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[spikeydinosaur]

Writing Prompt Wednesday, Week 27

Today’s prompt is taken from the Writers Write prompt posted today, July 5, 2023: “Write the middle of a short story, using these words: 1. On Cotton Street, 2. Old-fashioned, 3. ‘Who asked you?’ 4. Priscilla, 5. Bangers and mash.”

Cliff sipped his beer as he watched his date retreat through the bar towards the restroom in the back. He held the effervescent liquid in his mouth as he pondered if she’d be back or make a break for it through the back door. After listening to her jabber on for the past hour, he debated bolting out the front himself. Swallowing, glared at the soccer match on the flat screen above the bar and waited.

            “Psssst! Detective! Over here!” Cliff looked over his shoulder to see his new partner, Officer Glenn, sitting alone at a table behind him. An untouched beer sat atop a coaster next to an order of still steaming fried pickles, and Glenn himself hid his face behind an open menu, only peeking around long enough to look wide eyed at Cliff and issue another “Pssst!”

            Cliff groaned and took a long gulp before slowly pushing himself away from his barstool and lowering himself into the empty chair at Glenn’s table.

            “It’s Saturday, Glenn,” Cliff said, his eyes drifting towards the rear hallway where his date might emerge any minute. “Go home.”

            “I have a lead!” Glenn whispered excitedly, his eyes wide.

            Cliff scratched his face to hide his grimace. “Ok, I’ll bite. Go on.”

            “I want to the house–”

            “What house?”

            “The house on Cotton Street,” Glenn tapped in the table with his finger as he spoke. “And I talked to the lady who was there on the night of the murder–”

            “Priscilla?”

            “Yes, Priscilla Bradshaw, and she said that her neighbor was ‘old fashioned,’ whatever that means,” Glenn shrugged, “but she didn’t think that he deserved to get shot because women belonged in the kitch–”

            A huge man two tables down stood up and bellowed down to another man nearby, “You want some of this!” The second man jumped to his feet and flipped the table onto its side, sending glasses and beer flying.

            “Who asked you?” Glenn took a fried pickle from the top of the pile and popped it in his mouth.

            “Pardon?”

            The two men continued yelling at each other, neither making a move, each being held back by several scantily clad women. The first aggressor was thickly muscled and covered in tattoos including pirates and dragons, while the second was leaner and had only a few tattoos of words like “Clementine,” “Respect,” and “Bangers and Mash.”

            “Who asked you to go to the house?”

            “Oh, uh, well, no one.”

            Cliff nodded. “Thought so.”

[spikeydinosaur]

Writing Prompt Wednesday, Week 26

Today’s prompt is taken from the Writers Write writing prompt posted today, June 28, 2023: “Write five rules for beginner writers to follow.”

1). Can’t be said enough: if you want to write, you have to actually write. Just do it. Thinking about writing doesn’t make you a writer.

2). Take care of yourself and plan/write/live at a reasonable pace. This isn’t advice, this is a rule. Take those mental days. I took one last week and skipped a weekly writing prompt. I needed it. Your writing will suffer if you don’t take care of yourself.

3). Learn how to take criticism. Not everyone is out to get you. (Some people might be coming for you, but in those cases, the problem is rarely you...) Consider everything. Sometimes another viewpoint can really shine a light on something. But you have to be open to it.

4). Vampires aren’t sparkly. Just kidding! You do you. Somewhere out there, someone said ‘no’ to worlds and characters that we all now know and love and can’t imagine our lives without. So, never write for someone else. Write for you. But seriously, vampires aren’t sparkly...

5). Don’t look for random writing advice from fellow beginners on Tumblr. But then again, I guess we’re all beginners, until we’re just... not...? Eh, yeah. Go forth and conquer, my friends!

I need some cake.

[spikeydinosaur]

Week 24, Writing Prompt Wednesdays

I’ve been wanting to do a list entry for a while now. Yay. Today’s prompt is taken from the Writers Write prompt posted today, June 14, 2023: “20 things to be happy about.”

