Hey folks, did ya miss me? I'm sure you did. I've been gone for like three days, right?
Anyway, today's post is going to be a very special one! Special I say!
RANDOM DUDE: Oh brilliant..
Shut up, Random Dude.
Anyway, I was rather depressed the day before. I was all cooped up in my room and everything. To make myself feel better, I decided to write poetry. (To the emos: I understand you now!) But not just any poetry...I wrote haikus! About twenty of them, too.
You all know what a haiku is, but to refresh your memory, a haiku is a poem of Japanese origin that consists of seventeen syllables. Five syllables for the first line, seven for the second line, and five at the bottom line. Haikus are generally about nature and all the little aspects about it. It's a restricting yet refreshing form of poetry, and I enjoy it. The only issue is that I kind of stink at it.
Okay, "stink" is an understatement.
But I was trying REALLY hard to write some good haikus yesterday, so I would like to tell you about my Haiku Marathon. Here it is:
It started when I sat at my computer. I decided instead of writing something hard like a play, I would write a haiku. Inspired by a picture of a butterfly, I began with....
Butterfly
cocoon breaks open wide
innocent butterfly soars
into tangled webs
Of course, by now I realized how addicting writing haikus is, so I wrote another.
Rose
the perfect flower
shall bend its head in goodbye
pink petal falls
And another..
Born
child breathes in deep
it clings to its first moments
determined to live
I wrote some others, too, but these are the "best". Anyway, I was feeling pretty good about myself so I decided to read some of my haikus to my sister. So I trotted up to her, smiling and hoping she would like them. This is what happened:
ME: Hey, sis, want to hear a haiku I wrote?
SIS: Sure, whatever.
(I read the haiku)
SIS: Oh my gosh! These are terrible! I want to vomit!
ME: ... (stalks off)
Let's just say that my heart was broken. And after your heart breaks, your writing goes into all out angry mode. In an revengeful act against my sister's cruel words, I wrote the following haiku.
Vomit
it is a strange green
and it is carefully strewn
all over my haikus
I read it to her. She freaked out, but laughed a lot. It was then I realized how much fun it is to write goofy haikus! Please enjoy some of the goofy haikus I wrote below! Some even have notes attached to them. Read those too.
___
Esther's Haikus
merciful raccoons!
it is without a mere doubt.
my haikus stink
(Written because it is true. :)
___
Vomit
it is a strange green
and it is carefully strewn
over my haikus
(This one fidge be my favorite.)
___
Guinea Pigs
they are cute and moist
don't ask me where they got moist
you don't want to know
(You don't...)
___
My Cat Tifa
slowly turns her head
and regards you all wide eyed
she is such a freak
__
Oops
I did it again
I played with your little heart
I'm not innocent
__
Oh CRUD
A large car hits me
followed by a large moose
I dodge the large bear
(I was running low on haiku ideas by this point.)
__
Monty Python
It's just a flesh wound
ignore me and trot away
smacking coconuts
(:-D)
___
Halo
I grab my fancy gun
I destroy the covenant
I died sixty times
(More than that, actually.)
_
Final Fantasy
Final Fantasy
it's a game that never ends
despite the "final".
(Haven't you wondered this?)
__
(This one is a complicated reference to an anime but I'll but it here anyway)
Chimp
Chimp thinks he is Moses
and hovers around spectacularly
I want to slap him
(from the anime, My Bride is a Mermaid!)
__
Well, there you go! Did any of them make you laugh? Which one was your favorite? Tell me which one was your favorite in the comments and I will give you a hugggg... Double points to those who comment in haiku form.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Writing Prompt Week: Day Seven
Welcome all to the final hour of writing prompt week. It's been a good one, hasn't it? You may notice that I am writing this at 10:15 PM on a Saturday night. This is because I am lazy and therefor preoccupied myself with reading for the majority of the day. Now, let's activate the RANDOMIZER!
...77!
Let's see what the prompt says:
Think of a product that you wouldn't be caught dead using. The company who makes that product plans to stop its production. Write a strong letter to that company and convince them not to take that product off the market.
Hee hee! This could be fun. I think I'll do an imaginary "product" that I've tried to convince someone to buy with a friend of mine. Let's go!
____
To whom it may concern at Lazy Inc,
Hello, I am Esther P. It has come to my attention that you plan on ceasing the production of your number one selling product, the Lazy-lite. In my opinion, this is a poorly executed plan on your part. Not only does the Lazy-lite offer many marketing opportunities, its cheap and easy to manufacture. Getting rid of it would be suicide for your small company in this crumbling economy.
We all know what the lazy lite is: It is a candle that you can light with a press of a button. Not only does this appeals to the lazy, it appeals to the spirtophobiacs all over the world. To appeal to the phobics all over the world is necessary to survive in today's economy and prevent global warming.
For your benefit, I have carefully listed the good qualities of the lazy-lite in hope that you will notice them. I assure you, the good qualities quite over weigh the potentially life threatening ones by one fourth times. In today's economy, that's a good thing.
Firstly, it is a product rich in history. Invented by Walt Lighterson in 1999, this little gadget has been around forever. If we let the world know that the lazy lite is tried and true, they will flock to buy it. It will sell even more if we leave out the part where Walt L. died horribly in a fire. After all, tragic stories are bad for the environment, the children in Africa, and the economy.
Secondly, it can be used for many different things. The intensity of the flame lazy lite creates can be adjusted, making it valuable for many different excursions. Here's an example. You and a rival neighbor are trying to build a fire in the woods. While he tries to use flint, you can just pull out your lazy lite, set it to "inferno" and light a whole tree! Its fire power is fantastic.
You will, of course, have some legal papers drawn that say you are not responsible for any deaths that the lazy lite will cause. Obviously, it is not the gun but the man that wields it that doth do destruction, correct? Legal papers should be made immediately. Your company gets sued a lot, which doesn't make much sense to me. Deal with it though. Suing is bad for the economy. It's also bad for the environment because it wastes paper.
You now see that the lazy lite has its benefits. You must also see that it has its downsides, but with correct marketing these can be resolved. I'm not talking about revamping your product. That would cost money, mister. Just show all the things lazy lite can do and you'll be dandy. After all, the starving children in Africa won't buy it if they think it is a lousy product.
Of course how can you sell a product that has had a bad "past", so to speak? Sure, because of it you have been sued, sentenced for manslaughter, forced to stop global warming and all that junk, but trust me, who would remember stuff like that? People will forget that the lazy lite has had some "issues". It's what they do. The people who do remember will buy it anyway because they'll like to say they had an "experience" with the lazy lite.
So, long story short:
Lazy lite is good for the economy.
It will feed the starving children in Africa.
It will help people that buy it.
And possibly kill people that won't.
One word: Keep making this.
Sincerely,
Esther P.
____
There you go! The final entry of the week. I hope you enjoyed not only this piece but all of the things I wrote in general. It's helped me disipline myself, and even increase my monthly word count. (Yes, I do have one of those) This week , on my blog alone, I've written over 6,000 words. That's a lot, and hopefully you read them all! So, I'm closing this week with a tearful goodbye. Thanks for readin'.
...77!
Let's see what the prompt says:
Think of a product that you wouldn't be caught dead using. The company who makes that product plans to stop its production. Write a strong letter to that company and convince them not to take that product off the market.
Hee hee! This could be fun. I think I'll do an imaginary "product" that I've tried to convince someone to buy with a friend of mine. Let's go!
