The world still needs more silly. That's why we want to invite you to please join us for The Second Annual Wacky Writing Prompt Scavenger Hunt. We will randomly choose three participants to win a new Moleskine notebook, a red Swingline stapler, or a pair of rubber gloves.
Wait, WHAT Scavenger Hunt?
This is a Wacky Writing Prompt Scavenger Hunt, as in, highly irrational, crazy and silly.
The world does need more love. I agree with Jackie DeShannon: what the world needs now is not more mountains or meadows; we need more love.
But, Jackie, we also need more silly. Lots of silly.
You don't have to have fun if you don't want to. I don't even mind if you whine a little bit. I won't even make you brush your teeth before you start the game. And I won't make you clean my seven litter boxes.
Still—please have fun. Fun is good. So is pizza.
Are you wondering how to have fun in the Wacky Writing Prompt Scavenger Hunt? Read on for the instructions.
The Wacky Writing Prompts
Here you go. Here is your Wacky Writing Prompt Scavenger Hunt List.
To participate in this scavenger hunt, write a story including all ten of the following prompts. Are you ready?
On your mark. Get set. Go!
Ten Wacky Writing Prompts
1. To find the first sentence of your story: Take the fourth book from the right off of the second shelf of your bookshelf. On page eighty-nine, fourth sentence from the top, is the first sentence of your story. (If it is a blank page, keep going until you find a page with type.)
2. What you ate for dinner last night is what the main character ate for breakfast. (If there are no leftovers, your character has to eat a burnt piece of toast.
3. The conflict in the story is what is in the glove compartment of your car. If you don’t have a car then the conflict is whatever shoes you are wearing right now. I will let you have options because I am so nice. Here's your other option: your protagonist wants the last item you purchased.
4. Your main character, okay, okay, the protagonist, is wearing what is hanging in your closet, second item from the left. I will give you another option, if you hate what is hanging second from the left. Your character may wear whatever clothes is in your laundry hamper. If you just did laundry and you don’t have any dirty clothes then have a bunny rabbit onesie, with feet.
5. The protagonist's hair color is the color of your dishes. If you don’t have any dishes then their hair color is the color of your toothbrush. If you don't have a toothbrush, we need to talk.
6. The protagonist will use whatever is in your mailbox to win their conflict. If there is nothing in your mailbox, then your protagonist will use a bag of cat litter to win their conflict.
7. Please, please, please, use the word “pizza” at least once in your story. I said, please, please, please, so I didn't sound so bossy. To be nice, I will give you a choice of three words to choose from. One of these words has to be in your story. (Did you notice the word has was in italics, and bold? That means I really mean it.)
Here are your other choices: “tomato” or “stapler.” If you don't like those, turn to page fifty-eight, or the page number of your age, in your dictionary, look in the left-hand column, and use the fifth word from the top. If the word is a dirty word, go to the next word. (Dirty words, as in body parts, or bad words, as in you wouldn't want your children to read the word. )
8. The Antagonist, the person trying to keep the protagonist from getting what they want, has the same name as the last person you sent a text to. If you don’t text, then the last person you spoke to. If you never speak to anyone, which would be very sad, use your mother’s first name. My mom’s first name is Berdeane. Which is my middle name. Just in case you were wondering.
9. The location is the opening scene of the book on the bottom shelf of your bookcase, third from the bottom right. If you have more than one bookcase, choose the bookcase closest to your bathroom.
10. You will get help to resolve your conflict with a pair of rubber gloves.
Now You Have Your Challenge
There we go. This will be fun. After Alice (Hi Alice) edits the Wacky Writing Prompt Scavenger Hunt, I will play it as well.
Would you like more writing prompts? Find our top 100 short story ideas here »
Did you ever play a Wacky Writing Prompt Scavenger Hunt? Let me know in the comments. I would love to hear about your extra-creative writing adventures. And if you have any suggestions for the Third Annual Wacky Writing Prompt Scavenger Hunt, please let me know.
PRACTICE
Follow the Wacky Writing Prompt Scavenger Hunt clues.
This is a no time-limit challenge. Take as long as you want, and have fun. However, if you'd like to post your story in the comments section (and be entered for the silly prize), please keep it on the shorter side, fewer than 500 words. Otherwise, not many people will have time to read your story!
Please comment on someone else's story. And have a fun, silly day.
All my best,
xo
Pamela
This sounds like fun. It will take me time, but I’ m in.I hope to be posting by Mon. It is time we writers try something fun rather than be serious all the time.
Hi Robin,
How fun! I am excited to read your story.
xo
Pamela
Great idea. This should be fun
Yippee! Looking forward to seeing your story Jonathan.
xo
Pamela
So to enter the contest we just had to post our “story?” I mean, who wouldn’t vie for a stapler. I really had fun with this as I see others are. Thanks for bringing a smile to my face.
Here is my story. This was fun!
Roscoe wakes from a dream about sitting on a throne in the sky and stumbles to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee – even leftover cold coffee is acceptable on this grey day. He picks up the nearest book and opens to page 89 to read the fourth sentence from the top, following some directions that seem to have come from his dream. “This chapter will help you figure out the best way to fly to Europe, when to buy your airline ticket, and how to get the lowest fare.” While reading, Roscoe has finished off the leftover meatloaf, potatoes, and green beans for breakfast – there will be nothing for lunch. His mind turns to the problem of how to get to the phone chargers from the glove compartment of the car since the car keys are missing and his phone is almost dead. This is complicated by the fact that he is wearing an ankle length lavender print A-line skirt, having found years ago that skirts are much more comfortable than pants, but he still isn’t ready to go outdoors dressed like this. He does think that the lavender color complements his white hair. It suddenly occurs to Roscoe that he should read the cat litter for signs of what to do next – sort of like reading tea leaves. Looking at the surface of the cat litter reminds him of a rectangular pizza and the fact that there is nothing in the house for lunch.
Meanwhile, next door, Scotte is focused on how to prevent Roscoe from retrieving his phone chargers. He knows Roscoe’s phone battery must be about exhausted and that Roscoe will soon work up the energy to change clothes and head out for the car. He feels isolated and alone and does not want Roscoe to have his phone working, making connection with the outer world possible.
Back to our hero, Roscoe has located a pair of rubber gloves and, when he picks them up, he discovers the missing car keys beneath them. How did they get there? Life is full of small mysteries. He quickly, but with regret, changes from his skirt into a pair of walking shorts and heads out to the car. Just in time – Scotte has emerged from his house and is now pretending he’s just out to get the morning paper. They wave a greeting and go back inside to live their separate, but equally isolated, lives.
drjeane,
I laughed so hard my wife came to see what the matter might be. I particularly liked the ankle length lavender A-line skirt. A complete surprise. Nice touch. How did Scotte know that Roscoe’s phone battery was nearly depleted? Oh yeh, I forgot our stories are capricious and normal rules of writing are suspended. Great job. I am still laughing, no kidding. I am just glad that my clothes are on the left in the closet.
I’m glad you enjoyed it. Let’s say Scotte is a very snoopy neighbor and does a lot of observation with binoculars.
Thanks for your comments
(-: I really like the closet-glam Roscoe. He should just swish out there, and grab that charger! He’d meet more people, and the ones who don’t judge him for his lavender A-line would be just the kind of people for him . . . .
And I came to a screeching halt at number one. It seems the assumption is that all rational people have cases with shelves on top of which set books. I dumped all book shelves and all books three moves ago. Why? Number one I had to move the damn things. Box after box after box after box … get the idea? There were a LOT of boxes. Heavy boxes. VERY heavy boxes. Containers filled with tomes that the last time I had touched them was the last time I had moved and emptied the box after box after box after box back onto book shelves.
Then, I discovered Kindle. Oh my how lovely. Two hundred books in my pocket. All those box after box after box after box just sitting there in my Kindle or in my Audible app. All of them cross index and referenced, with no fear of paper cuts ever again. Font to small? No problem change the size of the font. (Take THAT hardbound book!) Turn the back light up if the light is to dim.
So, how do I find the fourth book from the right on the second shelf?
Thanks Gary for this piece that offers a plausible reason why Kindle does so well – the achoo factor! This exercise was the most fun I have had in a couple of days. Writing for my blog or learning to be a copywriter is serious. This wacky exercise is fun. I have read other pieces you’ve written so I hope you’ll give this a try. Heck just buy a pizza and eat it with rubber gloves on and your home free (lol)
In my Kindle, all the books are laid out in thumbnails. I’d scroll down to the bottom, and choose the second row from the bottom, and then count four books from the right. (There are only four. Thank goodness it’s not the FIFTH book from the right!)
If you’d like, you can use my Kindle sentences, if it saves you time. “What, did your father never take you out hunting?” And: the setting is a squalid apartment in a dystopic, overcrowded future earth.
Ah ha … mine are sorted in a list by recent acquisition … 🙂
I used to give my 4th graders 5 random items and have them write a short story with them. I gave them about 40 minutes to work on it. They always had fun and we always laughed and enjoyed everyone’s creativity. This will be fun. I hope I’m finished by Monday since we’re going out of town for my 50th high school reunion. Maybe that will help my creativity!
50th reunion! I missed my 40th in 2014. But we’re in the same ball park. My entry is my first post here. It’s a lot of fun!
I write non-fiction only, so this will be a real adventure. Here we go.
Here’s my first stab at participating in the Wacky Writing Prompt
“As you read about the natural unity that exists among this species remember-this same unity can exist in your organization! Just in case you can’t find unity in your organization, eat pizza!” the TV blared as Lulu ate her breakfast of surf and turf. She was super hungry and a very messy eater. That’s why she really wanted those napkins that CraCra had right about now.
Lulu was wearing the cutest footed bunny onesie with her orange hair disheveled beyond hopes of a comb. This was her morning look and she was quite proud of it. Messy hair, no problem. Messy face, big problem.
“I really need a napkin!” she screamed at CraCra Ford.
“Ha, ha, come and get them. You stupid orange bunny! CraCra taunted.
Lulu thought, ‘I may have to resort to using that alternative down-filled mattress pad to get those napkins. But, CraCra keeps threatening to pummel it with tomatoes if I try.’
Yet, Lulu wasn’t going to be outdone. While she stood next to the knights readying for war, she grabbed the rubber gloves and made a run for it.
“CraCra, you’re going to pay for this! Give me those napkins or I’ll staple you into my mattress pad!” she ran screaming after CraCra.
CraCra threw plump, juicy red tomatoes at Lulu by batting them with a big pink stapler, splattering red blotches all over the mattress pad. But, when Lulu reached CraCra, she threw the mattress pad over her and stapled her in it with the big pink stapler.
She grabbed up those napkins and wiping her face she laughed, “No one calls me stupid orange bunny and gets by with it without getting padded down!”
Wanda, this is whimsical for sure. One question, how do you go from watching TV in a rabbit onsie to the knights readying for war? Everything else hung together. I hope you had as much fun with this as did I in reading it.
D’Agosto licked his lips. He had just finished his favorite breakfast, bbq chicken and corn on the cob. This is just one of the strange things about D’Agosto. D’Agosto called his neighbor Trillio and told him someone had broken into his house and had stolen his brand new 32” LED HD TV. He had saved up for months from his meager detective’s salary. He was hoping that his friend and neighbor would have heard something or seen something that would help him find the culprit. There didn’t seem to be a break-in. Trillo knew nothing about the theft. So D’Agosto finished his breakfast and then went to his home office to make a list of people in the neighborhood to question, then decided it was time for a shower.