1). The smell of honeysuckle wafting from who knows where. One day it will be mine, but for now, it smells divine anyway.

2). Steaming tea waiting patiently to be sipped, to pass on its gentle pick me up, to tickle my nose with its faint essence of bergamot.

3). Y’all, the Knights won the Stanley Cup. Yay!

4). My World of Warcraft is currently working. I have an old computer, so anytime they push a new update, it usually breaks my WoW for a few days. But, for now, s’good.

5). No headache today! A day without a migraine is a day to celebrate indeed! I am freking tired, though. Ugh.

6). Cheese. Cheese always makes people happy. Unless you’re lactose intolerant. Or vegan. More for me, I guess?

7). No shortage of books. I try not to buy more, because I can’t read them fast enough, but oh look, another one.

8). No smoke for us yet. It would be a great summer if the smoke stayed away. We’ve had enough these past five years. But it’s only a matter of time.

9). Shows. Thank you Netflix. Nuff said.

10). Long days, short nights. Not too cold. Not too hot.

11). Leaves on the trees, Flowers haven’t completely gone away (but they’re trying)

12). Period dramas. Yup, I’m one of those. Come at me.

13). Open windows and a nice breeze. Even better when it’s not crazy loud outside.

14). Actually making process on a writing project. Seems so rare.

15). Hanging out with the kids. Freaking teenagers, man, always wanting to do their own thing it seems.

16). I enjoy watching justice being served to those who once believed themselves untouchable.

17). Cookie dough. The husband hates it. He’s wrong.

18). Ketchup! OMG, esp out of a glass bottle, totally tastes better. Fresh, crispy fries, and ketchup.. that’s heaven.

19). Music. Always playing in my head, but sometimes you just need some music therapy.

20. Conies from Skyline, in Cincinnati, OH. Chili, onions, cheese, cheese, cheese. This is just a happy food for me.

[spikeydinosaur]

Writing Prompt Wednesday, Week 23

Today’s prompt is taken from the Writers Write writing prompt posted today, June 7, 2023: “My last birthday.”

The kitchen was decorated with streamers and balloons. Green and pink. Such a weird combination, they must have been then only colors available at the store. The balloons bumped against each other gently in the slight breeze generated by the heating vent just below the window. A vase of yellow tulips drooped slightly in the center of the table. Around the edge, five paper plates and plastic forks sat atop blue place mats.

            I opened the fridge, hoping to sneak a peek at the cake. It was a large German chocolate, perfectly iced, and ready to eat. I could already taste the coconutty icing already and I licked my lips in anticipation. Did I really have to wait until after dinner, or could I sneak a taste before dinner?

            As I closed the refrigerator door, a large bottle shifted in the door, and I spied a bottle of champagne. I smiled and closed the door all the way. Beside the fridge sat a small stack of awkwardly wrapped gifts. One had slid off the pile and onto the floor, so I picked it up and returned it to the pile.

            Turning around, I leaned against the counter and took in the whole decorated scene. Today was my birthday, and I couldn’t wait to celebrate with the family. I smiled again.

            And then I woke up. It was my birthday. But it was just another day.

[spikeydinosaur]

Writing Prompt Wednesday, Week 22

I totally spaced and almost forgot today was Wednesday. Oops.

Today’s writing prompt is taken from the Writers Write prompt posted today, May 31, 2023: “End the story with two kettles of soup on the stove.”

Turnips. Potatoes. Carrots. Onions. The critters that were munching on them, yes, they went into the pot, too.

            Why not? Poppy thought to herself. Their sacrifice is good for our well-being, or so goes the saying.

            Poppy spat to the side and sat back on her heels, momentarily wondering who came up with that stupid saying in the first place. Whoever they were, they probably never went a day without a meal.

            Or a week for that matter.

            She’d take the bugs over starvation any day. But she still wanted to punch those gluttonous know-it-alls in the face for good measure.

