FLASH FICTION FANTASY

The car was hot. He was traveling with his buddy, Bill, in his shit 2000 Crown Victoria. Why does he keep the windows rolled up? The electric roll down was out. It needed to get fixed. Damn it was hot. Hot like Mississippi or Tangiers. His buddy, Paul, was yammering on about the Jets, but all Bill could think about was German submarine movies:

The guys are all gathered around the periscope. The skipper has an announcement. Their T-shirts soaked with sweat, someone is nonetheless smoking. The fresh water is out. Depth-charges shake Das Strudel as the bearded leader of the small underwater tribe gives them the bad news -- "We have only air for 10 more minutes." Bill knows what it's like now. He's right there with them...a spectral image behind the sonar...sweating with them....thirsty and ready for one gulp of fresh water.

"...and I told her to go fuck herself. Yeah, go fuck yourself, bitch! I want my senior discount!" Paul cried victoriously, bringing Bill back to the moment.

'Can we stop, Paul, I need some water?' he queried.

"Just 10 more minutes," said Paul, replacing the cigar in his mouth.

Now, it was Bill's turn to feel the silent ghosts of the long-dead German submariners around him. In broken English, he could hear the shade of the white-capped skipper saying, "Ve know your pain, Beeel."

"Now stop being a whiny bitch, going to Arby's is worth a little extra drive," Paul concluded.