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Sure it’s summer, but some days are more blazing than others And so are different circumstances. This week, writers responded to hot situations from melting men to desert runners. Vegas makes an appearances along with other hellish heat.
The following stories are based on the July 1, 2015 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that includes the phrase, “Man, it’s a hot one.” Careful not to burn your fingers scrolling through the tales!
Camping Under the Blazing Sun by Ruchira Khana
The boys arrived at the camp wearing rain jackets since the forecast said 60% rain. Overjoyed at the fact that the drought struck CA will get some sprinkles, these scouts did not want to dampen their spirits by being indoors.
Within minutes of their arrival, they were sweaty, perspiring and dripping.
“Boy! It is a hot one! How did the weather forecast rain with not a single cloud in sight.” said one exasperated scout while removing his rain gear.
“Oh! rain, please come for thy children soak themselves in their sweat and are tormented,” came a melodramatic dialog from behind.
A River of Tears by Jules Paige
It is never fun to bury a relative. Especially a good kind man who loved his wife, family and friends. But we did that yesterday. And ‘Man it’s a hot one’ was on everyone’s mind. Even under the shade of the funerary tent, which thankfully had cloth covers on the metal folding chairs. After taps, and the flag was folded the service continued. Thankfully I was sitting while I sweltered.
Lady or a gent, sweat was pouring out of your body. And was attracting gnats. Only the dead found comfort, that’s because they didn’t breath.
Climate Changes by Mercy.James.
She twisted and turned in her own skin, the heat and humidity considered a sin. Hell’s fires burning out of control, no relief in sight for days, as foretold.
Deliverance by rains – storms brewing on the horizon, welcomed relief, for this was a form of dying – pressures building in body’s barometer – “Man, it’s a hot one.”
“Climate change is false notion” sounded in her brain, fueling her pain, anger raging.
A sudden flash, a thunderous roar – the rains soaked down – the heat no more.
She ran outside – stripped and free – and danced wildly amid the wilderness – with welcomed glee.
Hot Stuff by Sherri Matthews
“It’s already noon, let’s go.” Knocked back by air so hot it felt like a blast from a furnace, Jules slammed the motel door shut.
“Man, it’s a hot one out there.”
“What d’ya expect stupid? Vegas isn’t exactly by the sea is it? We’re in the middle of a freakin’ desert.”
“Well, I wanna have some fun. C’mon, the Casino’s air conditioned, right?”
The afternoon scorched on as Gus and Jules staggered from one Casino to the next.
The lobster was cheap, the Tom Collins free and The Chapel of Love was only a short, hot walk away.
The Devil’s Contract by AJ Prince
As his time grew near, I waited patiently. Nothing had changed in the last ten years; aside from his growing bank account and hairline.
Never did I receive a thank you, though I wasn’t in it for the gratitude. Hope that they would change, be better, that is what kept me in the game.
Soon enough his screams reverberated throughout the endless night. A flick of my wrist silenced him, recognition dawned bright. “Please!”
I muttered, “Man, it’s a hot one down here. You had your chance, you blew it.”
He wasn’t my first, he wouldn’t be the last.
Offline by Pete Fanning
“Man, it’s a hot one,” the disc jockey howled, his chippy tone lost in the static. Clyde wiped at the sweat on his forehead and sneered.
Marla bit her lip. Clyde was not seventeen and he certainly wasn’t sweet.
The last report mentioned Marla by name. A hopeful sign, she guessed. She flinched as Clyde crunched the can then tossed it back into the dust cloud behind them. He motioned to the cooler. Marla tugged at her shorts, hoping her father was following the cans, but visualizing exactly how he’d taught her to jam a knee to the groin.
Man, it’s hot! by Norah Colvin
Side by side in a field stood two men one day
Watching the antics of children at play
Seen from a distance they looked both the same
Silently watching, not joining the game
The sun warmed them gradually, ever so slow
The heat barely noticed till both had to go
“Man, it’s hot!” said the first as he left that day
The second said nothing, just melted away
Later the children came looking around
Nary a trace of the men could be found
With sadness they realised what they’d forgot:
That snowmen can’t last when the weather gets hot!
Hot by CJ Stuart
“I need a margarita!” Dave said.
“I need a cold beer.” Kyle said.
“I’ll take anything.” Miles said, steering them from the course toward the bar.