            Standing, she moved to the small shelf housing her mother’s supply of dried herbs.

            This, and this, oh, and this, she said softly to herself in the small hut, but this is bad. She  stuffed a bundled of leaves back into a clay jar. Her mother had told Poppy which ones to put into the stew, and which herb was toxic. Tossing the good herbs into the barely bubbling water, Poppy rubbed her hands on her rough leather pants and shivered.

            Just then, her mother burst into the hut. She had been running and was unable to speak for a few minutes while she caught her breath and pointed wildly at the stewpot over the fire. Poppy handed her mother a cupful of water and waited, confused.

            “The stew!” her mother finally asked, “is it ready? Lord Hiram is coming! He’ll expect to be fed! They always do!”

            “Lord Hiram?” Poppy asked slowly, not quite sure how to respond. “But does he not have his own food?”

            Her mother’s huge eyes stared at Poppy and the older woman was too stunned to speak for a moment.

            “Don’t worry, Mother. I know what to do.” Poppy smiled and gently pushed her mother back through the door. Once she was alone again, Poppy put a second soup pot over the fire and spooned half the bubbling soup into it. She quickly glanced at the door to make sure she was still alone before returning to the herb shelf and retrieving the clay jar containing the poisonous herb. Taking out three sprigs, Poppy threw them into the second stew pot and stirred them. She had the jar back in place on the shelf seconds before her mother returned with an enormous Lord Hiram on her heels.

            Poppy smiled.

[spikeydinosaur]

Writing Prompt Wednesday, Week 21

Today’s writing prompt is taken from the Writers Write writing prompt posted today, May 24, 2023: “They called her .... and I’ll never forget her.”

They called her Minnie, and I’ll never forget her. Her mama said it was because she was so itty bitty, like Minnie Mouse.

Her mama liked Minnie Mouse. Minnie didn’t, said her voice was aggravating. I always liked Donald Duck, but Minnie said he was just as bad.

Minnie didn’t like much, but besides too many brothers and sisters, Minnie didn’t have much of anything. Not much clothes, not much food, not much money, not much privacy, not much freedom to be a kid. I went over to her house after school once and her mama plopped one of the babies down in my lap and that baby became my responsibility until I could sneak away. Minnie was grateful that I was there to help out. I never visited her house again.

When she came to school, which was only half the time, she often had bruises on her arms and legs. Once she had a shiner so big the teacher had her display it to the class like a beacon. But I knew it wasn’t a badge earned from a glorious battlefield.

Her mother’s tattered clothing slid off her small body as we made our way through crowded school hallways, her giant flip-flops clip-clipping softly against the hard floors, even in the dead of winter.

But her siblings were cared for.

And she was so tired.

Until she just wasn’t.

The police questioned her parents, even arrested her dad. But the charges didn’t stick.

Her name was Minnie, and at least I’ll never forget her.

[spikeydinosaur]

Writing Prompt Wednesdays, Week 20

Today’s Writing Prompt is taken from the Writers Write prompt posted on May 18, 2023: “The contents of the suitcase revealed three secrets.”

Penny waited until her mother was out of the room, then hoisted herself onto the giant four-poster bed. Before her, a large suitcase lay open, its contents filling the hard-case’s depths in neat piles and stacks of carefully thought-out clothing choices for the coming festivities. The trip was supposed to be a surprise, her mother had said, but Penny figured that if anything was going to tell her where they were going, it was the suitcase.

            Immediately, Penny spied flip-flops and bathing suits. She also saw that all of the outfits were short sleeves and shorts. So, they were going someplace warm! Penny smiled as she glanced outside at the continuing snowfall. A bit of warm sunshine would be a nice change from the weeks of snow they’ve had to deal with. Even six-year-olds got tired of snow eventually. Tightening her lopsided ponytail, Penny turned back to the suitcase and began digging.

