* Author : Troy Wiggins

* Narrator : Kimberly Taylor

* Host : Graeme Dunlop

* Audio Producer : Peter Wood

*

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First published in the Long Hidden Anthology in 2014

Rated PG-13

A Score of Roses

by Troy Wiggins

I.

Sunshine flowed through the crowd, sliding between hooters and hungry-eyed applauders. A whiskey runner with a long, toothy scar down his neck poured up servings of burning moonshine at a row of nearby tables. The harsh, fruity scent of the liquor filled Sunshine’s nose, luring her with its sweet poison.

She swayed up to the tables, lowered herself into a seat, and stretched out like a yawning cat. The runner regarded her with flat eyes. She nodded. Her hand landed softly on the thigh of the stony-faced man sitting next to her, and her lips quivered. The scent of rosewater wisped from her skin, cutting softly through the dense reek of smoke from hand-rolled cigarettes, black bodies, and day-old sweat.

“So tell me baby, why’s yo ears so pointed like that?”

Baby took a sip from his tin cup. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told ya, so I ain’t gonna tell ya.”

His skin was black, like the dead time between new days. She reached out and traced along the curve of his ear with her finger. “They like knives. Like knives made’a skin and bone. You kin to the devil?”

“Devil don’t exist, honey.”

Sunshine pulled a pout. “C’mon, baby. Tell me somethin’. You sayin’ things like that just make me more curious.”

Baby turned to Sunshine and met her curious gaze. His face was angled, his chin tapered, and his eyes were thundercloud gray, full of lightning and storms. Sunshine scooted closer to him, and he smiled.

“So, you not gon’ answer my question?”

“Nope.”

“Fine then.”

“I might answer another one of your questions, though, if you promise to smile again.”

Sunshine fulfilled his request. “I ain’t seen you round here before. Where you come from?”

Baby tapped his chin, considering. “You sho’ do know how to ask the wrong questions. What am I supposed to say to that, huh?”

“Tell the truth. Shame the devil.” Sunshine took a sip, stopped, slapped her thigh. “Oh shit, he ain’t real. Forgot. ‘Scuse me.”

“Yo mouth gon’ get you in a lot of trouble. Fine, you want truth, here it go: I come from the dirt.”

“And I come from yo’ neck bone. Gimme me some mo liquor, Jerry. And you, gimme some mo’ answers.”

“I tole you, I come from the dirt and live wit’ the dirt, laugh wit’ the dirt, love the dirt and everything that come to be because of it.”

“You soundin’ like one’a them big foot country boys that just learned the world was bigger than a fool’s middle finger, baby.”

He laughed, a boom boom from deep in his chest that sounded like a drumbeat delivered from the top of a mountain. “Maybe so.”

Sunshine swished a swig of moonshine around in her mouth, swallowed it, and growled away the burn. “Yeah, you talkin’ like a man who’s fulla some good drink.”

“I’m sober as a stone, honey.”

Sunshine hooded her eyes and ran her tongue over her lips. The air seemed to clear. “Well, that just ain’t no good. What’s the point of sitting’ up in a place like this and not drinkin’ yo troubles down the river? Why’ont you just come on home wit’ me and tell me some mo’ ...