____
To whom it may concern at Lazy Inc,
Hello, I am Esther P. It has come to my attention that you plan on ceasing the production of your number one selling product, the Lazy-lite. In my opinion, this is a poorly executed plan on your part. Not only does the Lazy-lite offer many marketing opportunities, its cheap and easy to manufacture. Getting rid of it would be suicide for your small company in this crumbling economy.
We all know what the lazy lite is: It is a candle that you can light with a press of a button. Not only does this appeals to the lazy, it appeals to the spirtophobiacs all over the world. To appeal to the phobics all over the world is necessary to survive in today's economy and prevent global warming.
For your benefit, I have carefully listed the good qualities of the lazy-lite in hope that you will notice them. I assure you, the good qualities quite over weigh the potentially life threatening ones by one fourth times. In today's economy, that's a good thing.
Firstly, it is a product rich in history. Invented by Walt Lighterson in 1999, this little gadget has been around forever. If we let the world know that the lazy lite is tried and true, they will flock to buy it. It will sell even more if we leave out the part where Walt L. died horribly in a fire. After all, tragic stories are bad for the environment, the children in Africa, and the economy.
Secondly, it can be used for many different things. The intensity of the flame lazy lite creates can be adjusted, making it valuable for many different excursions. Here's an example. You and a rival neighbor are trying to build a fire in the woods. While he tries to use flint, you can just pull out your lazy lite, set it to "inferno" and light a whole tree! Its fire power is fantastic.
You will, of course, have some legal papers drawn that say you are not responsible for any deaths that the lazy lite will cause. Obviously, it is not the gun but the man that wields it that doth do destruction, correct? Legal papers should be made immediately. Your company gets sued a lot, which doesn't make much sense to me. Deal with it though. Suing is bad for the economy. It's also bad for the environment because it wastes paper.
You now see that the lazy lite has its benefits. You must also see that it has its downsides, but with correct marketing these can be resolved. I'm not talking about revamping your product. That would cost money, mister. Just show all the things lazy lite can do and you'll be dandy. After all, the starving children in Africa won't buy it if they think it is a lousy product.
Of course how can you sell a product that has had a bad "past", so to speak? Sure, because of it you have been sued, sentenced for manslaughter, forced to stop global warming and all that junk, but trust me, who would remember stuff like that? People will forget that the lazy lite has had some "issues". It's what they do. The people who do remember will buy it anyway because they'll like to say they had an "experience" with the lazy lite.
So, long story short:
Lazy lite is good for the economy.
It will feed the starving children in Africa.
It will help people that buy it.
And possibly kill people that won't.
One word: Keep making this.
Sincerely,
Esther P.
____
There you go! The final entry of the week. I hope you enjoyed not only this piece but all of the things I wrote in general. It's helped me disipline myself, and even increase my monthly word count. (Yes, I do have one of those) This week , on my blog alone, I've written over 6,000 words. That's a lot, and hopefully you read them all! So, I'm closing this week with a tearful goodbye. Thanks for readin'.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Writing Prompt Week: Day Six.
It's writing prompt week, day six. Everyone, pick up sticks!
This week is almost over now. It went pretty fast, didn't it? Last night's story was a long one. 2,000 words! Let's see if today's prompt requires me to be shorter.
Activating the RANDOMIZER!
...221! (I had to skip the first number I got because it required me to write over a week's time.)
Let's see what my prompt is.
Put a used car salesman, a banker, and a movie addict in a bus. Add a flat tire and an empty window seat. One of them starts laughing hysterically. Write out the scene.
Hmm..mmkay. Not shorter. I'm feeling kind of scripty today so I am going to make this a script! You mind? Of course you don't. Here. We. Goooooo....
(A greyhound bus is shown traveling down a busy street. The song "Slow Ride" can be heard playing. The camera pans to a sharp object on the street. The bus drives over it, popping its tire. The bus pulls into a nearby gas station.)
DRIVER: (Gets out of bus) Woooheee! (Looks at flat tire) that's the flattest tire I've ever seen.
GAS STATION GUY: Is there a problem, mister?
DRIVER: Sure is. Do you think you have a big tire lyin' about? This here one's dead.
GSG: We'll see. Let's take a look...
(Scene cuts inside of the bus. MOVIE ADDICT and BANKER are sharing the same seat.)
MOVIE ADDICT: (Laughs hysterically) Oh, ha! That's funny stuff!
BANKER: What are you laughing at? This is a catastraphe! I'm going to be late for my job.
MOVIE ADDICT: I'm just remembering a movie I saw yesterday. It's called, Banana Splits. Ha! Isn't that a funny name?
BANKER: ...No, it isn't.
CAR SALESMAN: (turns around in his seat) Hey, what are you two laughing at?
BANKER: He's laughing. I'm not.
MOVIE ADDICT: Well, there's this movie I saw yesterday. It's hilarious. The story is about a girl named Banana and she splits! (Laughs)
CAR SALESMAN: Wow, my stunningly attractive young friend, that is pretty funny. And let me tell you I know about funny. Some of the funniest moments can be spent in your car.
MOVIE ADDICT: Really? I don't have a car. I just ride the bus-
CAR SALESMAN: Yes sir, nothing is better than a car. Nothing's better than a used car, actually. Listen, I know a guy who can sell you the best and the cheapest car alive.
MOVIE ADDICT: (Excitedly) Really?! Who!?
CAR SALESMAN: Me! It's me young sir! How about it?
MOVIE ADDICT: I don't know...how much?
BANKER: I can't believe you are trying to sell a man a car in the middle of a disaster like this. I don't have time for you two talking. I have to get to the First National Bank so I don't lose my job.
CAR SALESMAN: (Pulls banker aside) A banker, eh? A used car salesman and a banker are like two peas in a pod! We both do our best to make a good profit. Why don't you join up with me and scam the innocent pants of that movie goer, huh?
BANKER: You're not my my brethren pea! I have to find a ride. Maybe a cab or something.
MOVIE ADDICT: This kind of reminds me of a scene from a movie I watched. Ah, I remember. It was called, The Used Car Salesman, the Banker, and the Movie Addict and Their Adventures on a Rundown Bus!
(Silence. The two men look at movie addict.)
BANKER: There's a movie called that?
MOVIE ADDICT: Either that, or I'm confusing my life with the movies. But since the movies are my life, I doubt that's possible. Say, are you going to First National? That's right next to the movie theater! Can I go with you?
BANKER: Sure, I don't see why not. Let's go.
CAR SALESMAN: Wait, don't either of you want to buy a car?
BANKER and MOVIE ADDICT: I'll pass.
(The two men get off the bus. The CAR SALESMAN smiles. We can now hear the CAR SALESMAN's thoughts.)
CAR SALESMAN: (thinking) Ha, I won't lose a sale that easily.
(BANKER and MOVIE ADDICT find a cab. BANKER waves for it.)
BANKER: Hey, taxi!
(Cab pulls up to the gas station curb and the two men get in.)
MOVIE ADDICT: First National Bank on Moolah street please.
CAB DRIVER?: (In a scratchy voice) Okey dokey, my stunningly attractive young friend.
BANKER: Wait, I know that speech pattern! (Pulls CAB DRIVER around.) You're that car salesman!
CAR SALESMAN: Oh yes, did I forget to mention I'm a cab driver?
BANKER: A cab driver who rides the bus?
CAR SALESMAN: I was on lunch!