            At first, she found clothes beneath the clothes, and underneath those clothes, even more clothes! I don’t even like these shorts, she thought as she tossed them onto the floor. These were quickly followed by a tank top that her grandmother had gifted her for her birthday a few months before. It was brown. Only weirdos liked brown. Finally, beneath the clothing, Penny found a package of red licorice. Penny gasped and squealed with excitement before clasping a hand over her mouth. Red licorice was her favorite aunt’s most favorite food in the whole wide world, and if her mother was bringing an entire package with them on their trip, that could only mean one thing: Auntie Wendy was coming on the trip too! Penny hugged the candy and did a little happy dance that shook the whole bed.

            Penny dropped the candy back into the suitcase with a crinkly plop before reaching for the zippered pockets in the top. Unzipping the larger pocket on the bottom, she stuck her whole arm inside and pulled out the first thing she touched, which happened to be a pair of her mother’s underwear. “Yuk!” she said, throwing the offensive object away, where it hooked onto an arm of her father’s desk chair. Unzipping the smaller top pocket, she reached in a pulled out a small packet of papers. “Disneyland!” she whispered to herself in disbelief right as her mother appeared in the doorway and gasped.

[spikeydinosaur]

Week 19 Writing Prompt Wednesday

Today’s prompt comes from the Writers Write writing prompt posted today, May 10, 2023: “Write the beginning of a short story, using these words: 1. They came from the south, 2. Edgar and Seamus, 3. Mojitos, 4. ‘Guess!’, and 5. The mound in the garden.”

It was the first sunny day in two weeks. Edgar and Seamus had both taken the day off in order to catch up on the laundry, air out the house, and, most importantly, spend some much-needed time together. After several hours of tiding up, wiping up, putting away, and sweeping away, the pair made themselves some fancy grilled cheese sandwiches and mixed up a couple of mojitos and brought them outside to the table and chairs sitting idly beneath an umbrella on the back patio.

            Taking a bite of his sandwich, Edgar chewed a few times before shoving the mass of half-masticated bread and cheese into his cheek and reached for his mojito. “Have you made any progress with your family tree?” he asked before sticking the pink straw between his lips and taking a sip.

            Still chewing his own sandwich, Seamus shook his head. “All I know about my great grandparents,” he said, swallowing, “is that they came from the south.”

            “The south?” Edgar’s face twisted in confusion. “Like Alabama?”

            Seamus stared at Edgar over the rim of his cup as he took a sip. “Yes,” he said a second later, “because Seamus Fitzgerald, my name, also the name of my great grandfather you may remember, definitely came from Alabama.” He rolled his eyes. “No, you dummy. Ireland. The south of Ireland.” He took a deep breath and released it slowly before taking another bite.

            “Well, I made progress on mine!” Edger had taken another bite and hadn’t bothered to shove this one to the side before speaking. Seamus grimaced and looked away from the sight of sandwich paste being thrust around. “And you’ll never guess what I found!” Edgar continued! “Guess!

            Seamus was still looking to the side, gently swirling his mojito. He shook his head. “No idea, but I bet you’re fixing to tell me.”

            “My ancestors came from England in the early 1700’s and they fought in the Revolution!” Edgar’s voice had risen an octave and his sandwich sat half eaten and ignored while the mojito was thrust around excitedly. But Seamus was still staring off to the side. “What are you looking at?” Edgar asked loudly.

            “That,” Seamus pointed with the hand still holding his drink.

            Edgar looked to the side but shrugged. “I don’t see anything,” he groaned.

            “The mound in the garden.” Seamus took a big gulp of mojito. “Are you prepared to battle the gophers again, Edgar?”

            Edgar downed the rest of his drink in two gulps and took a huge bite out of his sandwich before throwing the rest towards the gopher mound and stomping back inside the house.

[spikeydinosaur]

Writing Prompt Wednesdays, Week 18

Today’s writing prompt is taken from the Writers Write writing prompt posted today, 5/3/2023: “Dracula was having a bad day.”

Dracula tapped his foot, impatient to be in his way, yet still deep in thought.

