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500 words is best friend to a prolix writer. And, as Manuel Ramos observes, this is fun, the 500-word thing.


Confessions of a Draftee: Snowy Ride Up the Mountain

Michael Sedano

Costillas found his grip on the truck’s canopy, and with his left boot on the rear bumper swung himself up into the deuce and a half.

“Anahash,” he greeted the two Korean KPs hauling chow up the mountain. “Ne,” one said. The other looked away from the snowy landscape and pointing to the bench across from him, said something. “Mu-la me,” Costillas answered palms up, “No ara, mee un hum,” he apologized.

Specialist Fourth Class Miguel de las Costillas shivered in the penetrating cold despite his long johns, wool OGs, and fur-lined parka. He walked to the plywood box bolted to the floor against the cab. The foam rubber cushion would absorb a little of the violent jostling that punished his kidneys and ass during the rough bounce up the mountain. No luck. Next to the chow cans, the cushion held a circuit board, and there was nothing he could do. Missile repair parts had priority on any truck going up the mountain.

He snuggled into the corner where the canvas curved against the back of the cab, catching an imagined hint of warmth off the exhaust pipe. “Yoboseyo,” the older KP called. “Yoboseyo, Joe. Yogi, you yogi.” He pointed again to the empty bench where Costillas had leaped into the truck.

“Ne ne,” Costillas denied, “kamsamnida chingo, I stay here.” He didn’t intend to sit near the open end where the cold wind and blowing snow sucked into the truck. Worse, if that were possible, when the deuce and a half bounced against the primitive roadbed the shocks were greatest there at the far end and Costillas’ back was already killing him. Ski gunned it and the truck sped out of the Admin Area toward the Tac Site that occupied the mile high mountaintop at the end of the seven mile track.

Wham! The truck bounced Costillas into momentary free flight that ended when his back crashed against the steel side of the lurching truck. He bounced off sideways but managed to keep himself on the bench as gravity and inertia heaped punishment and pain on him.

They were in the storm now. The two Koreans were sharp silhouettes against the blinding whiteness. Ski gunned the motor at the third switchback. Something felt wrong. The truck slid weirdly sideways. To the furious spinning of wheels and grinding gears the truck slid backward. The two Koreans coiled their bodies in readiness to leap out. Costillas’ eyes bulged in sheer bloodcurdling terror. “Oh fuck, I’m not gonna make it. Damn it, menso. Damn it damnit.”

He should have been with his wife back in warm California, going about his quotidian duties of taking roll, ogling hippie chicks…not plunging off a mountain in a picturesque arc in the middle-of-nowhere.

Wham! The truck crashed into the side of the mountain and stopped. The tires found traction, the chow truck lurched forward, back on track. The three men exploded in wild, genuinely hap

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Christopher Fowler and Maura McHugh are teaming up with Black Static magazine and Action Audio and running a 500 word story competition for their Campaign for Real Fear.

The ten winning stories will be published in Black Static magazine and then broadcast on Action Audio. The closing date is April 16th.

Full details can be found here.

I'm working on my entry today, hence the WIP Wednesday deal. I'm also working on something else, but I'm not going to tell you what it is because I have my evil head* on.

*side note: evil head is prettier than normal head.

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