D’Agosto loved to shower but would only use Irish Spring soap. He began singing “O Sole O’Mio” at the top of his lungs. After a few songs he hopped out of the shower, toweled himself off which took a while as he was a big man, standing 6’4” tall and weighing 250 pounds. He picked up his hair blower and began to dry his dark blue hair. Yes, he died his hair. It was the way he expressed himself. Just another of D’Agosto’s quirks. “Ah, in the day, I was a killer,” he thought to himself, and it was true, even though he was a bit nerdy and wore glasses. Naked, he walked to his bedroom, sat down on the king-sized bed that he used to share with Annette, his now almost ex-wife. He wouldn’t let himself think about it….he grabbed his favorite shirt, the green, blue and white stripped dress shirt, his dressy jeans and his leather jacket.
D’Agosto went back down to his office and called three of his neighbors asking if they saw or heard anything unusual around his house or if they saw anyone taking something large from his house? No one had. He put on his holster and gun, just in case and walked around the whole house and still no clues. He even checked the refrigerator to be thorough, and in there he noticed the pizza box from yesterday’s lunch when his wife came over to talk. It had been a very positive date and things were looking up for them getting back together. Kande was a great gal. They had been married for 24 years.
Suddenly the phone rang, an altered voice spoke at the other end, “If you ever want to see your TV again, meet me at the dock at the river and look for a gray seafaring freighter in an hour.”
D’Agosto sprang into action and ran to his car and sped down the highway to the river. He spied the freighter. He took out his gun with his rubber gloves so there would be no fresh prints on it and walked to the docks. There on the dock stood his wife and their friends. On the freighter was a huge sign, Surprise, Happy Birthday!!! He had forgotten all about his birthday. His wife had taken his new TV to put on the freighter that she had bought for him as he was passionate about freighters (another quirk of his). She had cleaned the inside up and with the help of friends, they set it up like a man-cave for him. She knew how to get their marriage back on track!
Good job! What a surprise ending!
Two small things, at the beginning he had just finished his breakfast and then a little bit further down it says he finished his breakfast.
Also first it says his wife’s name is Annette then it changes to Kande.
I really enjoyed this!
I should have proofread! LOL….Reason is Annette is someone else’s wife who I had to cut out as I ran over 1k words! I will have to go back and re-read about the breakfast. Was it really a surprise ending, Jennifer?
yes I loved the ending!!
Thank you so much, Jennifer. I really have not had time to write as I’ve been trying to start up a new business, and I have no confidence in my ability as a writer. So your positive feedback means a lot to me!
awww! You did great!
Hi Marilyn. I just happened on your thread about tough chicken. https://disqus.com/home/discussion/channel-somefoodforthought/tough_chicken/
I thought you might want to read this article; http://www.wsj.com/articles/bigger-chickens-bring-a-tough-new-problem-woody-breast-1459207291
I have been having the same problem with boneless skinless chicken breasts as well, I now only buy whole free range organic chickens and cut them up. Hope this helps.
Aw! A happy ending! It was a surprise; I thought we were heading for a shoot-out. (-: My husband would need a freighter to house his man-cave. And his birthday is coming up . . . .
Haha, what a fun ending! I like that his wife called like it was really something suspicious, she was really into it!
“But when meditators get distracted they go through all kinds of hell: they lose their confidence, they get frustrated, they condemn themselves, they condemn the technique.” Condemnation was all that was going through Harry “the Rat” ‘s head when he woke that morning. He was stuck in a lifestyle that offered him nothing but danger.
Outside Harry could hear the early morning sounds of his Chicago neighborhood. Those sounds could be a lullaby or they could signal danger. All was quiet this morning. It was 1929 and “The Outfit” was firmly in charge of Chicago. The booze they served wasn’t the best, but it did the job. And the booze was making money for lots of people. It was spewing out lots of greedy people, too stupid for their own good.
Harry wanted nothing more than something solid in his stomach – a piece of pizza would do the trick. All he found in the ice box was a leftover cheeseburger and some cold baked beans from the night before. “What the hell” said Harry, “food is food.”
After the disappointing breakfast, Harry stroked the fullness of his locks of yellow hair that attracted so many female admirers. Then again, maybe it wasn’t his hair but something else that caused women to gather at Harry’s side and surrender their desires to Harry’s skillful techniques.
Harry had a hit to make that morning and his boss would not be happy if Eddie Pierce got away again. Eddie knew Harry was gunning for him so he was laying low. Later that day Pierce would take it on the lam with his doll, Trixi. He needed Trixi for her car and for her ability to create a distraction.
Harry, always the dapper dresser, put on his white linen suit, a black shirt, a white silk tie and laced up his black shoes. He greased up his hair and found his white Fedora. In that getup, Pierce would see Harry coming, but Harry had a plan. Being seen would be a big part of the story Harry would tell the cops if he was caught after the hit was made.
On the way out of his musty apartment, Harry stopped in the entry way to look at the mail he had overlooked the night before. He inserted the key into the mailbox lock, twisting it first to the right and then to the left and jerking open the cubby hole. Nothing of interest: bills, junk mail and some political propaganda about electing Big Al as Chicago’s next mayor. Harry wondered why Big Al would draw so much attention to himself when everything was going so swell. Seemed like a dumb play to Harry. That’s one reason Harry was a hitman and Big Al was boss.
Harry got into his car. Reaching under the car seat, Harry grabbed the snub-nosed revolver and his trademark rubber gloves. No fingerprints would be found on the throw away revolver. Now to find Pierce.
Love this!! Great job!
Your story was so exciting! I love reading and doing these!
Thanks very much. I appreciate your feedback. I will try to return the favor in the next few days.
Wow! Jonathan. I enjoyed your entertaining, which turns out to be quite a story. The suspense at the end is also ‘wow’!
Thanks for sharing.
Great story! It’s got me wondering about what happens next.
Thanks Sammy for your feedback. Let me read your submission and return the favor. Good writing.
Very nice 30s vibe. I love the hard-boiled stuff.
I love the theme of this- I never would have guessed mobster from the prompts!
I would like to read the next installment of this story.
I hadn’t really thought about continuing this but maybe I had better reconsider. I had so much fun just letting it flow I never expected to do an add-on. Thanks to you for your encouragement.
I’m new here, but here’s my shot at it.
Mr. Trump disdains humility. For example, choosing teriyaki chicken and cauliflower mash for breakfast every Tuesday has become more common in recent months. If he had his way, the entire population would follow suit with one exception; those who didn’t align with his political stance would consume brick mortar, and upon expulsion construct a wall. Walls seemed to be a theme with Mr. Trump.
After gleefully consuming his chicken and vegetables, Trump was made aware of his latest challenge. Several hard cherry candies – produced by Old Fashioned – had overheated upon the sea and melted, before solidifying once again. The result was a large mass of red-colored sugar that mimicked ripe cherry tomatoes. Bound sweetly together, they appeared to be several sets of Siamese twins. This particular group of twins upon twins might be used as an ornate paper weight in the right hands or an ingenious, once-only used murder weapon in others.
Sharon was also made aware of the latest Trump caper and arrived to determine if she could be of assistance. Having jumped quickly from bed, the only thing she wore was a mustard yellow collared shirt. Needless to say, she would not have been accused of it matching her blue hair or green eyes.
Upon noticing Sharon, Mr. Trump declared she would not be allowed to see the candy, much less touch it. However, Sharon’s addiction to sugar allowed her to maintain her focus. Commandeering the sugary pound of Old Fashioned was the only thing on Sharon’s mind. When forced later to recount her actions at the twelve-step program, she would simply insist “It was for the good of the community!” In her mind, it was much like the government taking land by imminent domain.
Mr. Trump positioned himself between Sharon and the candy, thinking he was willing to use the substance for the latter purpose if need be. Once firmly situated, he tore his jacket away to reveal a simple “T” upon his chest. “Step away from the candy, Sharon! And go put some clothes on,” Trump shouted. “This hard candy will be the beginning of a huge wall. Huge!” It was all to no avail.
Sharon moved closer and closer to Trump and revealed a legal-sized envelope. Her pace quickened with every step. In a fluid motion, she removed a recent pay stub from the envelope and held it high in her right hand. Her breathing became heavier and heavier, yet her focus remained the same. She would not be thwarted!
In a quick downward motion, Sharon swung the pay stub across Trump’s face, resulting in a paper cut that began to slowly bleed. For a brief moment, Trump forgot why he was preventing Sharon from reaching the candy and with both hands reached for what he thought to be his perfect profile. “Why you…my face!,” Trump exclaimed.
Sharon reached the candy and withdrew a pair of rubber gloves from a place unbeknownst to man. She gathered the hard candy and raised it high, as if winning for all of humanity. Her shirt and hair seemed brighter. There was a glimmer in her eye. Her fix would occur soon. Mr. Trump and his wall would have to wait.
Overall I really like it, but I’m a little confused about the candy, where is the candy melted?
Ha. #9 directs us to provide the location from the book “on the bottom shelf of your bookcase, third from the bottom right.” That book for me is Moby Dick. 🙂 It didn’t make sense to me either. Maybe I misunderstood.
ahh okay! so it was melted on the sea! I just wasn’t sure I read it right 🙂
Silly crazy, just like the prompts, this is fun!
Thanks! I agree….tons of fun!
“Give me something memorable.” Click.
I sat, immobile, staring at the phone after my editor abruptly hung up on me. Fighting a wave of instant nauseau, I pondered it perhaps a bad idea to have eaten a pressed bacon and Swiss croissant for breakfast. It was surely talking back to me now.
Sigh. Give me something memorable. This feat would almost be possible if I could just get my hands on my 6″x9″ steno pad from my glove compartment. All my whimsy and creativity lie within those pages. Surely I could manage to spit out a quick story and fax it off, if only I could retrieve that notebook. This had to be done on the sly of course. After all, I was at work, and one could hardly be found creatively writing in the office of the Pruitt Environmental Testing building.
I rapidly tapped my fingers on my desk, looking professional enough. There I sat with my Charter Club rayon shirt with the teal and black swirls. I sunk back into my chair, twirling my blue hair, looking for writing inspiration from somewhere–anywhere. The only item of any remote interest was that of a Uline Shipping Supply catalog, although it proved difficult to glean any ideas from pictures of garbage bags, cardboard boxes, and stretch wrap. Or was it? Hmmmm. No, only my steno pad would do. Must get now!
As if on cue, my boss Kim entered. She was wearing her usual rubber gloves while holding her clipboard, which detailed a laundry list of reports and filing to be done. Naturally, she denied my plea to run out to retrieve something from my car.
“You have work to do. You can’t possibly need anything from your car that you don’t have here in your office.” She left in a huff.
I was left in my misery until an idea flew at my mind like a hurricane. With a grin, I picked up the phone and dialed.
Moments later, with keys in hand, I held my head high, nearly prancing down the corridor past Kim’s office.
“Excuse me. Just where do you think you’re going?” She snorted.
I turned to face my boss, clearing my throat.
“Why, I’m just stepping out to the parking lot to meet the pizza delivery man. I thought I’d surprise you and treat you to lunch.” I faked a smile.
“Well then,” Kim said. “Carry on. That will be something memorable.”
Indeed it was.
Good job!!
Dawn
A very plausible story. I am impressed. I never thought to actually try to hold together a plot and story line. You must be a very imaginative writer. What kind of writing do you do? Keep being whimsical. Nice job.