            “Hmph!” he snorted suddenly, the air from his nostrils easily reaching Renfield who was hard at work tying his employer’s best bow tie. “I’ve settled on a plan, and I will not require your assistance, Renfield, as you will not have arrived by the time the deed will be complete!” Dracula chuckled to himself, missing the slight eye roll Renfield performed just under his nose.

            “What is it to be this time, Master?” Renfield asked, stepping back and suppressing a groan through a tight smile. “Sacking a castle tonight, or perhaps the entire city this time? I’m not sure that would go over well as a wedding gift.”

            Dracula’s smirk slid off his face as he growled at his underling. “No,” he said, straightening his shoulders. “Tonight I shall take Mina for my own. I’ve waited long enough.”

            Renfield’s eyes bulged. “You’re going to abduct the bride? At her own wedding?”

            Dracula shrugged and took his cloak from Renfield’s frozen hands. “There will be no vows spoken without a bride to speak them.” Dracula spun the cloak around with a flourish and fastened it before grabbing his top hat from a nearby table. “Don’t bother coming to join me,” he said as he made his way towards the nearest window. “In only a few moments the deed will be done!”

            Dracula threw back the heavy curtains just as a bolt on lightening lit up the room. He paused and examined the streamed of water running down the window pane before steeling himself against the elements. Throwing open the sash, he placed one foot upon the sill before turning back to Renfield, who had followed him to the window, and proclaimed, “Water has never been my enemy! I shall return triumphant and with my true love or I will not return at all!”

            With a victorious laugh, Dracula pushed off from the sill and instantly transformed with a pop! into a large bat. From the open window, Renfield watched with hesitation as the bat fluttered to and fro in the rain until there was a zap! and an even louder BOOM! accompanied by a blinding light. After a few moments, and a lot of blinking, Renfield’s vision recovered enough that he could no longer see the bat fluttering in the sky. Panicking, he leaned out through the window where he found Dracula, once again in his human form, laying partly in a bush, and thoroughly steaming.

            Slowly backing into the room, Renfield closed the window and pulled the curtains shut, thankful that his master was thwarted once again.

[spikeydinosaur]

Writing Prompt Wednesdays, Week 17

This one wasn't too bad, also got it knocked out early! Woo!

Today’s writing prompt is taken from the Writers Write prompt posted yesterday, 4/25/2023: “The clinic was full on Monday morning.”

The clinic was full on Monday morning when Mariana trudged through the sliding glass doors, her two-month-old son bundled tightly against her chest and away from the chilly February air. She knew it would be busy, it always was first thing Monday morning. She herself had spent many Monday mornings in this very clinic, attached to her own mother, gasping for breath using lungs that didn’t want to work quite right. The surroundings felt familiar yet oppressive as she made her way through the throng of hopeful patients, both young and old, both visibly ill and not, to the counter and gave her information to a young, very bored looking attendant. Finishing this step, she turned and made her way to a far corner where a single worn, torn, and unwelcoming chair remained free. She sat down, and gently patted the sleeping lump softly wheezing against her chest.

            As she waited, she remembered the times she came here as a child, always scared, always gasping, always having to wait while everyone else disappeared into some secret corridor. The sounds were always the same: crying, sometimes children, sometimes adults; keys tapping as the attendants entered patient information into the computers; the clinking of clip boards and pens by those filling out additional information; muted whispers; sighs.

            The smells were the same as well. It smelled of people, of bodies, of sweat and soap, of dirty diapers and soiled clothing, of moldy carpet and pine sol. And fear. Places of sickness were places of deep-seated fear. It was so thick to be almost tangible. She knew that she was a contributor as she patted Tomas, her feet tapping the floor nervously as the minutes passed.

[spikeydinosaur]

Writing Prompt Wednesday, Week 16

If there was a week when I really didn't want to do a writing prompt, this would be it. But I made myself. Yay. Until next week.

