NovelDoctor is an editor and he's running a fun contest at his website. 200 words and it has to include a wristwatch. Here's my entry:
He tried to wipe the sweat from his forehead with his cutoff t-shirt, but there was not enough fabric left to do the job.
“ Never understood why people cut off t-shirts. That’s the important part,” she mused, standing in the mud next to her man and the broken ATV.
“Just gimme your goddamn watch so I can rig this throttle and get us home!”
“No, Mama gave me this.”
“Your mama’s dead. Hand over your buttwipin’ watch!”
She looked at him. He had become foreign to her, like a word viewed so many times it becomes strangely unfamiliar or looks misspelled.
He looked at her. That weird gleam in her eye behind the lanky bangs and the frosted eyeshadow implied something in her that he’d never seen from his mama, or Loreen, whose bed he’d left this morning, or any other female.
So he grabbed her arm and unhooked the wristwatch as she squawked and struggled. He turned to the ATV and jerry-rigged the loose throttle, stretching the cheap leather to its limit.
She wondered how far she could get a knife through his gut before it stopped. She wondered how much a bus ticket to Atlanta costs.