Hey Jonathan! Thank you for your feedback. This was such a great exercise, and so much FUN! I actually write inspirational short stories and Christian devotions–just launched my first blog; both terrifying and exciting! Thanks again for your kind feedback.
Nice story, these prompts are great, love it!
Oh, nice return to the beginning!
Sorry guys…I obviously don’t know how to correctly post stuff. Please forgive me!
I hope you enjoy my story!
“They`ve given you extra time, a chance to get the commissioners to change their mind.” Gracie reminded me as we sat on the couch eating last night’s spaghetti for breakfast. The commissioners are also known as our parents “But Gracie I don’t know who used the socks!” I said in annoyance nearly dropping my
food my blue sundress. “But the commissioners seem to think so” she
spat at me, her face growing as red as the tomato sauce in a pizza. “Whoa
chill out Gracie! There’s no reason to be so angry. Jeez girl you need a
cocktail or somethin`.” ” And if I don’t?” she angrily asked throwing
her pink hair over her shoulder as she stood up, tempting me to do the same. “I
don’t know…perhaps I will pour the whole bag used of kitty-litter on your
head!” I teasingly said to her trying to calm her
down.
“You wouldn’t dare!” she yelled slowly walking backwards getting
out of range just in case I threw something at her. “What in the world has
gotten into you! You only act like this
when you feel bad about something. Is there something you’re not telling me?”
I asked already guess why she feels guilty. “Fine! I used the socks.”
She blurted out as she pulled out a pair of rubber gloves that the socks
were held in and tossing it at me. “But only
because my feet got cold. I didn’t think anything about it! What`s the big deal
anyway?” She asked, confused as to why the socks were such a big deal. “Because
they had the thousand dollars for the ransom in them. I said as a left the
living room and returned the money to my parents.
Sorry I fixed some typos!
“They`ve given you extra time, a chance to get the commissioners to change their mind.” Gracie reminded me as we sat on the couch eating last night’s spaghetti for breakfast. The commissioners are also known as our parents “But Gracie I don’t know who used the socks!” I said in annoyance nearly dropping my
food my blue sundress. “But the commissioners seem to think so” she
spat at me, her face growing as red as the tomato sauce in a pizza. “Whoa
chill out Gracie! There’s no reason to be so angry. Jeez girl you need a
cocktail or somethin`.” ” And if I don’t?” she angrily asked throwing
her pink hair over her shoulder as she stood up, tempting me to do the same. “I
don’t know…perhaps I will pour the whole bag used of kitty-litter on your
head!” I teasingly said to her trying to calm her
down.
“You wouldn’t dare!” she yelled slowly walking backwards getting
out of range just in case I threw something at her. “What in the world has
gotten into you! You only act like this
when you feel bad about something. Is there something you’re not telling me?”
I asked already guessing why she feels guilty. “Fine! I used the socks.”
She blurted out as she pulled out a pair of rubber gloves that the socks
were held in and tossing it at me. “But only
because my feet got cold. I didn’t think anything about it! What`s the big deal
anyway?” She asked, confused as to why the socks were such a big deal. “Because
they had the thousand dollars for the ransom in them.” I said as a left the
living room and returned the money to my parents.
I’m new here so this is my first wacky writing prompt scavenger hunt! This was so fun!!
Here ya go:
They both nodded, more or less in unison.
They turned and looked over at me, sizing me up, snickering a bit.
I’m used to it, when you have green and blue hair you get sized up and snickered at a lot.
I wish they would hurry up!
I’m so hungry, all I had for breakfast was a couple of pieces of burnt toast, thanks to my ancient toaster oven, and my husband Sean, who ate the last of the pizza that was leftover from dinner.
I am craving pizza so much, I don’t eat it often, but once I crave it that’s all I want for days.
Sean knows this, he also knows I like to eat the leftovers cold for breakfast, but he ate it anyway.
So, just to spite him, I decided to wear his favorite brown hoodie today.
Just like I know he knows how I feel about pizza, he knows I know how he feels about me borrowing his clothes without asking.
Oh good, one of them is coming over to me.
“Sorry that took so long, we were arguing over who’s turn it was to pay for lunch.”
“No problem, that will be $26.50.”
He handed me thirty dollars and told me to keep the change.
I handed him his sandwich order and turned heading for the door.
A couple of paramedics burst through the ER door, almost knocking me over.
What a day!
I sure hope the person on the gurney will be alright.
I get to my car and open my purse to throw my tip in there and what do my eyes see?
Restaurant coupons for the pizza place a half a block away!
**2 slices of pizza and a can of soda for $3.50.**
I think my day just turned around.
I head to the drive through, get my pizza, and decide to just eat in my car in the parking lot.
I forgot how greasy their pizza is, delicious, but greasy.
Awesome, no napkins in the bag.
I check the glove box where I find a serious lack of napkins.
Sweet revenge is mine as I wipe the grease from my chin with the sleeve of Sean’s favorite brown hoodie.
I like it! Great story
Thanks! I read the rules then the story to my daughter and she liked it, which is usually a good sign! LOL
This was so fun!
Such Fun! I liked your story especially the revenge!
Thanks so much!!
Thanks! For some reason your comment didn’t show up!
No doubt this is my favorite exercise and I sense you had fun with it too. Poor Sean having to deal with the grease. I didn’t understand the transition from the sandwich order, the ER, and the car. But in a wacky exercise like this I am not sure of the criteria on which to base one’s writing. Heck in my story I had the protagonist going after the antagonist in ways I would not normally consider. I enjoyed your piece
The setting was the ER because of the prompt, unfortunately I couldn’t think of a reason for the MC to be in the ER that worked with the other prompts, so I had her delivering food LOL.
Thanks very much. I get it now.
Does it flow okay? Especially after you know that?
Yes it does.
Thanks!!
Would someone PLEASE comment/critique my story? I am wearing out my refresh button! LOL
Thanks Elizabeth!!
Wow … I’d never done something like this before. It reminds me of a comedy poetry slam type performance where the tag team on stage takes one-word prompts from the audience … sounds like entertainment to me. Love the medium [I mean comedy—poetry notsomuch 😉 ] !
I apologize in advance for who ever reads this :
I’d totally forgotten about it. My best friend’s birthday landed on the day after Black Friday, but after last night’s events, I hadn’t even remembered what my name was. Who knew mall jail was so cold and unforgiving? I bribed the security to let me through, leaving me broke. How could I have gone through a great sale and end up with bare hands?
I looked in the mirror and straightened myself out, combing my blue hair through my fingers. The dye seemed to be fading, making my tomato red face pop out against my other pigments. My red and blackplaid shirt was wrinkled, for I hadn’t had the chance to change it last night. I only had a few hours now to buy that notebook Harley’s been begging for.
Despite my rumbling stomach screaming for pizza, I settled for a least desirable meal in my rush – a burnt piece of toast. Cramming the over toasted bread into my mouth, I proceeded out the door. The cat meowed from under the couch and pawed at my feet as I left.
I started to drive, staring at the time. 9:30. Three hours until the party.
Parking at Staples, I realized I forgot I was broke. It was too late to turn back home, the drive was pretty far. Maybe a trade would help… Maybe. But I’m pretty sure I’ll be charged for theft.
Even so, I entered the store just as a cashier was talking to another costumer.
“Yeah, kind of rough having a cat. I can barely support myself, let alone my own pet.” The cashier laughed nervously as the costumer left.
I built up the courage to ask him. “Cat, you say? You know… I kind of need something from here. Can we trade items?”
He scoffed. “What? No! That’s crazy. Besides, I’ll get fired and you’ll get charged.”
“Or! Or, or, or… You can buy what I want and I’ll give you a full sack of kitty litter. And gloves too, cause you’ll need that.”
“I’m not a checkbook. If you don’t have money, get lost.”
“I thought staff had to be nice to costumers. Would be a shame if your manager knew you were being rude…” I looked over at his name tag. “Mr. Gonzalez.”
“Hey, lady, you’re holding up the line!” an angry costumer behind me exclaimed but I ignored him.
“You don’t have any proof.”
“Who knows? I’m a millennial. I have my phone on all the time.”
The cashier considers and calls it a deal.
I’d never been in such an awkward position for a notebook.
What an interesting combination of Pamela’s writing prompts.
I especially liked the chapters on hair and clothing, and the offer to trade cat-litter and gloves with Mr. Gonzales, for something to eat.
Thank you, although I’m not as experienced as the rest (for I am underage). I appreciate your support on behalf of the other authors you have read from.
Great job!
Roars of laughter attended the narration, and were taken up and prolonged by all the smaller fry, who were lying, in any quantity, about on the floor, or perched in every corner.
29 year old Mary hiked away from the campsite the next morning. One mile out she retrieved her thermos and slurped down the chicken soup she had ladled in from last nights dinner. Thinking about getting a pizza for lunch she whispered, “But first I need to get to Bed Bath & Beyond before the coupon that’s been in the glove compartment of my car expires,” as she pulled back her long blue hair into a ponytail.
“Not a good choice of camp wear,” Cassaundra said as she appeared from behind Mary and unstuck a piece of the fringe, from the black blouse Mary was wearing, off a protruding branch of a bush, “So, that Bed Bath & Beyond coupon you were speaking of, you know those don’t expire.”
“It’s 20% off and it has an expiration date on it,” Mary said while she pulled out an envelope.
“I used to work there and they don’t expire, no matter what the date says. So why don’t you stick around another day or two.”
“Why, so you can kill me and collect this insurance!” Mary flung the letter on the ground, “I found that in the mailbox yesterday, it says important information about a loved ones death benefits! It’s addressed to you and these I found in your rucksack last night,” she then hurls a pair of rubber gloves in Cassaundra’s face before fleeing towards her car.
I love how random the ending is! It completely captures the essence of this challenge. 🙂
Thank you! I’ll go to your story and give you feedback as well.
I enjoyed your post.
Thanks!
Great! Unexpected ending! good job tying everything together!!
Thanks, it was eerie the way it all came about, since my daughter came in with the mail that day saying “its all junk except this letter, its addressed to you, it says Important information.” But on the back in smaller writing were the words, this letter contains information about death insurance benefits…(advertisement junk mail as well) . So when I came upon this writing prompt I found using that piece of mail tied in quite well as a plot point, as for the coupons they do exist, a whole stack of them in my glove compartment, and they do not expire.
Hello Pamela.
Your pompts to usward, are amazing. Feels like being a pupil once more, and skipping the usual humdrum of sobriety with your prompt, to have an enjoyable, creative exploration of my capabilities. I’ve made a copy of the list and will work on it this afternoon.
Now I’m scrolling down to read and comment on member’s posts.
Thanks so much for stirring up my fantasy in a new direction.
Please give a hug to all your cats for me. One for you, too
Lilian
Nor would she become insensible with drink and be sick. This was precisely the situation Melanie had found herself in at least thrice the past week. She stumbled into the kitchen, sliding on the rubber gloves that had somehow ended up on the floor, and yanked open the fridge, pink hair flying about her face as she shook her head to clear it of the fuzz she was denying. The fridge was strangely devoid of edible items apart from a bowl of sloppy spaghetti bolognaise left over from last night. The sauce had way too much tomato in it, alas, she needed to fill the void that was her stomach, and so she shrugged and pulled it out. It wasn’t pizza, but it was good enough. Melanie finished it off within minutes and suddenly realised that what she wanted more than anything else at this moment was a Kit Kat chocolate bar. Melanie stood up and brushed off her extremely wrinkled Alice in Wonderland dress before dumping her bowl in the sink and proceeding to search for her stash of Kit Kats in the pantry.