Today’s Writing Prompt Wednesday prompt as taken from the Writers Write prompt posted on April 20, 2023: “Write the beginning of a short story, using these words: 1). Super, 2). Mary and Jim, 3). Diet Coke 4). Sewing kit, and 5). What were they doing?”

“Pull over, pull over!” Jordy hissed through his teeth, his right arm tightly pressed against his chest and his knuckles white against the blood that oozed out between his fingers and onto the seat. Jen yanked the car onto the bumper shoulder and hit the breaks with a heavy foot, sending both unrestrained bodies lurching forward awkwardly. Jordy groaned.

            “You gotta help me,” he said, lifting his chin slightly to glance at his wounded arm. He looked away quickly to fight the nausea.  

            “I’m not a doctor, I-”

            “I think there’s a sewing kit in the glove box,” he gestured with his head, “was my mom’s. Just sew it up real quick. How hard can it be?”

            “We don’t have time for that! They’re comin!” Jen frantically looked through the back window, but there was no one behind them.

            “If you don’t help me right now, you won’t have a pen pal to write to when you’re in the Super Max. If you go really fast, you won’t even need a pen pal!” Jordy managed a small smile.

            Jen shoved her door open with a huff and ran around to the passenger side. Jordy’s door opened noisily due to a large dent, but she found the sewing kit easily and had it open quickly and was selecting a needle and thread while Jordy pushed himself up in his chair. His feet slipped on a half empty bottle of diet coke on the floor, launching it against the bottom of the dash board and back, where it came to a rest fizzing dangerously.

            “What were they doing, anyway?” Jordy asked, shaking his head.

            “Who?” Jen’s tongue stuck out through her teeth as she struggled to thread a needle.

            “Mary and Jim, that’s who,” he said, “my neighbors. If they wouldn’t have been there, I wouldn’t have froze, and we would have gotten away.”

            “Without getting shot by the guard?”

            “Yeah,” he said, “that would have been nice.”

            “Well, maybe Mary and Jim will come visit you in prison, and you can ask them yourself,” she said, pulling the thread through, “now give me that arm and sit still.”

[spikeydinosaur]

Writing Prompt Wednesdays, Week 15

Today’s writing prompt was taken from the Writers Write prompt posted on April 12, 2023: “It was 100% fragrance free.”

It was 100% fragrance free. I pressed an unused diaper against my nose for what had to be the fifth time and inhaled deeply. I couldn’t believe it. Even though the box definitely claimed these were “unscented” diapers always had a small to them. Always. I tossed the diaper box onto the stack and nodded to myself, impressed.

            The baby didn’t care, of course, he was going to fill these diapers just the same as he filled all the others. The next test, though, was if these held up against the intense squeezing and snuggling soon to be administered by the grandparents.

            The doorbell rang just as I picked up the baby.

            “It’s go time, little buddy,” I said, grabbing a blanket from the glider before making our way downstairs.

            The in-laws had already been ushered into the living room by my husband and were dancing with excitement when we entered.

            Ana-Marie, my mother-in-law, reached for the baby, the smile on her face so wide that I worried her dentures might escape at any second. There were no greetings for me, or hugs even, those would come later, wouldn’t they? I gently transferred the baby into her arms and stepped back to take a seat on the couch where my husband had already stashed himself.

            We watched the elderly couple fawn over the tiny, chubby-cheeked baby for what felt like hours, but was really only a few minutes.

My sleep deprived state was winning out and I was beginning to nod off when Ana-Marie nudged my calve with her loafers and said, “He’s a’smelly, aye?”

I blinked at her, half asleep and completely not comprehending the moment.

“He stinky!” she leaned closer and half yelled in my face.

I nudged my husband, but he snored in response.

“I just changed him,” I sputtered sleepily, “it’s a brand new diaper. Unscented too.”

“Well I wish my grandson smell like fake flower than like poo-poo,” she rolled her eyes at me before turning and making her way upstairs to the nursery.

My father-in-law shrugged in apology, and I yawned in reply. I don’t think I’ll be getting any hugs today.