(BANKER and MOVIE ADDICT exchange looks, then shake their heads.)
MOVIE ADDICT: I think we should trust him! Cab drivers are good people. I know because I watched that one movie called Cab Drivers Are Good People.
BANKER: Yeah, I'm sure he's a real cab driver.
(Scene cuts to a building next the the gas station. The building has a sign saying "Cab Cars INC. Rent one today!" An unconsious cab driver is seen. Scene cuts back to the cab.)
SALESMAN: (whilst driving) Now, my stunningly attractive young friends, I'm sure it's a little tiring riding cabs and buses all the time. That's no way for a successful banker and a charming movie goer to hang around.
BANKER: I'm not successful yet. And listen, we are not interested in buying a car-
SALESMAN: Oh yes, can you imagine it now? Driving along the streets in a brand new camaro. (Quickly and silently) Well, not so new because it's used. (loudly again) Imagine all the babes you could get with a fancy car.
ADDICT: I LIKE babes.
BANKER: Don't fall to the darkside, kid!
SALESMAN: We even have a deal back at the lot. Buy a car, get a few cookies.
ADDICT: Oh my, the dark side has cookies.
This week is almost over now. It went pretty fast, didn't it? Last night's story was a long one. 2,000 words! Let's see if today's prompt requires me to be shorter.
Activating the RANDOMIZER!
...221! (I had to skip the first number I got because it required me to write over a week's time.)
Let's see what my prompt is.
Put a used car salesman, a banker, and a movie addict in a bus. Add a flat tire and an empty window seat. One of them starts laughing hysterically. Write out the scene.
Hmm..mmkay. Not shorter. I'm feeling kind of scripty today so I am going to make this a script! You mind? Of course you don't. Here. We. Goooooo....
(A greyhound bus is shown traveling down a busy street. The song "Slow Ride" can be heard playing. The camera pans to a sharp object on the street. The bus drives over it, popping its tire. The bus pulls into a nearby gas station.)
DRIVER: (Gets out of bus) Woooheee! (Looks at flat tire) that's the flattest tire I've ever seen.
GAS STATION GUY: Is there a problem, mister?
DRIVER: Sure is. Do you think you have a big tire lyin' about? This here one's dead.
GSG: We'll see. Let's take a look...
(Scene cuts inside of the bus. MOVIE ADDICT and BANKER are sharing the same seat.)
MOVIE ADDICT: (Laughs hysterically) Oh, ha! That's funny stuff!
BANKER: What are you laughing at? This is a catastraphe! I'm going to be late for my job.
MOVIE ADDICT: I'm just remembering a movie I saw yesterday. It's called, Banana Splits. Ha! Isn't that a funny name?
BANKER: ...No, it isn't.
CAR SALESMAN: (turns around in his seat) Hey, what are you two laughing at?
BANKER: He's laughing. I'm not.
MOVIE ADDICT: Well, there's this movie I saw yesterday. It's hilarious. The story is about a girl named Banana and she splits! (Laughs)
CAR SALESMAN: Wow, my stunningly attractive young friend, that is pretty funny. And let me tell you I know about funny. Some of the funniest moments can be spent in your car.
MOVIE ADDICT: Really? I don't have a car. I just ride the bus-
CAR SALESMAN: Yes sir, nothing is better than a car. Nothing's better than a used car, actually. Listen, I know a guy who can sell you the best and the cheapest car alive.
MOVIE ADDICT: (Excitedly) Really?! Who!?
CAR SALESMAN: Me! It's me young sir! How about it?
MOVIE ADDICT: I don't know...how much?
BANKER: I can't believe you are trying to sell a man a car in the middle of a disaster like this. I don't have time for you two talking. I have to get to the First National Bank so I don't lose my job.
CAR SALESMAN: (Pulls banker aside) A banker, eh? A used car salesman and a banker are like two peas in a pod! We both do our best to make a good profit. Why don't you join up with me and scam the innocent pants of that movie goer, huh?
BANKER: You're not my my brethren pea! I have to find a ride. Maybe a cab or something.
MOVIE ADDICT: This kind of reminds me of a scene from a movie I watched. Ah, I remember. It was called, The Used Car Salesman, the Banker, and the Movie Addict and Their Adventures on a Rundown Bus!
(Silence. The two men look at movie addict.)
BANKER: There's a movie called that?
MOVIE ADDICT: Either that, or I'm confusing my life with the movies. But since the movies are my life, I doubt that's possible. Say, are you going to First National? That's right next to the movie theater! Can I go with you?
BANKER: Sure, I don't see why not. Let's go.
CAR SALESMAN: Wait, don't either of you want to buy a car?
BANKER and MOVIE ADDICT: I'll pass.
(The two men get off the bus. The CAR SALESMAN smiles. We can now hear the CAR SALESMAN's thoughts.)
CAR SALESMAN: (thinking) Ha, I won't lose a sale that easily.
(BANKER and MOVIE ADDICT find a cab. BANKER waves for it.)
BANKER: Hey, taxi!
(Cab pulls up to the gas station curb and the two men get in.)
MOVIE ADDICT: First National Bank on Moolah street please.
CAB DRIVER?: (In a scratchy voice) Okey dokey, my stunningly attractive young friend.
BANKER: Wait, I know that speech pattern! (Pulls CAB DRIVER around.) You're that car salesman!
CAR SALESMAN: Oh yes, did I forget to mention I'm a cab driver?
BANKER: A cab driver who rides the bus?
CAR SALESMAN: I was on lunch!
(BANKER and MOVIE ADDICT exchange looks, then shake their heads.)
MOVIE ADDICT: I think we should trust him! Cab drivers are good people. I know because I watched that one movie called Cab Drivers Are Good People.
BANKER: Yeah, I'm sure he's a real cab driver.
(Scene cuts to a building next the the gas station. The building has a sign saying "Cab Cars INC. Rent one today!" An unconsious cab driver is seen. Scene cuts back to the cab.)
SALESMAN: (whilst driving) Now, my stunningly attractive young friends, I'm sure it's a little tiring riding cabs and buses all the time. That's no way for a successful banker and a charming movie goer to hang around.
BANKER: I'm not successful yet. And listen, we are not interested in buying a car-
SALESMAN: Oh yes, can you imagine it now? Driving along the streets in a brand new camaro. (Quickly and silently) Well, not so new because it's used. (loudly again) Imagine all the babes you could get with a fancy car.
ADDICT: I LIKE babes.
BANKER: Don't fall to the darkside, kid!
SALESMAN: We even have a deal back at the lot. Buy a car, get a few cookies.
ADDICT: Oh my, the dark side has cookies.
SALESMAN: Why don't I take you back to the used car lot and let you pick out something. (Turns cab around)
BANKER: Stop this cab! We have no intention of buying a car!
SALESMAN: But what does your heart say?
ADDICT: Okay, that was pushing it. (Opens cab door.)
SALESMAN: Hey, what are you doing? (Accelerates cab)
ADDICT: Doing something I've wanted to do for a long time...(grabs BANKER and jumps out of the cab)
(The two land in a pile of trash bags. BANKER sits up and spits out a banana peel.)
ADDICT: Looks like we gave him the slip. And look, we landed in front of a new car lot.
BANKER: Great, not only am I late for work, I smell like a garbage bin. At least I am alive. Where did you learn that move?
ADDICT: Car Jumpers Gone Wild.
BANKER: Riiight...see you.
