be some small town cowboy, but I'm going down with my boots on.
I look away from the bruiser, eye the sunflowers all around me. Don't know whose farm this is. Maybe its Hal's. Ol' Hal slipped me a spare key to their room for a cut. I wasn't planning on coming back to pay up anyway. I just never figured they'd be so alert at 3 a.m. I turn my head to the right to eye Hal's mishapen form nearby. One of his legs looks wrong; the knee is bent at a weird angle. There's a deep purple bruise across his face, and flies are dining on the crusted blood where his left ear should be. I never thought he could smell worse, but I was wrong. I almost wish my nose was busted completely so I couldn't smell the God-awful stench. The bruiser is standing in front now, blocking my view. "Where did your buddy go? Where were you headed?" His voice is harsh, his patience wearing thin. I can see it in his stance, in the way he rubs the brass knuckles. He's readyin' them for the next blow, wiping my blood off so's I only feel the metal.
"Forget it", his buddy says from behind me. "We'll track the other one down easy enough. Finish him off, Nico. He's useless and we're running out of time." Nico steps to the side, but I don't follow him with my eyes. Better off that I don't see it coming. I can hear the whisper of metal as he slides in a clip. The sunflowers in front of me are still starin', bug eyes watchin' over me. They sway from time to time, probably laughin' at my stupid luck. Wonder if -