[spikeydinosaur]

Writing Prompt Wednesday, Week 14

I... don't even know about this one... it was fun though...

Today’s writing prompt was posted today, 4/5/2023, on Writers Write: “Why did you steal my idea?”

Why did you steal my idea?

It was mine, I definitely had it first. No, I don’t have proof, don’t you trust me? Aren’t we friends? Obviously not.

I just can’t believe you would do that!

The very thoughts that course through my head were taken by someone who should know better!

Yes, we met three Novembers ago, don’t you remember? You signed my copy of your book of poems for me at your book signing here in town. Why don’t you remember me? You’re lying because you know you stole my idea!

The story was great, the characters were perfect, the plot was complete, and the arc was as smooth as a baby’s bottom, and I just know I told you all about it. And now your latest short story is practically my story!

Coincidence?

I think not!

Wait! Where are you going! Come back! We’re still discussing your thievery! That’s right, you heard me, you conniving–oh, mad, are you? Well!

Ah, no, my story didn’t have gnomes in it like yours does, no dis it have a rabid cave troll high on fermented seaweed, which, by the way, was a nice touch!

BUT! You just changed a few things around, like the characters and the setting and the time period and–yes, yes, you have the romance aspect as well. Blech.

Still! Can you at least say that my story idea, which I regaled you with several years ago definitely inspired this latest adventure of yours? You can add it to the next editions, add my name right there in the front in the Acknowledgements, because without me and my help, you wouldn’t have managed this latest project!

Tsk! Rude! Well, I think gnomes are absurd, and you should have stuck to my original plan of elf/halfling zombies who attempt to eat a cave troll’s brain but instead he uses them as a Q-tip!

The really should create a system for protecting story ideas. This would have saved me so much time and my poor mythical mutts would still be mine to give to the cave troll. I always have the best ideas, and only I can bring them to life without letting silly romance storylines get in the way. Unlike... others...

[spikeydinosaur]

Writing Prompt Wednesdays, Week 13

Fun prompt this week, still kind of slow going. Have I mentioned that I actually hate writing prompts?! Practice makes perfect, they say... sigh.

This week’s writing prompt is taken from the Writers Write writing prompt posted on March 29, 2023: “It was a bad hair day.”

Jenna groaned. There was just no taming her unruly mess of hair in time for work. She knew staying late after school to help Taylor with his project was the kind thing to do, but now she was faced with four hours of incessant questions regarding which balloon she borrowed from Ronald to brush her hair with. For the fifth time in almost as many minutes, she cursed her frizzy haired gene pool before stuffing her work shirt into her pants as she rushed through the doors of the restaurant.

“Just in time,” the boss grumbled without even looking up from his phone. Jenna hurried past him behind the registers. “What is that on your head?” he asked when he finally managed to peel his eyes away from whatever mindless TikTok video he was watching.

“This, Kevin,” Jenna said, pointing matter-of-factly towards her head, “is what happens when you breed two people together who are both cursed with unfortunate hair disorder.”

            Kevin looked around, catching the eye of the other lone employee, Ross, but Ross only shrugged and dropped a basketful of fries into the fryer.

            “I’ve never heard of such a dis–” Kevin began, but Jenna cut him off.

            “Of course you haven’t,” she said, “you’ve only heard of the disorder of which you suffer from. You know, the follicley challenged disorder?”

            Ross snorted into his hand as Kevin rubbed his bald head slowly.

            “I, er, don’t think I’ve heard of that one either,” Kevin said slowly.

            Both Jenna and Ross turned to look at him sideways before rolling their eyes.

[spikeydinosaur]

Writing Prompt Wednesday, Week 12

Fun prompt, and yet...

This prompt was taken from the Writers Write prompt posted on March 21, 2023: “She had never seen the shoes under their bed.”

She had never seen the shoes under the bed. They looked back at her now, a mass of worn metallic heels, new sneakers, Converse, clogs, even a lavender Croc. Each alone in a tangled mess beneath her grandmother’s antique four poster bed. Her job at the hospital meant that she was up before her husband most mornings. It also meant that he didn’t need to bring in as much money, and he often took a few months off between contract gigs. He took care of the housework.

