Of Cacti and Cars (100 words)
“Quite a car you’ve got there,” the cactus said, sarcasm dripping from its words like sap.
The sun was hot. Hurley wiped sweat from his forehead with a bare forearm. He narrowed his eyes at the cactus. “Don’t talk bad ‘bout my car.” He patted the hood. “Built her from a kit. Got me 68,000 miles. Fifteen times ‘cross the country. Just a little overheated. Be back on the road in no time.”
“You think I’m lyin’?”
The cactus grinned without moving, its upturned arms as good as any curled lip. “Nah. Just wonderin’ what you’re runnin’ from.”