ADDICT: Wait, don't leave me alone with the car salesman. They come back. They always come back.
BANKER: I have to get to work.
ADDICT: But Banker dude-
BANKER: He'd have to give up by now anyway. Nobody is that insane.
(Scene cuts to SALESMAN inside the cab.)
SALESMAN: I have to sell a car. If I don't then I'll go insane. (Drives car up to the curb where BANKER and ADDICT are standing. He opens the trunk.) Here it goes!( Puts car into reverse and rams into the BANKER. BANKER falls into the open trunk. SALESMAN closes the trunk with a push of a button and drives away.)
BANKER: (inside trunk.)(calmly) Great, now I'm totally late for work.
ADDICT: Banker dude!
SALESMAN: (driving away) That was easy. Now all I have to do is get to the car lot and show that banker who's boss! I smell a raise! I only wish they would have been more cooperative. This was a hard day's work-eh, what was that?
(A brand new, shiny red car pulls up alongside cab. MOVIE ADDICT is inside.)
SALESMAN: A new car? Get that thing away!
(Camera cuts to MOVIE ADDICT.)
MOVIE ADDICT: Hasta la vista, baby. (Rams car into the CAR SALESMAN's)
(Cab flips over. The trunk pops open and BANKER crawls out.)
BANKER: Oh, geez. Could you have done that a little less hard?
MOVIE ADDICT: No.
(SALESMAN crawls out.)
SALESMAN: All I wanted to do was sell a car to you stunningly handsome young men.
MOVIE ADDICT: I just got a car. And guess what, it's new.
SALESMAN: Nooo! (faints)
BANKER: Well, this was the creepiest day of my life.
MOVIE ADDICT: This guy was pretty slick, but he should know that the good guys always win. I should know, because I watched a movie called-
BANKER: Let me guess, The Good Guys Always Win?
MOVIE ADDICT: How did you know?
(CREDITS)
_______
Well, there you go! What do you think of it? Tune in tomorrow for the final writing prompt day.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Writing Prompt Week: Day Five
It's day five and I'm still alive. What fun prompt shall I be doing today, I wonder? I hope it won't be too difficult...I am not feeling very inspired today.
We all know what's goin' on here right? Yeah, you do.
Activating the RANDOMIZER!
...321! Let's see what the prompt says to do.
Amy Tidwell and Jason Engler meet on a plane. One of them becomes resigned to his or her fate.
...! Remember when I wished this wasn't going to be difficult!? Oh well. Here I go.
__
"You are now free to move about the cabin," the voice over the speaker announced.
Jason Engler slowly released his sweaty and tight grip from the arm of his passenger chair. He sunk back in his seat and let out a weary sigh, wiping some sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.
He was alive. The plane had not burst into flames as it had taken off as he had so feared. All he had to worry about was trying not to notice how darn high up he was. Jason was afraid of heights and complex machines like planes, but these weren't the only reasons he was on his guard. He had been running for so long he wasn't sure if he was still being followed, but fear attacked him on every turn. A boy ran down the isle.
"Catch me if you can, Daddy!" the boy shouted.
The words words were not intended for Jason, but they bounced around in his mind, rang in his ears, and made his throat tighten.
"It's not my fault," Jason muttered, shaking his head and clenching the paper, "it's not my fault."
A clear image appeared in his mind. A boy with brown hair and blue eyes, dripping wet and shivering, but happy anyway, was all Jason could see for a small moment. A gunshot rang in his ears, but only he heard it. The image dissipated.
"Um, excuse me, is this seat taken?" a voice said. Jason turned his head to see a young woman. She was wearing a blue hat which shadowed her eyes. "I am sitting next to an old guy and he's snoring up a storm. It's driving me mad!"
Jason patted the empty seat next to him.
"Go ahead." he said.
The girl nodded and sat down. She straightened her dress and tried to settle down, only to discover that she wasn't comfortable and changed her sitting position. Jason noticed her fidgeting.
"Nervous?" he asked, happy to know that he wasn't the only frazzled person on the plane.
"Oh, yes,"she answered, "very much so. I am going to California. Well, you already know that since you're on the plane too, don't you?" She let out a small giggle. "I'm getting married there. I'm nervous and excited at the same time, you know?"
"I understand, yes," Jason answered. His eyes clouded over and he thought back to his own wedding day.
She was wearing a green wedding dress, because she was totally resistant to anything old fashioned. She had thus forced him to wear blue, the ugliest shade that he had ever seen, so that he wouldn't fit in along with her. He had been embarrassed for other people to see him.
"You shouldn't worry about what other people think today. Today is all about us. Besides, it makes your blue eyes pop, don't you think?"
"Are you okay, mister?" the girl asked.
Jason jumped in his seat.
"Oh, yes, I'm okay. What did you say your name was?"
The girl paused for a second as if she were thinking but then answered, "Amy, Amy Tidwell. Are you sure you are all right? Are you nervous too?"
"Yeah, I guess you could say that."
"Why?"
"Hard to say, really. Enough about me. What are your plans going to be in California?"
The girl smiled dreamily and reclined into her seat.
"I plan to be happy for the rest of my life. My fiance is such a good man. He says he wants children right away-oh, I guess that's a little personal, isn't it? But I take it you like children, don't you?"
A pang of guilt shocked Jason's heart. His breathing came quickly and in small gasps as a vivid picture played in his mind.
It was a hot day in July. People swimming in a pool. A little boy asking for a towel.
Bang!
"It's not my fault!" Jason's arms prickled and he started tapping his foot restlessly. It was was so hot to him. Hot like like a summer day. He waved to a flight attendant.
"Water," he said simply.
The flight attendant nodded.
"Would you like anything else?" the attendant asked.
"Just get me some water!" he screamed. He was so angry. He wanted to wrap his hands around the attendant's throat, let her know how angry he was. Amy was calm. It made him madder that she didn't seem to notice how mad he felt. The attendant came back with the water and Jason snatched it of her hand. His hand was shaking badly so the water was flying in several directions before he brought it to his lips. With his other hand he reached in his bag and pulled out a pill bottle. The bottle said to take one. He took three.
"Why are you so angry? All you ever are is angry. I'm leaving, Jason."
Amy looked straight ahead, not minding him.
"Aren't you scared? Don't you want to leave this seat?" Jason said through clenched teeth.
"No, I know how you feel. You feel angry a lot, don't you? I understand."
It was more than that. Jason had written it off as just anger but it was so much more than that. He had a disorder and he knew it now. It was IED. Intermittent Explosive Disorder. He even had pills for it. But they didn't matter to him. They had come too late.
"My fiance has anger management issues, so I know how you feel. I know that he loves me though and forgives me. And I forgive him. We've been through bad spells, but love always powers through."
"Bad doesn't even cover it," Jason said to himself. He closed his eyes and let the misery sink in. He wondered how long he had been running. Probably since the fourth of July, a hot day spent near the pool.
A woman is in a house. She is holding a tray of watermelon. She smiles at a man and asks him to take a pitcher of lemonade outside. She asks him to tell her how his day went.
"I was fired," he says.
She puts the tray down and tries to console him. It doesn't work. She tries to hug and hold him. It doesn't work. He curses her. He yells at her.
"It would be so much easier without you," he says. "I'm not happy anymore."
He smacks the tray out of her hands and throws the pitcher to the ground. He approaches the woman. She grabs a knife and backs away, scowling.