“How about just throwing out our scores?” Dave suggested.
“Done! And I’ll get the first round.” Miles said.
“Man, it’s a hot one.” Kyle said as they gulped cold drinks.
“I was ruined at Hole 2 and went down from there.” Dave said.
“We all sucked” Phil said. “We survived. That’s all.”
“I’ll tell Judy I played my best ever though.” Dave admitted.
Everyone nodded and laughingly toasted, “To our best game ever!”
‘You’re Getting Warmer…’ by Geoff Le Pard
Rupert, Mary’s half-brother, wiped his forehead. ‘Too dammed hot for me.’
Mary smiled. ‘Me too. Heat and pregnancy don’t mix. Penny loves it, though. Dad did too.’
Rupert nodded. ‘So Paul said you’ve found some things about your twin?’
Mary showed him the locket and the book. ‘She was Sharon. Aunt Gloria lied when she said that was my imaginary friend.’
‘Don’t be hard on her. She had reasons. And we’ve something to work on.’
‘True.’ Mary rubbed her back. ‘I suppose we might just be getting warm at last.’
‘Rupert nodded. ‘Soon we’ll be very hot. You see.’
It’s A Hot One by Ann Edall-Robson
For days they had been listening to the rumbling from afar. Akin to cannon fire on battlefields. Interrupted only by loud moans and creaking.
They had been told before they left that it’s a hot one. Getting to the destination in time would be paramount in experiencing the phenomenon.
The thunderous sounds drew closer with every ventured mile. To miss it would be devastating. To get to close or in the way, could be fatal.
Under a blazing night sky of northern lights, they arrived. The shear rocks of the narrow fjord giving way to the massive calving glacier.
Hot Stuff by Larry LaForge
The huge grassy field was filled with tents, tables and flags. Edna loved the culinary samples at the International Food Festival, but Ed was less venturesome about trying new foods. He stuck mostly to drink concoctions.
Multiple tastes of Raki, Sake, Sangria and Ouzo had Ed feeling his oats. As he approached the India table, something orange caught his eye. Ed plopped the sample labeled Bhut Jolokia into his mouth before Edna could intervene.
Seconds later Ed’s eyes widened as sweat poured from his brow.
Edna held up the placard:
aka Ghost Chili Pepper
WARNING: It’s a hot one
Man It’s a Hot One by Irene Waters
Man its a hot one
The sauropod moaned
I may be the largest
but my bellies the emptiest
My grass is all shrivelling
Man its a hot one
The Ceratopsians moaned
I may be the oddest
With my frills and my horn
My grass is all shrivelling
Man its a hot one
The Tyrannosaur moaned
I may be the most dangerous
With my teeth and my claws
But my prey are all vanishing
Man its a Hot one
A crater in Mexico
Rebounding meter storms
Set fires world wide
Man its a hot one
The dinosaurs died.
Neighbors by Ula Humienik
“It’s a hot one today. Isn’t it, Carl?”
“Yea, Gus. My brain’s so fried, I can’t think.”
“Come on over for a cold one, neighbor.”
“Why don’t you come over here for a dip in the pool.”
“So you think you’re better than me, Carl? You and your pool.
Turning your nose up at my beer. I think I’ll just stick to my side of the fence drinking my nice cold beer. Thank you very much.”
“I didn’t mean any disrespect, Gus. I’m not a beer drinker.”
“You think you’re better than me?”
“No, Gus. I’m a recovering alcoholic.”
Moving to Kansas by Renee Brant
“Man, it’s a hot one.” I state the obvious while contemplating the people born and raised in this hell. They dance and laugh and celebrate holy matrimony. How could they possibly live like this?
Fast forward 18 years. I live like this, albeit with some amendments: stay indoors, don’t walk on the grass, and hibernate away the stifling summer afternoons. This too shall pass.
And it does pass soon enough. Snow and ice now hang on for weeks. I yearn for the heat of the summer afternoon and dream of lazing on the sweltering deck. What was I thinking?
Man, It’s a Hot One by Bill Bennett
“Man, it’s a hot one.”
“No, it’s not hot yet”, Evaristo said.
“What do you mean yet? And oh my God, what is that smell?”
“You’ve only been here a second or two. With every tick of the second hand it gets hotter.”
Somewhere from below he could hear weeping and wailing. Like wailing from a mother holding her dead infant.