“Melanie, Melanie, Melanie!” Trulani skidded into the kitchen at full throttle only to halt abruptly and stare at Melanie as she realised what the other girl was doing. “Melanie you promised you wouldn’t eat anymore Kit Kats!” Trulani whined.
“Wha- I’m not!” She frantically threw down the half opened bar she was holding. Trulani rolled her eyes at Melanie and rushed towards her to dispose of the Kit Kats.
In her haste, Trulani failed to see that there was a rubber glove still on the floor and she skidded on it and careened into the bench, finally ending on the ground in a heap. She raised her head and said, “Don’t eat the Kit Kats!”
Melanie looked around for something to temporarily incapacitate Trulani in a minor way, and her eyes latched onto the open bag of cat litter lying in the bottom of her pantry, so she grabbed it and flung it over Trulani’s head, bits of litter flying all around her now utterly trashed kitchen. As Trulani struggled with the cat litter bag over her head, Melanie calmly walked back to the pantry and grabbed a Kit Kat. She slowly and purposefully unwrapped the chocolate bar and indulgently took a bite. Still not as good as pizza.
LOL Poor Trulani!
Do not stand in the way of a hungover person and their cure! Love it!
Final Prank, by Michael “Fynn” Lange
The floor was freshly wet. The school janitor had proudly
done his job, packed up his mop, and made his way home. He locked the school up
behind him. He did not know he was not the last person within the schools
hallowed halls.
Dally James, the
prankster of the junior class, had been sneaking from hiding place to hiding
place for the last several hours, knowing the janitors schedule to a tee. First she hid in underneath the stage in the auditorium.
Next had been the English Room 7A. She briefly occupied the teachers’ lounge
with a key she had swiped from a substitute earlier on in the year. She had as
always left a clever trail behind herself. She was not a normal prankster. She
was the kind that got more than just those watching to laugh. Dally was so good
she could get even the prankee to a belly splitting chuckle. The drama kids
would receive two skeletons that she had borrowed from the science labs, with
signs that read “Siskel and Ebert” both with their thumbs up. Mrs. Bourro and
her homeroom English class would be highly entertained by replacement lenses in
Mrs. Bourro’s infamous reading glasses. The teachers would each be receiving a
letter about a retreat hosted by the superintendent himself to the teachers’
lounge itself in their school mailboxes. This would be her final prank of her
junior year, it had to be a big one and it had to hit all the right marks. She
had never been caught, not once, most of her victims did not want to catch her
because they understood the need for the break in monotony.
Dally knew what she would have to do now. Her own ego would
have to take a fall as her final prank so as to completely cover her own tracks
one last time. She stood in front of her
own locker smiling.
The next day everything went as planned, it came down to the
final period. Students were streaming down the hallway. Dally stepped out of 8th
period Biology. She slowly strutted down the hall.
A voice came on over the loud speaker.
“Hello students, I apologize for the interruption, Misses
Dally James would please report to her locker immediately. “
She rushed into place. The principle and some other faculty
had gathered there.
“Open it up young lady, there was a note from the prankster.”
The principle said.
Dally entered her locker combo. Confetti, streamers, self
inflating balloons filled the air.
Everyone laughed, she winked at him and he knew she would be
there to clean the whole thing up. Her mission was a success. She saw the
janitor smiling behind the crowd. He had found her note, saying that she would
help clean up afterwards.
Siskel and Ebert? That’s great! 🙂
I enjoyed reading this! Those kinds of pranksters are the best.
good job!!
More of my work can be found on fynnfiction.wordpress.com
LOL, two thumbs up for the Siskel and Ebert skeletons!
“Cherubim will not refuse the humblest Christian access to the throne,” I read from Billy Graham’s book “Angels” as I ate the chimichangas left over from last night for breakfast.
“Huh. That means I could walk past them into the garden of Eden—If I could get there.”
I bundled up in my navy corduroy pants, which I only wore to work when it was subzero, like today. I read ‘-10’ on the thermometer through the heavy frost on my kitchen window.
I checked myself in the hall mirror before leaving for work. My dirty white hair had never decided whether to be gray or white and settled in between.
I opened the glove compartment to scrape off the ice. As soon as I touched the ice scraper, everything blurred. The white light from the snow covered window mixed with the brown interior of my car. My stomach churned and seemed to blend with my gasping chest. My brain gave up.
I awoke hot and sweaty. The car was steamy hot. I knew something was wrong. The light was too bright, too intense. Opening them confirmed bright, yellow sunlight streamed into the car.
I sat up, transfixed by the tropical paradise before me. The car rested on a lush grassy sward. Two gorgeous supermodels stared at it. They were naked.
“I’m Adam, this is Eve. What’s your name?”
“Uh, Steve. Look out! There’s a tiger!”
“That’s Stripey, our pet.”
“Doesn’t he attack?”
“He’s a big fur ball. Go to bed Stripey!” The big cat lay in its bed of rushes.
“Here, have this new fruit I just found,” Eve held out a tomato.
“Wow! This is the best I ever ate!”
“So, where’re you from?” Adam asked.
“Peoria. It’s great here, but I’ve got to get back.”
“How’d you get here?” Eve asked.
“I just touched my ice scraper here—” As I showed them, nothing happened, but nausea.
“You ok?” Eve asked.
“Yeah, that’s how I got here. How I get back?”
“Let’s ask God.” Adam said.
“You don’t want to do that!” said a talking dragon.
“Who are you?”
“Call me Fuzzy,” he chuckled. “God can’t help you.”
“That’s the talking snake with legs,” said Eve.
“How will I get back?”
“Try eating the fruit in the middle of the garden!”
“No. I’ll try God first.”
So we went past the two cherubim to a white clad man seated on a throne.
“Hi Steve,” God said.
“Hello Lord.”
“To get back, get back in your car without touching it or the ice scraper. But we love having you here.”
“Thanks, Lord, but I have to go back.”
“Whatever you want Steve. See you later.”
Using the rushes from the tiger bed, I spread them on the floor, seat, and pedals. I opened the glove compartment and saw the rubber gloves. Wearing them I grabbed the ice scraper. Whirling nausea. The light changed from golden to icy white. I was back.
Clever. Maybe the issue is with the chimichanga? Hahahaha.
hahaha! Love it!
What an awesome prompt — so much fun!
~~~
Then I turned to look at the balcony next to mine. My white blond hard whipped in the morning wind and my favorite maxi dress swirled around my legs. The dress was the most comfortable thing I had with me, but it was thin and underneath my skin pebbled with goose flesh. Watercolor sun rays flitted out from the blanket of clouds, but petered out before they reached me. The onion soup roiled in my stomach. I’d wanted eggs, or even leftover pizza, but the galley staff slept in and it was the most appetizing of last night’s leftovers. I wanted to go back to sleep, but Pattie’s still made bed reminded me that she’d spent last night in another. The one that, as we toured the quaint port village of Little Hangleton yesterday, I’d have bet money that I’d be in.
It was all down to the napkins. Pattie and I stopped at McDonald’s before boarding the ship and I’d stuffed a bunch into my purse – figured they might come in handy. And they did, for her. When Josh dropped his watch into the hot tub last night, Pattie bolted and returned not a minute later with the whole stack. She cooed over him as they dried it off, but it was no good. The watch was toast and so was the party. Josh was inconsolable. A Tibetan artisan had handcrafted the bamboo face and paired it with a soft green leather band; Josh got it on a trip last summer. The watch was, most likely, irreplaceable. Pattie consoled him all the way back to his stateroom.
I paced, then picked up a catalog left on the plastic, salt crusted side table and flipped through the pages. I didn’t know the store and didn’t really care what they were selling. I started to close it when a bolt of color caught my eye. I punched the sky. There, on page 85, a model showed off neon pink rubber gloves. But gloves were just for attention. She was selling the watch, just visible above the cuff.
I raced out of my room and knocked on Josh’s door. He opened it fast, like he’d been standing just on the other side.
“Josh,” I said, “Look! It’s your watch.”
He took the magazine and I glanced around his room. It was empty! No Pattie. I didn’t know where she was, but I didn’t care. And in the next moment, Josh’s arms were wrapped around me and my feet were off the ground. This was going to be a fun trip after all.
I liked it! A watch with a bamboo face? 🙂
Hah! I was searching for something unique and hard to replace, and bamboo watches actually exist. Who knew? 🙂
I like this!!
He didn’t want to look away. The curdled fat of the ham seemed to slither on his plate next to a dried-out potato. He should have heated it up he thought to himself, but this was 1951 and though microwaves had been invented they had yet to be a staple in most kitchens. Not to mention that microwaves were rarely found at the fishing docks of southern Florida even in the year 2016. So he sat there, propped up on a tree stump out-looking the sea, thinking how life was very much like the slimy ham he couldn’t force down his throat. Life seemed simple yesterday when he stood at the altar waiting for the love of his life to walk down the aisle. But his now disheveled off white hair and stained tuxedo shirt told the story of tragedy.
His fiancée yelled at him for the first time the night before the wedding. He didn’t know such fury could issue out of such a dainty creature. The wedding cost a fortune and they used every penny they had and charged the rest to their Diners Club Cards. So when he came home that night with a box full of old CDs she erupted in righteous indignation. After all, they didn’t have a CD player, so those CDs were basically worthless. He tried to argue that they had sentimental value, but sentimental value was only valuable to the one who is sentimental towards the item, which wasn’t him. She stormed out of the house that night and the next day he was abandoned at the altar with a Boyz II Men CD stuffed in his jacket pocket.
A man trudged up beside him with a piece of pizza sticking out of his mouth while his hands rummaged through a bag he had strapped across his shoulder. He pulled out an envelope and handed it to him then walked on his way not saying a word. The envelope contained a bank statement for his credit card. Looking over it he realized that the bank had missed something and he still had funds leftover to buy that CD player. This piece of paper could help him win her back, he thought.
In an instant his cousin Dawn Moody came running up and snatched the letter from his hands. She let out a snarling sound and devoured the paper whole. He bolted up immediately and chased her down. She slammed into an old man carrying the mast of his boat on his shoulder. She fell to the ground and he grabbed her and apologized to the old man for her clumsiness. The man nodded and slunk off to his home.
He sat down in front of the outhouse his cousin occupied and donned a pair of rubber gloves. This was going to be a long day, but he loved his fiancée, he was going to make her his wife, and they were going to listen to some good music.
Ha! It HAD to be Boys II Men. 🙂
🙂 He was getting married after all.
I did last year’s scavenger hunt and has so much fun! Can’t wait to do this one. Will post it when I get it done.
But… But…. I don’t have a toothbrush.
Joking 🙂 I’m considering this challenge.
“Dagny, are you very busy?”
That feeling of utter relaxation on a morning where nothing needs to happen and no one needs help, which had been her greatest comfort a second ago, vanished.
Dagny was, in fact, quite busy eating breakfast. She exhaled as dramatically as possible: “What is it?”
John quickly took a seat next to Dagny as she reached for the butter. “My—“ he stopped. “Dagny, what are you eating?” He eyed the potatoes and chicken on her plate.
“Leftovers” she grumbled through a mouth full of day-old, store-bought bread.
John shifted uncomfortably next to her, “My present to Fern is missing, have you seen a small red box?” A hint of worry cracked through his voice with the last words.