"You're angry! You're always angry! I've tried but I can't take it anymore!" She pulls up her sleeve, revealing bruises."I'm taking John and I'm leaving, Jason."
No, you can't leave, he thinks.
"John is my son! He's my son, why can't I have him?"
"You can have him when your stable."
"Hey, are you asleep?"
"Eh?"
Jason opened his eyes. Amy was looking at him, worry lining her face. Jason rubbed his temple and shook his head.
"Amy, what if you did something horrible? Something you could never undo. Something that you've been running away from for a long time?"
Amy put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze.
"I'd stop running and face what I'd have to face," she said silently. "After all, I can't imagine living with guilt all the time, you know?"
Jason nodded.
"I think..I think you're right. I will."
He wiped at his eyes. Amy stood up.
"The plane has landed." she said.
Jason stood up, but it took some effort. More than a part of him wanted to sink back in his chair and not wake up for a long time. He felt old, but he also felt certain. But mostly he felt tired.He grabbed his only bag, the one that had held so many things for him during all the years he had been running away. He walked down the isle meticulously like a sentenced man on his way to the electric chair.
"Where are you going?" Amy asked.
"To the police station." Jason said sardonically. He walked out of the plane and past the people. He saw a little boy with blue eyes and brown hair walk alongside him, but Jason knew the boy wasn't really there. Not anymore.
He left the plane and walked through the airport. He walked slowly by a young man embracing his mother.
Angry. Don't leave me. If I can't have you...so mad!
Jason's pace quickened.
He storms outside. He has a gun. A boy with eyes just like his father's comes up to him. He's dripping wet from the pool.
The giddy screams of playing children startled him into walking faster.
"Daddy, can I have a towel?"
He ran into the airport's bathroom, gasping for air. There didn't seem to be enough of it.
Shouldn't do this...shouldn't do this...but it's your fault for leaving me!
He splashed cold water in his face, sobbing. "I love you," he gasped.
"I love you," the man says.
Bang!
Jason let the tears fall freely. For all he knew they would be his last. He left for the police station. Amy was still on the empty plane. She had not intention of going to California. She pulled out a phone and dialed a number. A grisly voice answered the phone.
"Hello, detective Brown speaking?"
The girl smiled and said,
"This is agent Carter. The plan was a success. Engler is heading your way."
She shut the phone and took a look out of the window. She shook her head and sat down again, letting out a repressed sigh.
"Poor little man."
_____
Well, that was interesting! Certainly the longest piece so far. What do you think of it? Comments? It's pretty rough because it isn't edited, but I kind of like it. Tune in tomorrow, people!
We all know what's goin' on here right? Yeah, you do.
Activating the RANDOMIZER!
...321! Let's see what the prompt says to do.
Amy Tidwell and Jason Engler meet on a plane. One of them becomes resigned to his or her fate.
...! Remember when I wished this wasn't going to be difficult!? Oh well. Here I go.
__
"You are now free to move about the cabin," the voice over the speaker announced.
Jason Engler slowly released his sweaty and tight grip from the arm of his passenger chair. He sunk back in his seat and let out a weary sigh, wiping some sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.
He was alive. The plane had not burst into flames as it had taken off as he had so feared. All he had to worry about was trying not to notice how darn high up he was. Jason was afraid of heights and complex machines like planes, but these weren't the only reasons he was on his guard. He had been running for so long he wasn't sure if he was still being followed, but fear attacked him on every turn. A boy ran down the isle.
"Catch me if you can, Daddy!" the boy shouted.
The words words were not intended for Jason, but they bounced around in his mind, rang in his ears, and made his throat tighten.
"It's not my fault," Jason muttered, shaking his head and clenching the paper, "it's not my fault."
A clear image appeared in his mind. A boy with brown hair and blue eyes, dripping wet and shivering, but happy anyway, was all Jason could see for a small moment. A gunshot rang in his ears, but only he heard it. The image dissipated.
"Um, excuse me, is this seat taken?" a voice said. Jason turned his head to see a young woman. She was wearing a blue hat which shadowed her eyes. "I am sitting next to an old guy and he's snoring up a storm. It's driving me mad!"
Jason patted the empty seat next to him.
"Go ahead." he said.
The girl nodded and sat down. She straightened her dress and tried to settle down, only to discover that she wasn't comfortable and changed her sitting position. Jason noticed her fidgeting.
"Nervous?" he asked, happy to know that he wasn't the only frazzled person on the plane.
"Oh, yes,"she answered, "very much so. I am going to California. Well, you already know that since you're on the plane too, don't you?" She let out a small giggle. "I'm getting married there. I'm nervous and excited at the same time, you know?"
"I understand, yes," Jason answered. His eyes clouded over and he thought back to his own wedding day.
She was wearing a green wedding dress, because she was totally resistant to anything old fashioned. She had thus forced him to wear blue, the ugliest shade that he had ever seen, so that he wouldn't fit in along with her. He had been embarrassed for other people to see him.
"You shouldn't worry about what other people think today. Today is all about us. Besides, it makes your blue eyes pop, don't you think?"
"Are you okay, mister?" the girl asked.
Jason jumped in his seat.
"Oh, yes, I'm okay. What did you say your name was?"
The girl paused for a second as if she were thinking but then answered, "Amy, Amy Tidwell. Are you sure you are all right? Are you nervous too?"
"Yeah, I guess you could say that."
"Why?"
"Hard to say, really. Enough about me. What are your plans going to be in California?"
The girl smiled dreamily and reclined into her seat.
"I plan to be happy for the rest of my life. My fiance is such a good man. He says he wants children right away-oh, I guess that's a little personal, isn't it? But I take it you like children, don't you?"
A pang of guilt shocked Jason's heart. His breathing came quickly and in small gasps as a vivid picture played in his mind.
It was a hot day in July. People swimming in a pool. A little boy asking for a towel.
Bang!
"It's not my fault!" Jason's arms prickled and he started tapping his foot restlessly. It was was so hot to him. Hot like like a summer day. He waved to a flight attendant.
"Water," he said simply.
The flight attendant nodded.
"Would you like anything else?" the attendant asked.
"Just get me some water!" he screamed. He was so angry. He wanted to wrap his hands around the attendant's throat, let her know how angry he was. Amy was calm. It made him madder that she didn't seem to notice how mad he felt. The attendant came back with the water and Jason snatched it of her hand. His hand was shaking badly so the water was flying in several directions before he brought it to his lips. With his other hand he reached in his bag and pulled out a pill bottle. The bottle said to take one. He took three.
"Why are you so angry? All you ever are is angry. I'm leaving, Jason."
Amy looked straight ahead, not minding him.
"Aren't you scared? Don't you want to leave this seat?" Jason said through clenched teeth.
"No, I know how you feel. You feel angry a lot, don't you? I understand."
It was more than that. Jason had written it off as just anger but it was so much more than that. He had a disorder and he knew it now. It was IED. Intermittent Explosive Disorder. He even had pills for it. But they didn't matter to him. They had come too late.
"My fiance has anger management issues, so I know how you feel. I know that he loves me though and forgives me. And I forgive him. We've been through bad spells, but love always powers through."
"Bad doesn't even cover it," Jason said to himself. He closed his eyes and let the misery sink in. He wondered how long he had been running. Probably since the fourth of July, a hot day spent near the pool.
A woman is in a house. She is holding a tray of watermelon. She smiles at a man and asks him to take a pitcher of lemonade outside. She asks him to tell her how his day went.