“Where am I exactly? And I can’t see…I can’t see you.”
Evaristo scratched at a boiling scab on his face, sniffed and said,
“Welcome my friend, you have managed to land yourself in the very pit of Hell.”
Fiery-Hot by Kalpana Solsi
The pink hue of my cheeks heralded the mercury dipping and the salubrious
weather pregnant with foodie-adventure.
The holy month of Ramadan spills humanity on the roads to savour the
delicacies, pampering and salivating the taste buds. My eyes feasted
on the succulent pieces of meat kebabs imprisoned on the iron skewers,
dripping of fresh spicy yoghurt marinade, the fire from the charcoals
hissing, roasting a coat of crunchy layer.
Succumbing to the temptation, “Aminbhai, one plate kebab”. Digging
into the fiery hot piece, my tongue yearned for the coolness of Kulfi.
“Man, it’s a hot one”, me winking.
Running a Fever by Pat Cummings
Cooking in my skin, I stare helpless at a sun just inches overhead.
Earlier this morning, the air in camp still held night-coolness. I called to anyone in earshot, “I’m just going for a short run!” Dry dirt under my trainers, I took off at a steady pace.
Muscles warmed, and the air—man, it’s going to be a hot one! Insects buzzed around me in the desert morning. A road-runner across the pan challenged me to race, and I was winning! Until my heel rolled.
It’s been hours now. I lie broken, just praying someone heard me leave camp.
Fingerprints Tell Stories Like the Rings of A Tree by Dave Madden
Fingerprints tag each person as unique. Mine are similarly unique with a lesson seared into them…
Old enough to remember, but too young to remember why. In adulthood, I believe it’s a condition coined…”selective hearing.”
Childhood: ”I know you know, but how am I supposed to know what you know, unless I try for myself?”
Adulthood: ”I know you think that I should know, but we haven’t exactly talked about that before, so…”
The phrase: beg for forgiveness and not permission. Works now, but then…
“David, it’s a hot one.”
I still smell scorched flesh at a parent’s directives.
Make Mine Sunny Up by Roger Shipp
Traffic was tied-up for miles. The radio said semis jack-knifed. Collected a mess of others. At least another two hour wait.
We shouldn’ta taken the beltway, but hindsight never helped in the end.
The kids were content with the AC in the back watching DVDs. Lion King, I think.
Alice was the irritable one. Harping and harping.
I was hungry. It’s not like traffic was going anywhere for a while. Dad had joked that you could grill eggs on pavement.
“Man, it was a hot one.” I thought as I opened our camping cooler and picked up two eggs.
Facing the Heat by Charli Mills
“Woo-doggies! It’s a hot one!” Carl’s voice crackled across the transmitter.
Lucy maneuvered the tribal fire-engine up the winding Forest Service Road toward thick clouds surging above a fresh lightning strike. The vehicle lumbered over backcountry rocks like a tank. It didn’t carry much water, but she could rig a pump to the lake.
“Lucy! You gonna evacuate those campers?”
“Roger that, Carl. Might bring you water, too.”
“Stealin’ your granny’s garden hose again?”
Lucy grinned. The radio crackled louder.
“Sounds like Canada Rail coming over the peak…”
Carl retreated beneath his bulldozer. He didn’t survive the sudden firestorm.
Author’s note: Firestorms are one of many dangers faced by wildland firefighters who are often summer workers or even volunteers from multiple agencies, some federal, some local. A firestorm creates its own violent drafts that sound like a freight train engine. They burn so hot so fast that nothing survives its heat.
My Great-Grandmother Clara had a Portuguese last name, but she was half Scots and half French-Basque. Growing up, I knew her as an aged, lean woman who liked to laugh and gamble at the nickle slots. She was a fiery old lady. In fact all the Kincaids were known for their heat in the small cow-town of Tres Pinos, California. They were tough pioneers and buckaroos with a fighting-spirit.
This Scots clan clung fiercely to their Catholic faith despite being kicked out of Scotland for fighting on behalf of the Bonnie Prince Charlie back in the mid-18th century. My particular ancestral line of Kincaids settled in Virginia then Missouri before pushing cattle into California to build up ranches that would feed the gold-rush miners. Great-Grandma Clara’s grandfather, James Kincaid, settled in the San Benito County area where hills and valleys were rich for growing hay and cattle. The Kincaids even helped to build the Tres Pinos Catholic Church.