“No,” she said matter-of-factly, and continued eating her reheated breakfast. “Hey, check if there’s any pizza left in the fridge”
John sighed and stood up to check. “No, there’s not. Look, we’re guests here and the Oblonskys are always so wonderful to have for Christmas, but things always go missing here!”
Dagny hadn’t really been listening and she was still hungry. “So?” She stood up to put away her empty plate.
“So…What if someone stole it?” The accusation shot out of him in a whisper.
Game time, thought Dagny. “Stole, huh? Alright, little brother, who stole it? Who are your suspects?” She caught sight of herself in the mirror on the opposite wall, and had to smile at her new hair. The addition of pink to the ends of her already edgy white locks had been the perfect Christmas present to herself.
“—and she won’t be here until tomorrow, so that just leaves the Oblonskys!” Dagny had stopped listening again, but the tinkle of a bell near the front door caught her attention.
“And the dog,” she said.
“Hadley?” John considered it. Danny stifled a laugh, “Why not? That little thing is always stealing toys from the babies…you included.” She smirked at his blushing face.
Dagny started toward the front door. “Grab your raincoat, let’s go find her.” She lifted her own violet coat with pink polka-dots off the coat rack. “And grab some rubber gloves!” She yelled.
John hurried out behind her with bright yellow gloves in hand. “Why the gloves?” He asked with excited curiosity. Dagny stifled another smirk, “You never know where Hadley might have buried your special box.” John grimaced.
The tinkle of the dog’s collar bell rang from around the side of the house. When they turned a corner she was there, baring her teeth in a growl. “Whoa, Hadley!” Dagny was surprised to see the normally happy dog acting so strange. She glimpsed a flash of muddied red behind Hadley’s back paws and stared with a combination of disbelief and satisfaction.
“Dagny you were right, there it is!” John moved to grab the box, but jumped back at Hadley’s fierce bark. She was standing guard.
“Hey, see if there’s a newspaper on the driveway, Hadley loves to play catch.”
John was back a moment later with a soggy roll of recycled paper. “Alright,” whispered Dagny, “you try to distract her and I’ll get the box. Give me those gloves.”
Hadley’s anger turned to excitement when she saw John waving the newspaper at her. She started to slowly follow him and Dagny let out groan when she realized that it wasn’t mud covering the box. She held her breath and reached for the box, barely suppressing the urge to retch.
“Got it!” She yelled, and ran back inside, not waiting for John to follow. She threw the box and gloves into the sink and darted to the nearest bathroom. Finally away from the smell, she gulped in a breath of untainted air and washed her hands three times. She heard the door open and slam closed and Hadley’s muffled barking. “Thanks Dagny!” She heard John call with delight from the kitchen. “Oh…What is—“ And with his sudden dry heaving, Dagny felt a bit better and took one quick look at her perfect pink hair before calling out, “You owe me a pizza for that!”
Great story! I think you get extra imaginary points for using the word pizza more than once. 😉
Unfortunately now, every time I go to eat pizza or grab my morning paper I am going to think of the smell you describe. A funny story nevertheless
I am by no means of the opinion, I assure you, said he, “ that a ball of this kind, given by a young man of character, to respectable people, can have any evil tendency; and I am so far from objecting to dancing myself, that I shall hope to be honored with the hands of all my fair cousins in the course of the evening; and I take this opportunity of soliciting yours , Miss Elizabeth, for the two first dances especially, a preference which I trust my cousin Jane will attribute to the right cause, and not to any disrespect for her”.
Elizabeth would have loved to entrust herself to him for the first two dances, but she was conflicted. She was feeling heavy and bloated from the pork chops, red potatoes and green beans that she had scarfed down at breakfast and found it hard to think. Not only that, she was facing the universally female problem of uncomfortable shoes. In spite of their beauty, her shiny black ballet flats inflicted pain that she was sure would affect her dancing ability.
As she spun around in her full-length mirror, she could not help but think that the black, warm fuzzy polar fleece hoodie she was wearing, might be a suitable compliment to her dancing frock, especially on a cold Pittsburgh night. Elizabeth was a lovely young woman who fancied herself to be rather modern with her flaming rainbow locks of hair. After spending an inordinate amount of time contemplating all of her dance-wear, she found herself ravenous—a hunger that could only be satiated by a ‘Piece Of The Burg’ Pizza.
Finally, she had a solution, she would ask her closest confidante, Phillips. Phillips, like most girls, could behave like a cat on occasion, but Elizabeth was sure that Phillips would have scholarly advice for her. As Elizabeth waited on Phillips to arrive, she tried on various shoes in search of the pair that would solve her problem. Without an answer to her rising frustrations, Elizabeth left her closet & went into the kitchen to put on her rubber gloves to wash the dirty pizza pan. At that time, Phillips rang the doorbell. Elizabeth quickly ran to the door and ushered in her friend. After pouring out the whole story of the ball invitation by her handsome suitor and her painful feet, Phillips was strangely silent. With supreme confidence Phillips finally announced that the only thing Elizabeth could do was send Phillips in her place while she nursed her sore dogs at home.
It was not the solution that Elizabeth expected. She listened to Phillips elaborate on the continued damage that Elizabeth would do to her feet should she go and dance on her already damaged feet all night. Elizabeth later mumbled her goodbyes to Phillips and returned to her closet. As she still had her rubber gloves on, she began to angrily throw her shoes onto a pile in the floor. And there she saw them. The sturdy brown school shoes she had worn so many years before. It was true that they looked a bit like well worn work shoes, but what better solution for one than to envelope her delicate feet in the comfort of her dear old friends. She picked them up with her rubber gloves and began to wipe the dust from their deeply embedded crevices. She tried them on and noted that they rubbed her heels in a slightly uncomfortable manner. As she contemplated her colorful coif, polar fleece wrap and work shoes, she began to regain her confidence. As she twirled one blue lock of hair around her finger while looking in the mirror, she suddenly knew. She knew as all women before her and after her, that the only thing that she could do was to endure the pain. It was afterall, expected that the most delicate of sexes routinely chose uncomfortable shoes to match their frock and suffered the pain of sore feet for all woman-kind. Indeed, Elizabeth had found her answer.
One word. Impressive!
Squee! I know where your first line came from. How lucky you were! Shoes really have a history of being more about beauty than function. The terrible thing is that there are so many ugly and painful shoes out there as well.
The depressing images of a marriage gone sour were interrupted by the professor coming into the room. England was a wicked bitch who wished me ill, and that she had in common with my ex-wife. At least here in Vienna I had the professor – Peter, as he’d told me I should call him – providing a roof over my head to keep me warm of body, and true friendship to keep me warm of heart.
“It’s time,” Peter said. “That box won’t clean itself.”
“Et tu, Peter?”
As I spoke, Mr. Peabody marched into the room and meowed his own loud, sharp opinion on the matter. I sneezed when the oversized black cat – my ex-wife’s cat – rubbed against my legs. I bent and scratched him behind the ears. I wiped my hands on my pale blue tank top, then held them out in front of me, lest I forget to wash them before touching my face and set my eyes to swelling shut. Again.
My stomach churned, making me regret the vegetable lasagna I’d had for breakfast. It wasn’t the acidity of the tomatoes that bothered me overmuch, more the poor quality of Italian take-away food from the restaurant down the street. I thought to make idle conversation about our less than stellar dining experience, but Peter inclined his head toward the washroom where the tiny, toxic box awaited.
I nodded, took a deep breath, and was beset by an allergen-induced fit of coughing. I’d taken my last Benadryl an hour earlier, and still Mr. Peabody’s dander plagued me. I was falling apart. At this rate, my hair, which had turned white about halfway through the acrimonious divorce proceedings, would soon start falling out of my head.
“Let’s not be too dramatic, shall we?” Peter spoke as though he could read my mind.
I assumed a stiff upper lip that would make my forebears proud and proceeded to the room of my sure demise. There in the corner stood Mr. Peabody’s offending box. Beside it, the full bag of fresh kitty litter. But there, laid across the sink, was a true sight to behold: a pair of blue rubber gloves, the long kind that would sheath my sensitive skin up to my elbows. Beside the gloves lay a crisp white dust mask.
“Thank you.” I turned to Peter. For the first time in months, my eyes filled with tears caused by neither my ex-wife nor her cat. “Thank you, my friend.”
Another cat lover I see. It’s frightening when our pets sneak into our unconscious thoughts and figure so prominently in our work. A fun piece. Thanks for going along with the exercise.
LOL, everyone eats better than me, it seems. Vegetable lasagna has got to go on my list of autumn dinners. I love how he doesn’t take his wrath out on the cat. A guy with a sense of duty.
Here is my submission. 500 words was tricky- I had to cut out a lot of descriptors. Thanks for the fun and challenging opportunity!
“Bats come out at night to play.”
Coffee splurted out my nose at the grinning face over my shoulder. It was Farris. I couldn’t decide if he was a homeless park resident or a creepy hipster with too much time.
“Can’t you say hi like a normal person?” I tried dabbing coffee dribbles off of my white turtleneck tank.
“I see you’re eating another piece of delightfully burnt toast for breakfast By the way, you got a little…” He pointed to the corner of his mouth. “No, not there. Still didn’t get it.”
“Whatever.” I pulled a compact mirror out of my purse and peered at my reflection. Besides a couple flyaways in my stark white hair, I saw nothing. “You’re crazy.” But he was across the way.
“Thanks, Anabel!” Farris shouted before disappearing under the dinosaur slide.
I needed to stop wearing my name tag around. In fact, breakfast in the park may have been a bad idea. Sadly it was the only free time I had and my soul would shrivel without a little fresh air.
I stared wistfully at a baby several feet away. After eating his mushed up bananas, his mom was rocking him with a sippy cup and he was fighting sleep. What I wouldn’t give for just a portion of that life. Wait. Maybe that was it. I just needed some level of baby comfort to get through. I couldn’t adopt a coddling mom and I definitely didn’t have time for a nap, so that left one thing: a sippy cup. I still had fifteen minutes left until my shift, plenty of time for the corner store. I grabbed my purse to go, but something wasn’t right. Since when was it so heavy? I stuck my hand in to meet a gritty, dusty material. My purse was full of cat litter.
“Farris!” I should’ve known he was up to something. He had taken everything except the pair of long rubber gloves I used to clean at work. Now how was my life going to be complete?
I glanced at the baby again. He was now laying on a curved pillow, batting at a butterfly. I could hear his mother squealing not to touch wild creatures. Suddenly, a lizard scurried onto my blanket and I got an idea.
A few minutes later, the mother ran off shrieking about a lizard on her lap. Who knew rubber gloves and pitching lessons would come in handy? This was my chance.
“Can I have that?” I pointed to the baby’s cup.
“Pizza!”
“I don’t really have anything to-”
“Pizza!!”
“Umm. How about candy?” I had to do it. I grabbed a clump of cat litter from my bag and crunched.
As far as work, I arrived just on time, sippy cup in hand, full of pear juice. Nothing could ruin my mood.
“Good morning, sir!” I greeted my boss. He gave me a weird look.
“Didn’t anyone tell you the new policy? You’ll have to throw that away.”
Crunching cat litter? Yuck! A very imaginative piece. Imagine if we had to write a serious story from this exercise. Nice job Amber
Thank you, Jonathan! I’ve never parricipated in anything like this before with writing and appreciate you taking the time to read it. 🙂
LOL, you took that “stealing candy from a baby” trope and really turned it upside down and shook it off. And justice is served when her ill-gotten sippy cup is confiscated.
I’m glad it can make people LOL!
This is great! I’m wondering what you had to cut to get this down to 500 words.