"I was fired," he says.
She puts the tray down and tries to console him. It doesn't work. She tries to hug and hold him. It doesn't work. He curses her. He yells at her.
"It would be so much easier without you," he says. "I'm not happy anymore."
He smacks the tray out of her hands and throws the pitcher to the ground. He approaches the woman. She grabs a knife and backs away, scowling.
"You're angry! You're always angry! I've tried but I can't take it anymore!" She pulls up her sleeve, revealing bruises."I'm taking John and I'm leaving, Jason."
No, you can't leave, he thinks.
"John is my son! He's my son, why can't I have him?"
"You can have him when your stable."
"Hey, are you asleep?"
"Eh?"
Jason opened his eyes. Amy was looking at him, worry lining her face. Jason rubbed his temple and shook his head.
"Amy, what if you did something horrible? Something you could never undo. Something that you've been running away from for a long time?"
Amy put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze.
"I'd stop running and face what I'd have to face," she said silently. "After all, I can't imagine living with guilt all the time, you know?"
Jason nodded.
"I think..I think you're right. I will."
He wiped at his eyes. Amy stood up.
"The plane has landed." she said.
Jason stood up, but it took some effort. More than a part of him wanted to sink back in his chair and not wake up for a long time. He felt old, but he also felt certain. But mostly he felt tired.He grabbed his only bag, the one that had held so many things for him during all the years he had been running away. He walked down the isle meticulously like a sentenced man on his way to the electric chair.
"Where are you going?" Amy asked.
"To the police station." Jason said sardonically. He walked out of the plane and past the people. He saw a little boy with blue eyes and brown hair walk alongside him, but Jason knew the boy wasn't really there. Not anymore.
He left the plane and walked through the airport. He walked slowly by a young man embracing his mother.
Angry. Don't leave me. If I can't have you...so mad!
Jason's pace quickened.
He storms outside. He has a gun. A boy with eyes just like his father's comes up to him. He's dripping wet from the pool.
The giddy screams of playing children startled him into walking faster.
"Daddy, can I have a towel?"
He ran into the airport's bathroom, gasping for air. There didn't seem to be enough of it.
Shouldn't do this...shouldn't do this...but it's your fault for leaving me!
He splashed cold water in his face, sobbing. "I love you," he gasped.
"I love you," the man says.
Bang!
Jason let the tears fall freely. For all he knew they would be his last. He left for the police station. Amy was still on the empty plane. She had not intention of going to California. She pulled out a phone and dialed a number. A grisly voice answered the phone.
"Hello, detective Brown speaking?"
The girl smiled and said,
"This is agent Carter. The plan was a success. Engler is heading your way."
She shut the phone and took a look out of the window. She shook her head and sat down again, letting out a repressed sigh.
"Poor little man."
_____
Well, that was interesting! Certainly the longest piece so far. What do you think of it? Comments? It's pretty rough because it isn't edited, but I kind of like it. Tune in tomorrow, people!
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Writing Prompt Week: Day Four
It's day four already! We're half way there.
Yesterday's piece was an interesting example of what could go wrong when you accept a certified person's help. It was the longest one yet. Let's see today's prompt, shall we?
Activating the RANDOMIZER!
...11! Let's see what the prompt says:
Below are three sets of words. Use all the words in each set to create a mini story of 300 words or less.
Set one: paper clips, principal, swing, girl with a pink ribbon.
Set two: biology, foreign student, leaf, blood sample.
Set three: type writer, filing cabinet, puncher, clerk, carbon paper, janitor.
So I'm writing three different stories? Ah, so today I will be writing microfiction. I've never written microfiction before. Microfiction is generally below 300 words, as said above. Because of its length, it is very, very hard to write good microfiction. The market for it is growing, however. Magazines, especially ones about writing, are interested in it. This will be fun! Let's begin!
___
Story one, set one. (paper clips, principal, swing, girl with a pink ribbon)
Alone.
It was a cold, bitter day as the little girl sat unmoving on a swing, waiting, her pink ribbon fluttering limply in the wind. She had been waiting for them, arms open and their gazes warm. A man dressed in a suit approached her; she recognized him as the principal with his fancy suit and wiry hair. In his hand he held a small bundle of paper held together by a red paperclip. He stood by her silently and handed her the paper so she could read it herself. She read them then threw them away, shaking her head furiously, tears building in her eyes. Images of a man and woman holding her and smiling burned in her mind. The principal patted her back.
"You can stop waiting Anna," he said, "they won't be here to pick you up from school anymore."
____
Story two, word set two.(biology, foreign student, leaf, blood sample.)
Found him?
It had been eight years. Eight years without sight of his father, eight years of nervousness. Now Kei was positive that this was the man he had been waiting for in this school building; his very own father. A leaf fell slowly to the ground and Kei grabbed and examined it. He chuckled. The gently falling leaves here reminded him of the cherry blossoms back home in Japan. He let out an even louder laugh when he realized that he, now a foreign exchange student for Pete's sake, had come all the way to America just to see if this mystery man was truly his father. He was quite positive that he was. Their DNA from the blood sample matched completely.
Kei's fists clenched as he approached the classroom door. His "father" supposedly taught biology.
What if all of this was for nothing? He's been hiding for years, what if he doesn't even know me?
Kei took a shuddering breath and entered the room. A slender Japanese man turned his head at the sound of the door and looked at Kei. He removed his glasses from his aging face and rubbed his eyes.
"Dad?" Kei said.
"Kei?" the man said. Tears sprung up in the old man's eyes and he ran to embrace his son. "It's you. It's my boy. I've found my boy."
____
Story three, word set three,
(type writer, filing cabinet, puncher, clerk, carbon paper, janitor.)
Work For It.
Clack, clack, clack, went the old typewriter. The sound was accompanied by the sound of a file cabinet opening and closing. These were all sounds that the janitor of Paper Inc. was very used to. Every day was the same old thing, nothing new, nothing changing. No matter how long he waited, nothing ever good happened to him. Not a good enough girl,not a good enough job, nothing ever came to him. He had waited so long for something special, because he knew that he deserved it. But while others got a diploma and others became famous, he still remained as poor as ever. He stopped in the middle of his mopping of the girl's bathroom to let out a sigh.
"Why can't something good happen to me?" he said.
A young clerk walked into the bathroom just at that moment.
"What is up with that guy and his carbon paper-Oh, sorry! I didn't know you were cleaning in here." she said. "What's wrong with you?"
"I don't have a good life," the janitor complained.
The girl paused then smiled. Knowingly she opened her mouth and said,
"Did you ever actually try to get one?"
_________
Well there you have it folks, three different stories! I had a lot of fun with this one. Did you like any of them in particular? Did some not make so much sense? Looking back all of them are a little crazy. Tune in tomorrow for some more writing fun!
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Writing Prompt Week: Day Three
Hello and welcome to the third day of writing prompt week! And I'm sure it's going to be an exciting one! Yesterday I was feeling a little floopy, but now I feel as right as rain so this is sure to be an exciting adventure for you and for me.
I think we all know the rules by now. (Get the prompt, follow the directions, no editing.)
Let's activate the RANDOMATOR!
115! Let's see what it says.
"Here is a 90 second drill: In ninety seconds make a list of objects that you would find in a hospital. When the ninety seconds are up, use all the objects you listed in a story, except the story can not take place in or near a hospital."
Sounds challenging! I bet I can make a list of things in a hospital easily though.
