An Evening on the Fireside

An Evening on the Fireside with David 53


Alright, so for last week, I put the first half of this character piece up, now I'm getting the second half out



Nu spun around as he reached twenty feet from the stump and melon as Phil set the camera up off to the right to catch both the stump and Nu.
Truckers and drunkards began encircling Nu, and subsequently Phil and the stump.
The bartender tapped record as he shouted, “You guys should stand away from the watermelon.”
As they began stepping away, Nu asked, “Is that a new camera?”
Phil patted it as he said, “Yeah, it’s one of those high speed ones. We’re are officially out of 1995” He grabbed a pair of ear muffs attached to the tripod and a pair of sunglasses that were hanging from the back of his shirt. Putting them both on, he rechecked the view of the camera. “You’re good to go,” Phil said with a thumbs up.
Without looking, Nu reached into his vest pocket for a pair of ear plugs and placed them in snugly. He slipped a pair of sunglasses on from an inside suit pocket, as the group began to step restless. He began pouring the last drops of the liquor from his beer bottle on the fingertips of his right hand before throwing it aside. Leveling his stance, he held out his wet fingers.
Nu’s suit tightened to almost bursting as he breathed in enough air to barrel out his chest. In and out, his body shrunk and expanded several more time before his breathing shallowed. Hops enhanced poison dripped from his pinky finger. His arm began shuddering; his left hand snapped to its aid, grabbing his right wrist and steadying it to a tremor. His arm jerked forward, dragging his body with it before a burning blue exploded from his fingers in a thundering boom.
Most of the people around them collapsed to the floor, screaming, alternating from holding their ears and their eyes, pain and a temporary loss of senses the payment for skepticism. A few other veterans were already wearing nearly black glasses and ear muffs.
The trucker that had put down the last hundred was clawing at the dirt and rocks, screaming a stream of profanity and swears, failing to hear any of them.
A couple unlucky people who found themselves too close to the watermelon were sprayed by the molten juice shrapnel that exploded from Nu’s burst.
Nu still held his hand, head down as he remained nearly doubled over. His arms dropped as he breathed in a coarse lump of air. His body swung up, his hair sweeping back to the top of his head. Nu straitened up, returning to his grumpy posture from before. He flicked the glasses off and returned them to his pocket with a smoldering hand. So did the ear plugs come off and find their way back to a pocket.
Phil shut the camera off and unarmored his head as Nu said, “Did you already call the docs?”
Phil picked the camera up and answered, “Yeah, just before the last guy put his money in the kitty.”
“Alright, I have time for one more shot then.”
Everyone capable of walking went back into the bar and returned to their seats and conversations.
Phil poured one last shot from the dusty bottle and began working on his camera.
Nu lifted the glass to his lips and flipped the shot up as sirens began to buzz through the door. He looked puzzled at Phil, “Did you call the cops too?”
The bartender slipped the DVD from the bulky contraption as he looked up and said, “No, but after last time, they started sending them out with the ambulance every time I call them.”
“Well, damn. Thanks for telling me,” Nu sighed
Phil popped the DVD in a case and said with a smile, “Yeah, no problem.”
As Nu stood up, swooping up three grand of the 3150, Phil uncapped a marker and wrote, Lightninging a Watermelon, and slid it in a shelf next to Lightninging a Chicken and Lightninging a Mr. Potatohead.