Thank you! It originally had longer interactions between the characters and more insight into the protagonist. I pretty much had to strip it down to the main plot- sadly, I forgot to save the more detailed original. 🙁
It’s too bad you didn’t save it. You seem to have the makings of a good short story here.
Congratulations, Amber. A neat story… especially how you brought in the cat litter.
Thanks for sharing.
Thank you, Lilian, I’m glad you enjoyed it!
Thank you for the lovely contest! I ran a little long (about 800 words), so I’ll post a little here, and if anyone is interested, the rest is posted in Eight Ladies’ Writing, under Kay’s post about your contest. https://eightladieswriting.com/2016/09/15/kay-keppler-9732/
“Well, you should.” Tina Greystoke heard the
little voice in her head, and the boss voice in her head said, “No, no, no, you
definitely shouldn’t!” How had she gotten herself into this situation? Ten o’clock
in the morning, and here she was on top of George Washington’s 500-year-old
desk with her legs spread and Sir Philip Hilary between her knees with his
thumbs hooked into her panties. She shouldn’t, she shouldn’t, she shouldn’t,
but my god, the 30-year-old man-child had the most amazing blue eyes she’d ever
seen in person.
Philip seemed to hear her boss voice. His
warm hands fell to a safer spot on her shins, and he paused, panting. “I’m so
sorry. When I invited you up to my space station to see my antiques after the press
conference, I didn’t mean this. Am I moving too fast?” His fingers slid to
caress her outer thighs.
God, no. Then the saner voice prevailed. “Yes,”
and she firmly pulled up her lucky reporting trousers. Sir Philip backed up and
ran a hand through his adorably retro blonde hair. Her breakfast of
three-day-old birthday cake and lemon curd sat like a lump in her stomach. She
hated confronting people. “Hilary, I came up here to try and change your mind.
You can’t sell the First Portfolio to the Vogons. You don’t know what havoc
they could wreak on the universe after they finished transforming Duskova’s
haikus into their own vile form of art.”
Philip poured two glasses of water, and
offered her one, with a small basket of Enhance-tats. She refused; she didn’t
need her mind any more muddled than it was. He took a small, pizza-shaped one,
licked it, and stuck it on his inner wrist. “You don’t understand. They hold
the insurance on my spaceships. They’ll keep raising the premiums on me, and
all of us, until one of us caves in and gives them the poetry.”
(I see some longer pieces, so I’ll go ahead and post the rest here in the reply. It’s not *that* long.)
Tina waved her hand dismissively. “Can’t
you do without insurance?”
“Do without insurance? Do you want the
world economy to collapse?” He squinted at her suspiciously. “See here, now,
are you one of those Socio-anarchists?”
“If I were a Socio-anarchist, I’d be all for
giving the Vogons the poetry. For Christ’s sake, can’t you use a different
insurance company?”
“The Vogons cornered the market back in ’23.
None of us saw it as a ploy to take over our world. Some of us still don’t.
Until the Fague Intergalactic Court breaks their monopoly, we’re screwed. And
we’re running out of time.”
This was neither the time or place for a
crash course in galaxy-level economics. If forced to choose between economic
health and a flourishing healthy arts scene, Tina would take the arts. A good
book could keep one warm at night, after all. But she suspected there’d be a
lot more cold nights if one didn’t take care of the more mundane matters of the
world. She was going to have to save the universe. Again.
She fiddled with a lock of white hair, and
gazed at the faded pattern of apples and leaves scattered through her Visi-dye
job. It was time to go back to the salon in Havenport.
Havenport! Of course! Havenport was
celebrating its 50th year in existence this week, and there was a
huge gala. Her reply card assuring them of her presence was in her purse, and
she could bring a guest.
“I have an idea,” she began tentatively.
Philip’s foggy Enhance-gaze suddenly sharpened. Oh, good, a man who could
handle his relaxants, she thought approvingly. “What if we lured the Vogon
ambassadors to the Havenport Bish-Bash? Perhaps we could kidnap them and hold
them hostage until the Vogons release their grip on the insurance business.” She’d
have to wear her opera-length rubber gloves and her latex evening gown; it
would protect her from the toxic sliminess of the Vogons. No matter how one
tried to avoid actual physical contact with them, the goo just went everywhere.
Philip ripped the Enhance-tat off his
wrist. “I can see how that could work . . . several Fague officials will be at
the bash. I have a plus-one invite; I assume you do too. Madame and Monseiur
Vagababbleon would jump at a chance to see the music performance . . . . What a
clever girl you are!”
“I am, aren’t I?” Tina smirked. She grabbed
Philip by the necktie and dragged him back to George Washington’s desk. “Now,
where were we? If I remember right, about to commit depraved acts on top of a
founding father’s piece of furniture.” She’d won Philip to her side; now it was
time for a little treat. She gasped as he dropped his trou . . . quite a big
treat, actually. Even the boss voice approved. The Vogons would be no match for
the combined team of Greystoke and Hilary.
This is awesome! At first I thought, “What book?” I will try. It sounds like a lot of fun!
I could smell the river before we actually got there. Our windows were down because the weather was decent, perfect for yard sales in the jungle of Nool. I was eating a leftover egg roll from last night’s dinner, and my sister, Soup, was driving, which made me the navigator. “Hey, Soup, there it is!” I shouted, though with my mouth full of delicious morsels, she glanced my way with a confused expression. “What?” When she glanced my way however, she noticed the sign partially camouflaged in beautiful Truffula trees. She took a turn sharper than the best cheddar cheese and my light-saber red hair went crazy in the breeze.
We were sent down a rocky, windy gravel road and finally to our left, there it was. I had never seen so many nick nacks or paddy wacks. I got out of the car, a bit nauseous from the car ride(and my egg roll). A quirky old lady with a visor on top of her mass of greasy, uncombed black hair shouted from across the lawn, “I like yer yeller dress, missy!” She sounded like she did not actually appreciate my bright lemon yellow dress, but I thanked her politely and began to browse the selection.
There was everything from fossilized pizza to a wax figure of Abraham Lincoln, which my sister and I both admired and were a bit wary of. I was about to declare the yard sale a dud when I saw them. They were a pair of black flats and they smelled to high heavens but something about them drew me in like a moth to a flame. I needed these disgusting shoes. As I reached for them, so did Soup. “I want those!” She insisted, clutching one smelly shoe to her chest.
I tried to wrestle the shoe from her grip, but she held tight, looking angrier than a cat in a bubble bath. After a few minutes of heated words, I felt sticky rubber slap against my cheek and dropped the shoe in shock. I watched as a bag of cat litter floated over my sister’s head and poured itself out onto her. As it did, however, the hold that the shoe had over her faded, her expression becoming absolute disgust at the stench of what she held in her arms.
“Oh my gosh, these are awful!” She cringed and dropped it to the ground as quick as she could, looking concerned about herself for having been holding the shoe for so long.
“You children fall-ered the wrong sign! Down the road’s a sale full ‘er new fangled e-lec-tronics and much less magic!” The old woman growled at us, obviously annoyed that we were so easily swayed by the shoes.
We quickly scurried back to the car and turned back down the rocky, swerving road. Let this be a lesson to never get lost by the river in the jungle of Nool, lest you run into witches.
I love that. Garage sales in the jungle of Nool. I think the real lesson is stop bickering with your sister in front of Earth Mothers. They’ll slap you down and send you on you way faster than you can say kitty litter. LOL!
(Also: envious of the laser red dishes you must have.)
It’s my light saber toothbrush, actually… but thank you so much!!!! (:
Oh. The world is now a much more sensible place (but a tiny bit sadder. I want translucent blue plates that glow in the dark. Red would be fine, too, but I like blue better.).
My post doesn’t fit the definition of silly….I was floored by the opening sentence I ‘received’ at page 89 etc….
The subtle deaf girl had made the transposition of this nothing or everything into an everything – the delicate deaf girl that the man could not speak to and was afraid to touch. Yet here she was, again, in his studio, sprawled across his bed, naked, asleep. Marla.
When he’d first seen her she’d been balancing tomatoes on a shelf. The shopkeeper had told him her name, explained that she was deaf. He’d come back with a letter, asking if she would sit for him, that he was an artist. She’d smiled and shrugged. He’d half expected her not to turn up at his studio but that Sunday there’d been a knock at his door and there she’d been. He’d smiled, felt his pulse begin to race in his throat, a warmth spread across his cheeks.
He felt warm now too. The sun was burning through the window panes and he could feel his shirt sticking to his shoulder blades; as he reached for the glass of water he saw the shirt below his armpit stained a darker pink. He got up to open a window, to see if any of last night’s freshness lingered. He saw the remains of last night’s dinner on the windowsill, picked at the salad and the chicken, then returned to his stool and his easel.
They’d had an early dinner, after a long afternoon session the day before. He’d scribbled a note, suggested they walk down to the stream for some fresh air. She’d nodded, picked up her shawl and crammed it into a bag. Later, the night air fresher, she’d thrown her shawl around her shoulders.
Now, this morning, the memory of that bag, the bag she’d carried her shawl in, flashed into his mind. He felt his stomach flip as he remembered his errand the previous day. He’d gone into town to collect a canvas from the framer’s – he’d wanted to touch it up before it was slipped behind glass and shipped to the purchaser. It was one of his still lifes, the size of a paperback, and he’d put it inside a plastic bag to protect it on his way home. He hadn’t been able to find it this morning. And now this memory, of Marla, her shawl round her shoulders, pushing the bag into a rubbish bin by the side of the path.
His heart was racing. He stood up. His stool tipped. He flung his arm out to catch it, knocked his palette and brushes to the floor. Blue paint flew in globules across his hand. Stool, palette and brushes crashed to the tiles. He grabbed fistfuls of his white hair and cursed. He had to get to that rubbish bin. He grabbed a pair of rubber gloves from the sink, a newspaper from the mailbox and wrenched open the door. As he clattered down the metal staircase, a gust of wind slammed the door shut behind him. Marla slept on.
Isn’t it curious how a beginning sentence flavors the entire essay that follows? I often start my stories with a beginning sentence — by which I mean, I’m not one of those people who can go back and mess with the beginning sentence very much, because then I tend to have to start all over again and rewrite everything.
Thanks for picking up on that, Michaeline. This exercise has made me realise I need to be more careful/considerate/reflective of my opening sentences!
The first sentence is from ‘Rabbit Hill’, which prompted me to make a rabbit my protagonist.
It was terrible to see Folks this close. They looked enormous.
Pete crept back into his rabbit warren to wait until they left.
His stomach rumbled. He opened the fridge and drew out the left over
carrot-pie and nibbled it to appease his hunger. However, he closed his eyes and dreamed of digging his teeth into the delicious pizza in Paul’s car.
Pete’s patience began to ebb. He thumped his paw to pass the time.
Finally, the Folks left. Pete crept out of his burrow and sniffed the air. His
sensitive nose twitched rapidly, confirming that the aroma came from Paul’s
car.
‘I must get that pizza,’ he said, determined to gorge on it before
going to bed. ‘But wait! I can’t go out like this. My bright blue fur will give
me away.’
He opened his mother’s wardrobe. It was bursting with garments, hats,
wigs, boots, shoes, handbags, and other accessories.
Pete lost no time in choosing a disguise. He slipped a shiny black
dress over his head, pulled on a pair of galoshes, settled the wig of curly,
red hair over his ears, and topped it with a floppy, green wool hat.