Tres Pinos was the furthest inland from San Francisco that the train pushed. This track traveled through vineyards, orchards and ranches known to Steinbeck, and any story of his that I’ve read, I can’t help but picture the place of my birth; the same place where Great-Grandma Clara was born; the place where buckaroos come from. The Kincaid women were tough. Clara’s mother was a justice of the peace and famous for orneriness.
One Kincaid woman, an aunt of Clara’s, decided she had enough of being a ranch wife and left her husband and children, stepping onto that San Francisco bound train with a young, handsome cowboy. The story goes–which is printed for posterity in an old 1880s Tres Pinos newspaper–that the aunt’s husband met her at the station with a gun. He shot the young swain, but didn’t frighten his wife at all who simply yelled at her husband, wrapped her cowboy’s wounded arm and left on the train.
So it should come as no surprise that Great-Grandma Clara like food that matched the temperament in her Kincaid blood. She liked it hot. This recipe is a bit of an alteration on my part. Originally Clara heaped this cheese-topping on a split loaf of French bread, but I use it for quesadillas. Serve it with sliced mangoes for lunch or along side vegetable soup for dinner.
- 2 cups shredded cheddar cheese
- 2-4 Tbsp spicy taco sauce
- 1 can diced jalapenos (or you can use mild green peppers)
- 1 can chopped black olives
- 1/2-cup chopped red onion
Simply mix all the ingredients. When ready to make quesadillas, pre-heat oven to 350 degrees. Line a cookie sheet with parchment paper. I prefer white-corn tortillas, but you can use your own preference. Set out as many tortillas as you want (my cookie sheet accommodates six at a time, but usually I just make one or two for myself for lunch). scoop cheese mixture onto each tortilla, spreading evenly. Top with a second tortilla. Bake for five minutes and then carefully flip. Bake for another three to five minutes. Serve with sliced fruit, rice or a green salad to counter the heat.
A friend in Minnesota regularly posts anything-bacon on my Facebook wall. She knows that a buckaroo likes her bacon. One recipe looked hot–as in spicy-hot-wings-hot. The first time I fixed it, my husband insisted that it required at least two beers to finish eating his plateful. Yep, it’s hot and you can tone down the heat by reducing the amount of Tabasco Sauce. But don’t skimp on the bacon.
Buffalo Chicken and Potatoes
- 1/4-cup melted butter
- 1 tsp. sea salt
- 1Tbsp. crushed black peppercorns
- 1 Tbsp. smoked Spanish paprika
- 5 cloves minced garlic
- 5 Tbsp. Tabasco Sauce (reduce if needed)
- 2 pounds boneless chicken, cut into bite-sized chunks
- 10 medium red potatoes, cut into bite-sized chunks
- 2 cups sharp cheddar cheese
- 8 slices of bacon
- 1 bunch green onions, diced
Preheat your oven to 350 degrees. Any recipe that calls for crushed peppercorns, get your hammer. Seriously. Place the measured amount into a small baggie and set on a stout cutting board. Hammer the pepercorns until crushed.
Using a large mixing bowl, mix butter, garlic, seasoning and hot sauce. Toss the potatoes in the bowl, coating them well with sauce. Spread potatoes in a single layer on a baking sheet, and roast in the oven for 25 minutes. Turn potatoes with a spatula after 15 minutes.
In the meantime, cut up the bacon into small squares and fry until crisp. Drain on a paper-towel draped over a plate. Chunk the chicken, shred the cheese and dice the green onions. When the potatoes are ready to come out of the oven, carefully slide the potatoes and sauce into a rectangular 2-quart casserole. Layer the chicken, then cheese, then bacon, then onions on top. Cover with foil. Bake at 350 degrees until the cheese is bubbly, about 30 to 40 minutes.
Heed this ranch kitchen warning: the sauce the potatoes are roasting in is mighty hot. When you open the oven to flip the potatoes, there will be steam and there will be Tabasco laced in that steam. Be careful not to singe off your eyebrows, scald your face or blind your eyes.
And don’t let that warning frighten you. If you like buffalo chicken and bacon, you will love this casserole. Serve it with a wedge of iceberg lettuce, celery stalks and cool, ranch-dressing. When your mouth gets hot, swallow some cold amber lager or lemonade.