allegedly fiction

Paul was already there when we pulled in. Forty years and the sonofabitch still looked the same. I’d gone gray at the temples. Frizzy hair that couldn’t make up its mind between aging well or just giving up. Paul never changes. That’s the deal.

We were burying BustUp. But I was thinking about Buzzard.

John had suggested the ride up to Red Dawg’s one last time after they shoveled that last scoop of fresh dirt. Last ditch effort to ride one more time, for some, if truth be told. You just never knew if it was someone’s last time. Or if it was yours.

So there was that. 

The Sunday run to RED DAWGS. After the funeral for BustUp, Sunday brunch apparently was the whole new thing these days. No one thought to arrange anything so most people were just going up to Dawg’s to do brunch. At a bar. After a funeral.

I don’t really know why he shows up every 10 years or so. But it weren’t for him 40 year ago, I might not be here today. I was 23 and enjoying a few too many at Red Dawg’s. To be honest, I went out behind the bar to get fresh air and try not to lose lunch all over the floor. Ain’t nothing pretty about a woman trying to be a bad ass biker and holding her own among her brothers who clearly can hold their own. 

I think it was accidentally swallowing that fucking worm when I gagged because it was stuck in my throat and it didn’t know if it was coming or going. My body decided for it and I ran towards the back entrance where the overflow lot was, and I lost my burger and yah, even that little worm. Through blurry eyes and coming to some semblance of getting my shit together, a bit wobbly yet, I saw him. A tall, good looking guy that was at ease among the crowd but just interesting enough to stand out among the ruffians. 

He stood next to a Buzzard, the old biker who beat death twice and seemed to just keep on ticking even after 2 heart attacks. He was in his late 50s I think, but at 23, 50 seems old. Buzzard was white haired with a long-assed beard down to his belly button, and looked every bit the old biker who had seen his compadres come and go, and lose a life or limb or just gave in to his addictions and disappeared. 

“Hey young lady, you gonna be alright?” The tall guy smiled and through tear stained eyes I liked his smile and confidence. He didn’t seem to fit in, exactly, with his too new scruffy brown leather intentionally aged, not weathered.  But he didn’t seem to give a shit either.

“You almost choked on that worm. Guess it wasn’t your time, eh?” That smile. No, it was a sneer. “You be careful little lady. You’re closer than you think. Ol Buzzard didn’t take heed. Now it’s time to pay up.” 

Buzzard looked up at me from the ground, his hand on his chest. “Don’t answer Lilly. He’s a fucking liar. Go back inside. Don’t listen to him.” 

“Hush Buzzard. Let Lilly speak.” He turned back to me. If you want Buzzard to live through this, just say the word. And we’ll meet up every so often and toss the coin. Heads I win. Tails …you don’t lose. 

“LILLY!” Buzz coughed and spat, his breath coming out in wheezes and groans.  “Let it go! Go inside …”

He was pissing me off. “Flip the coin dude. Buzzard, be cool. I got you daddy!”

The coin flipped in the air, catching a glint from the glowing neon buzzing behind me. It seemed suspended in air before landing without a sound. Tails. 

Perky came rushing out and was on her cell. “Buzz…. baby the..  the ambulance is on the way. Oh GOD no! Lilly … you ok? Stay with him… ambulance is on the way. DO SOMETHING for godsss sake!”

And he was gone. Buzzard was gone. The guy was gone. I looked at Buzzard, kneeling beside his lifeless body. Hot tears streamed down my face. In his hand was a black business card with an embossed coin. It was heads up. 

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30 minute timed writing with photo prompt @ Word Snatch SL on Sunday February 22, 2026