He viewed his image in the mirror. ‘Golly!’ he exclaimed. ‘I could scare
the daylight outta the devil, himself.’ He chuckled when he thought how
William, the pit-bull pup, which slept on the rear seat of the car would react
when, he, Pete, crept into the car.
He retrieved the car keys from Paul’s mailbox and approached the car
warily. His boots and unusual dress slowed him down. His cousins, Pearl and
Bonny saw him and yelled, ‘Hey, Pete. Is it Carnival time,’ their giggles echoed
in the still night.
‘Hush! I’m on a secret mission,’ he hissed.
‘Can’t we come along to the Fancy Dress Party?’ Bonny asked.
He shook his head violently, making the wig and hat fall off. More
giggles drifted on the air. He pulled the wig and hat back over his ears, sidled
to the car and inserted the key. The handle creaked when he turned it, but fortunately,
pup William slept on, undisturbed.
He stood on the driver’s seat to peep at the dog, and fell back when he
came face to face with William.
‘Grrr… grrr…’ menacing growls proceeded from William’s throat, while
his upper lip drew back to display a row of sharp teeth.
‘Hold on! Hold on!’ Pete said, grabbing the rubber gloves from the seat and sticking his paws into them.
William sniffed the gloves and wagged his stumpy tail. Of course, the gloves smelt of Paul. In that instant, Pete saw a huge, juicy red tomato on the passenger seat. He picked it up and rammed it into the pit-bull’s gaping jaws. William choked and tumbled out of the car, spitting out the half-chewed tomato with disgust.
Meanwhile, Pete drew out the pizza from the glove compartment. Alas! It was brittle and dry.
William recovered and bounded to get at Pete, but the rabbit’s quick thinking saved him from those atrocious jaws.
He stepped down from the car, allowed William to sniff the pizza, then said, ‘Here, doggy, here,’ as he often heard Paul say, and spun the pizza like a Frisbee. I went sailing through the air. William chased after it and Pete scampered home as quick as lightening.
Sorry for the abrupt end but I didn’t want to exceed the word limit.
.
What a fun retelling of an old favorite! Pete Rabbit, bunny of a thousand faces, on a mission for some old pizza. (I’m getting such a craving for fresh, new pizza, reading these stories.)
Thanks, Michaeline, for reaidng and commenting.
I’d love to invite you here for a gorgeous pizza.
Haha this was fun. Probably the weirdest story I’ve ever written :p
“We’ll have to get you far away from the pixies, won’t we?” Laughing maniacally, Zaina floated up into the sky, using the grouped forest pixies like a hover-board. Transfixed by the silver light shining from the flashlight, it was impossible to break the pixies’ attention. I watched with horror as Zaina gained altitude, driving the pixies to her will by simple lightshows.
“They were innocent,” I thought, wondering how I, just an average student, could possibly help them. It was only this evening that I found the strange little creatures lurking about near the pond. Though small, they were said to have unimaginable power. The rumor of their existence had spread about a week ago, when one of the pixies was caught in a photograph. However, ever since their discovery, the government had put up “Wanted” posters all over London offering up 500 pounds to anyone who could catch them.
“If it wasn’t for me, the poor pixies would have never been caught.” The thought filled me with utter guilt. Who said I could trust Zaina with her selfish whims? I should never have shown her. The pixies weren’t harming anyone, just minding their own business. But now, Zaina has managed to figure out a way to manipulate them and is ready to give them up just for a sack of gold!
I looked up to the sky. They were getting away! My heart raced as I pushed myself to think of a solution. Desperately, I started running towards the pixies while my eyes darted around Pimlico road, searching for something to hit her with. At length, my eyes set on a black trash bag and without further ado, I grabbed it with both hands and flung it overhead.
Little did I know what the trash bag contained. A satisfying thud and a yelp announced that the throw was true to my mark, but what came raining down afterwards made me wish I never had that leftover sandwich from last night. I tried my best keeping my breakfast down from lurching up my throat as the cat litter fell all around Pimlico road, claiming the streets in the most horrendous of smells. So much for wearing my favorite striped shirt.
On the bright side, at least I had successfully brought Zaina and the pixies down on the ground. But wait… where are the pixies?
“Quickly!” a voice urged behind me. I turned to an almost bald man in a white lab coat handing me a pair of rubber gloves. “Use these.”
Giving him a queer look, I wore the gloves anyways. Instantly, the gloves started glowing and releasing tiny sparks from my hand. Terrified, I was ready to take them off until I realized what they were for. Before I knew it, all the pixies had swarmed around me like flies attracted to the light.
“Fascinating little creatures aren’t they?” the bald man, now with similar gloves as I was wearing. Moving his hands in a wave like motion, he started producing the most deafening sound. I covered my ears with my hands and shut my eyes as wind hurled up my white hair around me. As soon as I thought that the noise had ceased I opened my eyes. But the man was gone and so were the pixies, however, I didn’t feel that worried about them. The man seemed like a cool guy, giving me these cool pair of gloves.
“Eww” a small voice squeaked.
I rushed over to Zaina. She looked up at me, dazed, and asked if the pixies were gone. I silently nodded my answer and she slumped down to the ground again.
“So much for getting rich…” she said, mournfully. I sighed, thinking of a way to make her feel better. No doubt it was the strangest day of my life. The sun was setting and the day’s events had made me really…
“Wanna grab some pizza?” I asked, like it was just any other day. It took no time for her to answer.
“Evil thing.” Aaron muttered. He glared balefully at the large feline, who lay sprawled and with his belly eagerly awaiting a long-deserved belly-rub. His black fur looked as soft as a pillow, neatly matted and brushed. His tiny fuzzy paws pawed the air, as if calling Aaron forth. His whiskers twitched adorably and brought one’s attention to his white “mustache” under his little tiny nose.
Aaron recoiled in vile disgust, looking with absolute contempt at the feline who rested above his newest prize, Aaron’s new red shoes. The shoes were barely visible beneath the fluff-ball of a cat, the front tip of them poking through its fur.
If Aaron could he would have simply given the monster a belly-rub to be done with it, but even one feline hair that stuck to his white shirt striped with blue and gray would send him to bed sneezing, coughing and hacking his lungs out with bloodshot itchy eyes, spraying Afrin (a decongestant) into his snot clogged nose for a week.
Ben was the name of the cat, so Aaron read from the tiny heart-shaped name tag buried in its fur. The museums opening was only a few minutes away, and Aaron did not want to be found coaxing Ben to release his shoes by a visitor or worse, his manager, who was notoriously strict.
Aaron turned to his cart and pulled out a pair of pizza-themed rubber gloves (which reminded him of the delicious ravioli dipped in orange cheese sauce he’d that morning) and faced Ben with queasy determination. He gingerly approached Ben, who was lying inert. Aaron grabbed Ben, and lifted him up holding him as far away from himself as he possibly could. Ben immediately began to hiss and scratch, and Aaron dropped him, jumping backwards with his heart pumping. Aaron cursed at Ben, who had scurried his way back above the shoes, smugly looking at Aaron. Aaron turned back angrily to his cart and searched for anything that could aid him.
Bingo! Aaron found what he needed.
Aaron turned around to face the cat with the hint of a large smile hidden beneath his newly found face mask. His short white hair bounced with purpose with each step, with a odorous bag in his gloved hands.
Aaron lined up his shot, stepped up and whoosh! The bag of cat litter flew across the hall and found its target, sending up a spray of sand amidst an angry hiss. Ben scurried off mewling in rage down the empty hall, his perfect black fur tainted by the sand. Aaron rushed forward and grabbed his shoes, cradling them like a baby. Aaron continued to coddle them until he looked up from them. He sighed deeply and placed his shoes onto his cart, his eyes sweeping over the copious amount of cat litter obscuring the floor.
The joys of working for the Dallas Museum of Arts, Aaron thought.
I really liked the action between Aaron and the cat- great job!
Thank you!
THE (STAN) DAVINCI CODE
When we consider the matter of having passion in our lives, it is important to pay attention to the things we feel passionate about.
Keeping his attention on the man in black, Dr. Robert Lipton bit into the chutney and caramelized onion pizza, the specialty breakfast pizza at Caffee Pasticceria Dolce Pisa.
Professor of Pizza Art at Harvard, Lipton was the world’s foremost authority on the work of Stan DaVinci, whose paintings included the Mona Pizza and Girl With Pizza Earrings. But his most famous work was The Last Pizza. Depicting the final meal between Jesus and his disciples, The Last Pizza was at the center of a decades-long debate: was the body of Christ really a Chicago deep-dish, meat-lovers pizza and not, as the scriptures suggest, unleavened bread?
Robert Lipton had spent years searching for answers to the mystery of The Last Pizza. One day, he received an anonymous call while stuck in traffic.
“The truth will be revealed at the Basilica of the Sacred Crust in Pisa, Italy,” the caller said. “Look for the secret code taped to the back of the ancient pizza oven.”
Lipton scribbled notes on a clean Wendy’s napkin he found in his glove compartment. He stopped at Starbucks for a decaf mocha and to transcribe the notes from the napkin into the new Moleskin notebook he’d recently won in a wacky writing contest. Suddenly, he felt a presence and looked up to find a large man staring down at him. The man wore black, with a scar running down the right side of his face.
“Hey, isn’t that Angelina Jolie” the man said, pointing behind Lipton.
Lipton turned to get a glimpse of the glamorous star. When he turned back, the man was gone, as was the Wendy’s napkin and totally cool Moleskin notebook. A friend at the CIA was able to identify the thief as Aron Levin, two-bit hustler and three-bit con man. Levin obviously knew the notes on the Wendy’s napkin could lead to a big payday. Lipton finished his mocha and left for the airport. He had to get to Pisa and stop Levin from finding and selling the DaVinci code to the highest bidder.
It was a pleasant morning at Caffee Pasticceria Dolce Pisa. Lipton wore a white button down Oxford shirt. His FiestaWare Gold hair was combed over. He finished his breakfast pizza before putting on rubber gloves. He unzipped the canvas duffle bag at his feet, got up, walked toward Levin and set the bag beside the man’s table.
The bag was filled with Fresh Start Kitty Litter courtesy of Felicia, Lipton’s three-year-old Persian with a stomach virus. Within seconds, Levin began to gag, before falling to the ground, retching uncontrollably. Lipton grabbed Levin’s backpack from the chair, reached inside and pulled out the Wendy’s napkin and most awesome Moleskin notebook. He headed for the Basilica.
Lipton arrived to find the Basilica gone, replaced by a Costco. Fortunately, he was a member.
Haha, I love the pizza art theme and the little tidbits you added with the writing contest and the notebook! Good job!
Thanks Amber
LOL the holy church of pizza, the underlying thread that runs through all our culture for the past two thousand years. Hallelujah! Cheese-us saves!
Love Cheese-us saves! Wish I had thought of that.
(-: I wish I had too, but it’s a meme worth repeating.
“I’ll answer that in a few minutes.” The sentence dripped with more contempt than the ice cream from her chin, and with far less sweetness. However, Rachel was immune to her sister’s attitude and simply rolled her eyes in Holly’s direction and awaited her reply.
Holly’s facade cracked as she wiped her mouth with a dirty sock repurposed from the clothes on the bed. She reluctantly answered, “Ok, I’ll take you. Jeez, Rachel. You’re worse than Mom.”
“Good, thank you.” Watching her eat was making Rachel lose her appetite altogether. “Gross. You ever heard of a napkin? And why is there that much laundry on your bed already? We moved in two days ago. That’s at least four days worth of clothes. And why, in God’s name are you eating ice cream for breakfast?”
