Flash Fiction
“This is a fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into this time, Jesenia,” I say to myself, shivering.
Bubbles, my mule, huffs in agreement. He’s a grumpy one, but you’d probably be grumpy too if your name was Bubbles. Oh, and your stupid ass owner somehow got you stranded in the middle of the desert.
“I’m going to freeze,” I add, mildly surprised that that will be my cause of death, here of all places. I should get an award or something.
I glance over at my airplane. Barely a scratch on it from the forced landing, though it’s going to need a tow back to civilization. No mechanic is going to want to work on it out here. But maybe I could use it for shelter from the cold…?
Peeking my head through the door, I can just make out some dim shapes in the gloom. I’d been traveling light, just my overnight bag and my scuba gear, enough for a quick dive over the weekend. Didn’t think it would turn into a wilderness survival exercise.
Then I remember — wetsuits are insulated, right? It might look weird, but it’ll keep me a lot warmer than my Cow Coffee polo, which is so thin that when I wear a black bra I double my tips. So I pull out the wetsuit and squeeze into it. Then, because I’m a complete weirdo, I put on the mask and regulator and lean out the door. “What do you think, Bubbles? New fashion trend?”
The mule gives me some serious side-eye but I just laugh back at him. “Whatever, you’re just jealous.”
But then I notice Bubbles shudder, realize that it’s getting cold even for him. So I go out and lead him back into the cramped cargo area, take the lid off the bucket of feed I brought for him. He eats gratefully but he still casts a judgmental look my way now and then.
My stomach growls. I should probably do something about that. I remember I have a granola bar in my overnight bag, so I get that out and chew on it thoughtfully.
That little bit of food and quiet time seems to get me thinking logically again. Which maybe I wasn’t doing when I decided to bring Bubbles with me in the first place but that’s neither here nor there. Anyway, that’s when I remember that I have a radio. I flick it on. “Hey, yooo, I sort of crashed my plane?”
There’s a moment of silence. Then I hear, “This is Jeff Bradley with the Furnace Creek Fire Department. Did you say plane?”
I laugh in embarrassment. “Yeah, it’s a long story. Can you come get me?” Bubbles puts his chin on my shoulder and snorts. “Oh, and bring a truck big enough to fit a mule in the back, will you? Thanks!”