But now he was out of town. And then her favorite charm broke away from her bracelet just as she was walking next to the bed, and it rolled right under the bed.

That’s when she found them.

At work a few months before, she overheard a coworker reading a news article out loud. It was about a local serial killer whose calling card was that he would place one of the victim’s shoes over their blanketed body. The second shoe was always missing.

She called the police.

And she waited.

Because he was due home any minute.

And she wasn’t wearing any shoes.   

[spikeydinosaur]

Writing Prompt Wednesday, Week 11

Today’s prompt was taken from the Writers Write writing prompt posted on March 14, 2023: “The food was so spicy that he couldn’t finish eating it.”

The food was so spicy that he couldn’t finish eating it. It wasn’t for a lack of trying, though. His stomach rumbled dangerously beneath the table, warning him not to take another bite, but the two remaining wings taunted him. Was he manly enough for the perfect feminine specimen across from him if he couldn’t even stomach a plate of wings?

He swallowed the lump in his throat before shoving another wing into his mouth. His date, who had been momentarily distracted by the hockey game playing on the restaurant’s many tv’s, turned her head just in time to see him alternating between eagerly chewing and gulping his Dr. Pepper. The wing was only half chewed when he managed to swallow it, and he leaned back against the cheap leather booth, feeling victorious.

He slurped the last of his Dr. Pepper right as his stomach declared open revolt. Bolting upright, he set the empty cup down on the table with a clatter of ice and wide frenzied eyes.

“Are you ok?” she asked, but he ignored her. She didn’t understand, couldn’t understand. This was a test. He was good enough.

He frantically looked around for the restroom and finally spied it clear across the long establishment. He just had to make it through a birthday party and what looked to be the beginnings of a bachelorette party. He had this.

He took a deep breath. “Be right back,” he said through a forced smile, “why don’t you order us some dessert?” He pushed himself out of the booth and made it a few steps away before he remembered the most important thing: the last wing. Turning back, he grabbed the wing from the plate and shoved it into his mouth. His stomach roiled angrily as he half ran to the bathroom, but he finished that basket of wings.

He now felt worthy.

[spikeydinosaur]

Writing Prompt Wednesday, Week 10

Today’s writing prompt is actually tomorrow’s because time zones! This one is taken from Writers Write, posted on 3/9/2023: “They argued about him buying a Tesla.”

They argued about him buying a Tesla, but he bought one anyway.

It’s what he always did–whatever the hell he wanted, sanity and finances be damned. The complex didn’t even have a charging station; he charged the stupid thing in the courthouse parking lot while he worked in the coffee shop next door.

It’s better for the environment, he claimed. His car was falling apart, he claimed. It was his turn for something new, he claimed.

What about that house we’d been saving up for, I asked?

He’s so dramatic, my husband. He must have spent hours practicing his eye roll because it was perfection. And the frustrated groan that accompanied it? The kid next door must have taught him that.

But he waaaaannnnttttssss iiiiitttttttt......

That’s what it sounded like as it rattled around in my brain, all guttural and Gollum-like.

My Precious. That what I’ve named it.

He got his wish. There really was no other living with him without that shiny hunk of metal depreciating below our balcony for the next few years. In a lot full of decades-old Toyotas and Oldsmobiles, My Precious sticks out like a curvy, sleek, sore thumb.

I see our neighbors staring at it, grimacing at its audacity. What the hell is it doing there? This isn’t a place for Teslas. Caring for the environment is expensive business, and who has the money for that when tending to family is a much better use of one’s limited funds?

I’m so tired of rice and canned food, of peanut butter and jelly, of butter on crackers. But we have a gaping wound on wheels just outside that should make me happy somehow?

I hear they burn for hours. Wouldn’t that be unfortunate? My precious, meet Mt. Doom.