“What? We’re out of yogurt.”
In a matter of a few hours it would all be over. The full schedule this semester would be a welcome respite from her big sister’s demands. As she left Holly’s room she maternally reminded her, “Put some clothes on before we leave. I don’t want you showing up on campus in your pajamas.”
“Whatever.”
Rachel retrieved her suitcase from the sofa bed where she had crashed. No need to assign her a bedroom in the new house; she had no intention of ever calling this place home. She grabbed her bookbag and keyring. Everything was right where she had meticulously placed it the night before. Wait, almost everything. Where was the–”HOLLY!”
“You don’t have to shout, I’m right here,” Holly mumbled as she entered the room. She had put on a winter coat with an enormous American flag embroidered on the back, and topped off the look with a homemade headpiece of blue flowers resting on her white blond hair. “What’s your problem?”
Rachel pinched the bridge of her nose and calmly asked, “Where are the papers I had on this table?”
“What papers?”
“My admission papers, my class schedule, and the map of Indiana.”
“Oh, they’re in Samson’s cage. You told me to change the paper in his cage.” She plopped down on the couch and crossed her ankles . “So I did.”
A quick recitation of the Serenity Prayer kept Rachel from tearing her sister’s head off, at least literally. “You put my admission papers in the bird’s cage? So now they’re full of parakeet piss?”
“Don’t worry, they’re probably dry. That’s what the other stuff is for. You know, to soak up the moisture. At least that’s what the bag says.”
On the table next to the birdcage lay an open bag of Fresh Cat kitty litter. Rachel dejectedly peered into the cage to find a layer of litter covering what was undeniably her admission papers. Contrary to the product’s name and her sister’s contention, the mess on the cage floor was anything but fresh. She delicately donned a pair of rubber gloves to retrieve her precious documents. After briefly considering putting the offending mess in her sister’s pillowcase, she disposed of it in the trash can. She reminded herself one last time of the veritable paradise that awaited her that afternoon. If the trip itself didn’t end in murder, freedom would soon be hers. Through clenched teeth she said to Holly, “Ok, I have my papers. Let’s go .“
“Fine, Miss Bossypants.” Holly grumbled through a mouthful of cold pizza. “My tank is empty. You got any money for gas?
Her sliding mass of hair – how did one turn that into marble? Nick itched to try. He watched the young woman pass through the park gates as he contemplated angles, lines and fluid motion.
“She’s a beauty,” his friend Harry said,following his gaze.
“What I wouldn’t give for a sketchpad and pencil.” Nick looked down at his hands,
their mangled fingers encased in a pair of tight leather gloves. “Or hands that work. When do I get these dammed things off?”
Harry shook his head as they resumed their walk. “I’ll never understand how you can
be so calm and painstaking in your sculpting, yet so impatient in real life.”
“Tell you what, let’s wrap up your hands and see how well you deal with the inability to manage a simple stapler, let alone wield a scalpel with any precision.”
“Point taken,” Harry said as they reached corner cafe and were seated at table out front.
Unwilling to fight with silverware this early in the day, Nick ordered a mango kale smoothie. At least he could still manage a straw with a modicum of finesse. As always, Harry went for the full English breakfast. “I can hear your arteries cracking from here.”
“Ah well, at least I’ll go happy.” Harry pointed at Nick’s hair. “I see you’ve entered your blue period.”
“Very funny,” Nick said with a glare. “It’s Lola’s doing, not mine. She thought it would cheer me up.”
“Well it’s certainly amusing me.”
Nick resisted the urge to smack his good friend, knowing it would hurt his hand more than Harry’s thick skull.
“I’m serious about getting these gloves off. I’m going to lose my mind if I can’t get back to work in the studio soon.”
Harry shot him a sympathetic glance as the server appeared with their order. “You
know they’re needed to help with the healing process.”
“I get that, but do they need to be so bulky? I’ve been living in sweats for weeks, I can’t even manage a simple zipper.” Nick shook his head and took a long sip of his drink. “What about those super-thin rubber therapeutic gloves patented by Dr. Hansen that were profiled in the last University Magazine? Wouldn’t those be just as
effective?”
“It’s possible,” Harry said around a mouthful of sausage. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to learn more about them.”
“Great. Our appointment is in an hour.” At Harry’s raised eye-brow he added, “I may have said I had a referral from you when I called his office last week.”
Harry threw up his hands in surrender. “Fine, we’ll go talk with Dr. Hansen. Those rubber gloves will definitely draw attention in public though. God knows why he made them pink.”
“If they get me closer to a sketchpad and pencil, I don’t care what they look like. They can’t be worse than Lola’s colorful attempts to cheer me up.”
Harry stood up. “Well then, let’s go get you some functioning hands.”
Rinse them out and remove ‘tide marks’ after use. Sophie
looked at the bowl of Spaghetti Bolognese on the table in front of her and
wondered what the instruction meant. Tide marks? Isn’t that what you get in a
bath? A swimming pool? Not in a bowl of Bolognese, surely! She scoffed the
spaghetti, kicking her black plimsoles against the table leg. She was wearing
her dad’s shirt, which still smelled of him. She couldn’t believe a white van
man would attack her dad with cat litter, all whilst her dad was eating pizza!
What kind of animal was he? Matt, who had been driving the white van man, had
followed her dad to Titchwell nature reserve. Why her dad was out there, eating
pizza, was just as bizarre as the attack itself. Anyway, Sophie had conducted
her own revenge plan.
She looked at the pink rubber gloves she had laid out on the
kitchen table. They were brand new. She then eyed the litter box, that she had
not cleaned in a week. A smile spread across her mouth.
Now, if only she could find him eating a pizza.
This is a fun read, Ingrid. Thanks for sharing.
fun idea – thanks
—–
“He was in severe shock; he had suffered a crushed chest; every rib was cracked or broken; his heart was dislocated; his clavicle and nose were fractured; he had suffered deep wounds on the scalp; extensive second- and third- degree burns, and numerous cuts and abrasions; one lung had collapsed and the other was damaged.”
Michele, Al’s sister, rushed into the ER shouting “Where’s my brother?” Her little scene made it clear Al must have told her too.
“Each morning sees a task begin, Each evening sees it close; Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night’s repose.” – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, American Poet, (1807-82). one of her favorites. She put the almanac down and picked up her fork.
Over warmed up kielbasa and peppers, Ann’s mind went back to 6:30 am.
The noise made ripples in her coffee. Ann ran out of her 1st floor flat to a scene from NYPD. The sidewalk was covered in tomato sauce and pepperonis. She saw a body in the ambulance. It was Al from 2B. He was trying to tell her something. She stepped inside the medical bay to get closer and said, “Dont worry. I’ll take care of thomas.” Suddenly, the doors closed and it was a wild ride to General, where 15 minutes later Thomas, would become an orphan.
“.. . bag of litter. . . . in cat . . . “ poor Al, he was delirious. She knew, he knew she knew, cat litter. Maybe it was all the bouncing.
The song of a lark interrupted her thoughts. 8:00m said the bird clock.
She headed upstairs to collect Thomas and the ticket.
“Achoooo!” Damn – too late! Michele was rifling through Al’s clothes and drawers. Ann adjusted her bathrobe, and said, “Hi Michele, its me, from 1B. I’m here . . to get . . . Thomas.”
Ann secretly hoped Michele would find the lottery ticket and move to the moon.
In the bathroom she found what Al was talking about. 1 new bag and 1 dirty.
Underneath the bathroom sink in 1B, cats watching, she found the rubber gloves and put them on. The dirty litter bag was loosely knotted. She opened the bag and dumped the poop on to a piece of red and white paper covered in chalky dust. Whoa!
“Hellooooooo”. Ann closed the bag “I’ll be right there!” She turned and bumped into Michele, who rubbed her red raw nose and winced, “By any chance did my Al give you something for safe keeping? Anything he might have said? ”
With rubber gloved fingers pointed up in the air, Ann said. “Sorry, cleaning the cat box, say again?” Michele grimaced. ” Oh never mind.” She glanced at the piles of fabric and dresses and said “oh and good luck with your collection my dear.” she sneezed her way out the door and was gone.
Ann shouted back “Thank you!” And then she sat down to think about fashion week . . . in Paris. ###
“I mustn’t miss my opportunity,” I think, as I inhale last night’s left over stir fry. There is no time for a proper breakfast; I have to get cooking the new recipe I concocted – Sweet Bacon Explosion – to serve tonight as the special at Aunt Cleo’s Tasty Truck, named after my late aunt, Cleo. The food truck is both my business and my home; I sunk all my money into it and can’t afford rent. But all that will change tonight, if things go as planned; tonight the world renowned food critic for the CBC, Jackie Noodle, is doing his final judging of food trucks, and the truck which wins the coveted Noodle Prize will be featured both on CBC radio and television in the Foodie series, as well as receive a fifty thousand dollar prize. I made it past the first rounds, and tonight I will crush my prime competition, Pizza, Paul, and Mary, with their folksy musical dragon food truck and oh-so-clever Puff the Magic Mushroom Pizza.
Despite myself, I hum “Puff the Magic Dragon” as I hop around in my bunny rabbit onesie, thankful for the attached feet because mornings are crisp here in the truck. A lock of hair springs over my face, reminding me to don a hat before Jackie Noodle arrives. Due to my aforementioned lack of funds, I recently coloured my own hair. I had the brilliant idea that using the tie-dye method would create a cool highlight affect, but in actuality it just turned my hair the shade of sand with pale brown swirls. If I could spin my head fast enough, I’m sure it would look psychedelic, but in the position I normally hold my head, facing forward and solidly attached to my neck, it just looks sad.
“All the more reason to win,” I think, as I open the food truck’s serving window and hang my good luck red rubber gloves on the awning. They were left to me as part of my meagre inheritance from my beloved Aunt Cleo.
Just as I am about to begin grilling the bacon, I hear a throat being cleared outside the truck. I look over to see none other than Jackie Noodle! He’s six hours early!
“Mr. Noodle! Welcome!” I studder, painfully aware of my appearance.
He is the picture of cool. He holds a Starbucks in his left hand and a cell phone in his right. He’s even neatly folded napkins into a fan shape and placed them in his breast pocket. “I see I’ve taken you by surprise,” he says, with a smirk. “For the final round, I like to take things up a notch. You have ten minutes to create a CBC Foodie worthy dish. Go!”
I enthusiastically thrust my right hand at him to shake his hand, but instead I hit his coffee cup. It spills all over his cell phone and the front of his shirt and pants. In a panic, I lean out the window, snatch the napkins from his breast pocket, and begin madly dabbing at his chest.
“That is quite enough!” he snarls, jumping out of my reach, almost causing me to fall face-first out of my truck.
“I’m so sorry! Please don’t leave! I will make you the best food truck meal you’ve ever had!”
“We’ll see. You now have nine minutes.”
I don’t know how, but I manage to whip up a delicious breakfast for him. I even find an unsoiled napkin and place an I Vote CBC sticker over the Starbucks logo. For extra luck, I don my red rubber gloves, take a deep breath, and give the tray to Jackie Noodle.
Mr. Noodle’s face is stoic as he takes his first bite, but as he chews, he begins to nod his head. Then, he smiles! Finally, he picks up the napkin to dab his face, and breaks into laughter.
“I like your style. You might be a bit quirky and awkward, but I think that might be just what the CBC is looking for. Congratulations! The Noodle Prize is yours!”