Hospital bed.
syringe
waiting room.
blood pressure thingy
nurse
....Okay. That is the smallest list I've ever seen... I have to go with it though. Here I go!
It had been an accident. No one had expected it to happen. It was something that the people thought would never happen. This injured bullfighter was a professional, and had never once had a scar.
Rodger Dye lay face up on the freshly trodden dirt of the bull fighting arena, trying not to faint from the lack of blood and seem more pathetic than he did right then.
The people at the arena offered to take him to the closest medical facility, but Rodger demanded that the professionals be brought to him.
It was high noon and the sun blinded him, but he just stayed there, waiting for help to arrive. A large shadow fell over him and he looked up to see a muscular man gazing at him.
"What, haven't you ever seen a man gored by a bull before?" Rodger said testily.
The man shook his head and bent down to examine Rodger's wounds.
"I have, but I haven't seen a man gored by two different bulls before. You're special, man. How on earth could you manage to do that?"
"Listen, I don't know who you are, but I'm bleeding to death here. The least you could do is send for a doctor or something."
The man straightened and said proudly, "I am a doctor!"
Rodger grinned and sat up, wincing at the pain in his shoulder. He didn't want to see the bull horn that was embedded in it.
"Great," Rodger said, "finally someone certified to help me."
"Well, actually, I'm not a doctor really. I'm a nurse."
"Aren't you a little too masculine to be a nurse?"
Rodger knew he had triggered something in the tall nurse's soul when he said that. The nurse put his hands on his hips and glared at Rodger with his eye. The other eye was covered with an eye patch.
"Listen, bub. Guys can be nurses too. In fact, they make better nurses. This is a free country isn't it? The nerve of some people. Why, in my day..." the nurse trailed off into a long, long rant. It was boring, too, so Rodger stopped paying attention after five minutes and started counting his wounds.
He had a bull horn in each shoulder, each from a different bull. Somehow Pete and Sweet the bulls got out at simultaneously attacked Rodger. Rodger had never before been injured in a bullfight. He was covered in scratches, all of them bleeding profusely. As the nurse drawled on, Rodger counted the little red specks that were dancing around his eyes.
"Oooh...pretty," Rodger said dreamily.
The nurse snapped back into reality and gasped.
"Oh no! You're bleeding to death!"
"Yeah, I know. Some assistance, please?"
"Okay, okay, no worries. I have this covered. First, I have to go through all of the basics!" the nurse said.
"The basics!?"
"Yes, first I have to take your blood pressure with this blood pressure...thingy."
"Thingy? Listen, I barely have any blood left."
The nurse ignored this and wrapped the lengthy device around Rodger's arm. An alarmed look spread over the nurse's scarred face.
"Oh no, your blood pressure is low!"
Rodger didn't answer. He didn't have the strength to. All he could think was, Oh God, I'm going to die because a nurse who looks like someone out of Rambo is going through all of the 'basics'. He felt something sharp jab into his arm and let out a cry. The nurse chuckled and pulled the syringe out of Rodger's arm.
"Don't worry, I'm just taking a blood sample," the nurse said.
Rodger no longer felt light headed. He felt pretty close to dead.
"I...need to go to a...Are you sure a professional?" Rodger gasped.
The nurse put a hand over his heart.
"Of course. I got my Nurse Certificate from some old sage guy in Korea."
"Sage guy..?"
"They are the forefathers of medicine you know. It took me a while to get the certificate from him, but after I held him at knife point for a while he drew me out one lickity split!" The nurse held up a crumpled napkin that read, "Certified, Nurse" in pencil.
Rodger let out a groan before everything faded to black.
Rodger woke up, startled at the fact that he was not dead. His eyes struggled to focus, however, so he relied on the sounds and smells around him to tell him where he was. The sound of a fire, warm and comforting. The smell of freshly baked cookies. The sound of a knife being sharpened. All warm, comforting thin-
Rodger bolted up and looked around himself. He saw that he was in a hut constructed of bamboo, with a fire blazing in the middle. He knew that he was lying in a hospital bed, but no other hospital like things in sight. Pictures hung on the wall. Pictures of Nurse doing things like gutting a pig, wrestling a bear, and saving a marine from a pipe bomb. The nurse himself was in a corner, sharpening his knife. He looked up and smiled at Rodger. The nurse had lost quite a few teeth.
"Glad to see you're alive-er-awake!"
"Where the heck am I?"
"You're in my house. I brought you here because it was close. It's comforting, isn't it?"
If guns on the walls and knives being sharpened was considered comforting, then this had to be the most comforting place in the world.
"Let me go," Rodger said.
"No problem! You'll just have to sit in the waiting room while I get your form signed." The nurse motioned to a chair in the corner of the hut covered in suspicious magazines. Rodger limped over, his fear masking his pain.
Who is this guy, Rodger thought, an assassin? A loon? A crook? Whoever he is, I am never going to ask for professional help again!
The nurse stamped a piece of paper and handed it to him.
"You're free to go!"
The paper read,
"You're free to go. Signed, Nurse. AKA. Horton Hughs, the greatest soldier of all time."
___
Well there you go! That was certainly an odd story. Comment are appreciated and tune in tomorrow for another prompt!
I think we all know the rules by now. (Get the prompt, follow the directions, no editing.)
Let's activate the RANDOMATOR!
115! Let's see what it says.
"Here is a 90 second drill: In ninety seconds make a list of objects that you would find in a hospital. When the ninety seconds are up, use all the objects you listed in a story, except the story can not take place in or near a hospital."
Sounds challenging! I bet I can make a list of things in a hospital easily though.
Hospital bed.
syringe
waiting room.
blood pressure thingy
nurse
....Okay. That is the smallest list I've ever seen... I have to go with it though. Here I go!
It had been an accident. No one had expected it to happen. It was something that the people thought would never happen. This injured bullfighter was a professional, and had never once had a scar.
Rodger Dye lay face up on the freshly trodden dirt of the bull fighting arena, trying not to faint from the lack of blood and seem more pathetic than he did right then.
The people at the arena offered to take him to the closest medical facility, but Rodger demanded that the professionals be brought to him.
It was high noon and the sun blinded him, but he just stayed there, waiting for help to arrive. A large shadow fell over him and he looked up to see a muscular man gazing at him.
"What, haven't you ever seen a man gored by a bull before?" Rodger said testily.
The man shook his head and bent down to examine Rodger's wounds.
"I have, but I haven't seen a man gored by two different bulls before. You're special, man. How on earth could you manage to do that?"
"Listen, I don't know who you are, but I'm bleeding to death here. The least you could do is send for a doctor or something."
The man straightened and said proudly, "I am a doctor!"
Rodger grinned and sat up, wincing at the pain in his shoulder. He didn't want to see the bull horn that was embedded in it.
"Great," Rodger said, "finally someone certified to help me."
"Well, actually, I'm not a doctor really. I'm a nurse."
"Aren't you a little too masculine to be a nurse?"
Rodger knew he had triggered something in the tall nurse's soul when he said that. The nurse put his hands on his hips and glared at Rodger with his eye. The other eye was covered with an eye patch.
"Listen, bub. Guys can be nurses too. In fact, they make better nurses. This is a free country isn't it? The nerve of some people. Why, in my day..." the nurse trailed off into a long, long rant. It was boring, too, so Rodger stopped paying attention after five minutes and started counting his wounds.
