The Taste Of Bug Guts #SampleSunday

Here’s another bit from A DEAD GUY AT THE SUMMERHOUSE, my YA paranormal due out soon from Per Bastet Publications. In this one, Mitch is getting ready to meet someone. Jimmy is the kid he shares a room with at the children’s home. This is set in 1968.

The Taste of Bug Guts

A DEAD GUY AT THE SUMMERHOUSE – excerpt
by Marian Allen

bug gutsJimmy still had his face smooshed against the screen, humming loudly. He said it tickled his lips.

“Cut it out,” I said, pulling on a clean tee and buttoning my good Madras shirt over it. “You’ll get lead poison or something. That screen’s dirty.”

“I washed it,” he lied.

I hesitated between my pegged jeans or my new bell-bottoms. I decided to go with the more conservative look, and squeezed my feet through the older jeans and into my loafers. Thank God, I thought, for Trinity Episcopal Sunday School’s Dorcas Class, who had chosen the Refuge as their “mission” for the year. They tended to concentrate on the younger kids, but one of the members was a male clothes horse, and he’d passed me some pretty cool threads.

“Better hurry, before she changes her mind,” Jimmy mumbled, without taking his mouth off the screen.

I shook some Barbasol onto my hair and combed it back. Mrs. Brandt was with-it enough to let me wear my hair as long as I wanted–half-way down my ears–but she insisted I keep it neat. I could live with that.

I peered into the mirror. Did I need a shave? No, but maybe in a couple of days.

“Hope you like the taste of bug guts,” I said, on my way out of the room. “Notice, if you will, the fly swatter on the floor under the window….”

~ * ~

 A WRITING PROMPT FOR YOU: Dress a character up for an important meeting.

MA

About

I was born in Louisville, Kentucky, but now live in the woods in southern Indiana. Though I only write fiction, I love to read non-fiction. The more I learn about this world, the more fantastic I see it is.

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One thought on “The Taste Of Bug Guts #SampleSunday

  1. Jane

    September 14, 2014 at 10:33am

    Har har har! Bug guts.

    Madras. Did we ever know it was supposed to be pronounced muh-DRAHS?
    I didn’t.

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