He had a bull horn in each shoulder, each from a different bull. Somehow Pete and Sweet the bulls got out at simultaneously attacked Rodger. Rodger had never before been injured in a bullfight. He was covered in scratches, all of them bleeding profusely. As the nurse drawled on, Rodger counted the little red specks that were dancing around his eyes.
"Oooh...pretty," Rodger said dreamily.
The nurse snapped back into reality and gasped.
"Oh no! You're bleeding to death!"
"Yeah, I know. Some assistance, please?"
"Okay, okay, no worries. I have this covered. First, I have to go through all of the basics!" the nurse said.
"The basics!?"
"Yes, first I have to take your blood pressure with this blood pressure...thingy."
"Thingy? Listen, I barely have any blood left."
The nurse ignored this and wrapped the lengthy device around Rodger's arm. An alarmed look spread over the nurse's scarred face.
"Oh no, your blood pressure is low!"
Rodger didn't answer. He didn't have the strength to. All he could think was, Oh God, I'm going to die because a nurse who looks like someone out of Rambo is going through all of the 'basics'. He felt something sharp jab into his arm and let out a cry. The nurse chuckled and pulled the syringe out of Rodger's arm.
"Don't worry, I'm just taking a blood sample," the nurse said.
Rodger no longer felt light headed. He felt pretty close to dead.
"I...need to go to a...Are you sure a professional?" Rodger gasped.
The nurse put a hand over his heart.
"Of course. I got my Nurse Certificate from some old sage guy in Korea."
"Sage guy..?"
"They are the forefathers of medicine you know. It took me a while to get the certificate from him, but after I held him at knife point for a while he drew me out one lickity split!" The nurse held up a crumpled napkin that read, "Certified, Nurse" in pencil.
Rodger let out a groan before everything faded to black.
Rodger woke up, startled at the fact that he was not dead. His eyes struggled to focus, however, so he relied on the sounds and smells around him to tell him where he was. The sound of a fire, warm and comforting. The smell of freshly baked cookies. The sound of a knife being sharpened. All warm, comforting thin-
Rodger bolted up and looked around himself. He saw that he was in a hut constructed of bamboo, with a fire blazing in the middle. He knew that he was lying in a hospital bed, but no other hospital like things in sight. Pictures hung on the wall. Pictures of Nurse doing things like gutting a pig, wrestling a bear, and saving a marine from a pipe bomb. The nurse himself was in a corner, sharpening his knife. He looked up and smiled at Rodger. The nurse had lost quite a few teeth.
"Glad to see you're alive-er-awake!"
"Where the heck am I?"
"You're in my house. I brought you here because it was close. It's comforting, isn't it?"
If guns on the walls and knives being sharpened was considered comforting, then this had to be the most comforting place in the world.
"Let me go," Rodger said.
"No problem! You'll just have to sit in the waiting room while I get your form signed." The nurse motioned to a chair in the corner of the hut covered in suspicious magazines. Rodger limped over, his fear masking his pain.
Who is this guy, Rodger thought, an assassin? A loon? A crook? Whoever he is, I am never going to ask for professional help again!
The nurse stamped a piece of paper and handed it to him.
"You're free to go!"
The paper read,
"You're free to go. Signed, Nurse. AKA. Horton Hughs, the greatest soldier of all time."
___
Well there you go! That was certainly an odd story. Comment are appreciated and tune in tomorrow for another prompt!
Monday, August 2, 2010
Writing Prompt Week: Day Two
Hello all and welcome to day two of writing prompt week! (Ignore the fact that the date for the previous post was off.)
Yesterday was certainly an exciting day for writing, was it not? Sure, I may have gone a little overboard with the whole, "taking over the world" thing, but that's just minor right?
Right.
Anyway, I suppose I should activate the RANDOMATOR now and get my writing prompt for today.
Activating the RANDOMATOR...
I got 169! Let's see what my prompt says..
"Flesh out this character: Juliana Ritter, 53; she is an extrovert but easily depressed."
Yesterday was certainly an exciting day for writing, was it not? Sure, I may have gone a little overboard with the whole, "taking over the world" thing, but that's just minor right?
Right.
Anyway, I suppose I should activate the RANDOMATOR now and get my writing prompt for today.
Activating the RANDOMATOR...
I got 169! Let's see what my prompt says..
"Flesh out this character: Juliana Ritter, 53; she is an extrovert but easily depressed."
Hmm, sounds difficult, but doable. Here we go....
Juliana Ritter was standing in the middle of the room, smiling to herself. She watched each of the party goers, deciding which one she should talk to first. The idea of talking to someone-anyone- excited her.
One person was wearing a rainbow tie and seemed proud of it. Another was dancing like she never danced before to some song that kept repeating the word "maniac". There were people just standing, drinks in hand, talking to eachother. She was so excited with the idea of talking to everyone in the room that she couldn't decide who to talk to first.
There was a girl in her twenties, pretty, but had a scar on her forehead that was long and very visible. Juliana wished to ask her about that scar because she was sure there was an interesting story behind it.
There was another guy in the back who was fat and bald, but was also really young looking.
Does he have some kind of genetic disorder that makes his head like that, Juliana thought happily, oh, I will have to ask him. So interesting a conversation would that be.
The truth was that Juliana loved talking. She did not enjoy small talk, however. She was only interested in the good parts of the conversation, the juicy bits. To her, talking about weather or how someone is doing was a waste of her time. She longed to talk about the dirty secrets, like how that young girl got her scar, for instance.
Juliana walked up to the girl and smiled brightly at her.
"Um, hello?" the girl said uncomfortably.
"Hello, where on earth did you get that marvelous scar!? I must know, please!" Julia exclaimed.
The girl gasped and touched her forehead. With her hand still on her face she said, "That's none of your business! Do I like, know you?"
"No, but I'm sure I'd like to know about your scar!" Julie answered.
The girl gave out a snort and tromped away. Julie felt very depressed. What could she have said that was so offensive?
After all, I was only bringing up a friendly conversation.
Julie wallowed in her fruit punch, wondering what she had did wrong. She had always considered herself a polite and tactful person. She always said "please" and "thank you", "you're welcome" and "I'd rather not". What could she be doing wrong?
Seeing the ugly man in the back of the room, hope was restored to Juliana. Perhaps I can make a friend after all!
"Hello there, kind sir. I can't help but notice that you are fat and bald, but are also incredibly young looking. Tell me, please, is this due to a genetic disorder of some sort?"
Baldy's eyes grew wide for a long time. He eyed her suspiciously.
"Is this some kind of a joke, lady?"
"Of course not! I am simply inquiring-"
"Well stop it! You think it's nice to make fun of me."
"I said please."
"You think it's funny? YOU THINK IT'S FUNNY?"
His face a burning red, the young man stormed off, leaving Juliana shaking her head. She felt so sad, not being able to know if the man was just fat or suffering from a disease. She did not let herself be down for too long, however.
"My my, what an impolite young man. He must not know his manners at all. I said please and thank you, just like my mother taught me," she said sadly to herself, "And by golly, I'm going to stick to my dear old mother's advice, may she rest in peace!"
Still confused and heart broken from a lack of proper social interaction, Juliana Ritter stormed off.
________
Well, that was...interesting. You see, my young friends, this is what you get for making something up as you go along. (It was in the rules though, see DAY ONE)
Did you like this piece? Maybe not? Either way, post comments in the bottom and tune in tomorrow for another exciting adventure.
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