In the comments, use the 10 random words below to create a cohesive, creative short story tying all the words together. And remember: after you finish, highlight your words and click the bold button to make them stand out and help you determine if you forgot any words (if you’ve missed some challenges, go back and try those too).
- All over the place
- Fanatic
- Promise
- Butternut
- Childbearing
- Cupcake
- Invincible
- Human
- Honeybee
- Hammer
NOTE: Don’t copy and paste from MS Word. Use a program like notepad that removes formatting or just type in the comment field itself. Also, finish your submission, THEN bold the words. Thanks.
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“Butternet… honeybee… cupcake…I promise… anything, please…” The victim panted the words out, grabbing at anything she thought might free her from this nightmare. Hours she’d spent already, begging and pleading for mercy until she thought she’d go insane.
But there was no mercy. There was only James, sitting comfortably in a plush armchair on the other side of the room, casually admiring his gun while the woman babbled out attempts to find the magic words that would have him walk across the room and untie her instead of kill her.
A nice woman actually. Businessperson, aged 42, no kids at all and her childbearing years almost over. But the trail of her devastation was all over the place. She used people. Abused them. Manipulated them. And someone had finally had enough of her head games.
They called James.
“You know, I really thought I’d possibly find your human side,” he smiled coolly to the woman, lowering his gun to gaze at her. She looked like a gibbering fanatic – weak, not invincible. “But there is none, is there. Ah, well.”
If he lifted the gun and pulled the trigger, the hammer would fall and she’d be gone, forever. Done. Over. But his instructions were very clear. Just 22 hours and 18 minutes to go.
“Sugarmelon… please…”
James winced. It was going to be a long, long night.
That was so awesome. I loved your opening and how you assassinated 4 words like it was nothing. And the ending, poor James is the one being tortured. Fantastic twist, and a wonderful added depth to James the Assassin’s character.
excellent use of challenge words
There were girls all over the place at college.
My buddies were fanatics about aiming for the perfect 10s, and I promised I wouldn’t laugh as they banged their heads against the lonely, and often unsuccessful, highbar they set for themselves.
But, for me, math was my butternut, and I knew that five 2s (or two 5s) eqalled 10.
Knowing this secret, I didn’t discriminate against the tons of overlooked girls in their prime childbearing years within this catagory. I mean, let’s be honest. Close your eyes and eat a cupcake. Feels and tastes the same every time, no matter what the brand name on the box says.
So, my schedule was full, and my numbers were invincible.
But, I’m only human, so I ended up falling in love with a 9 in computer science class. What could I do; she was an absolute honeybee hammer.
Ironically, after I met HH, I failed math class.
~~~
In order again!!! WooHoo!
So! You never reached calculus huh?
Best in my class. Graduated with a 99.8 percent grade average. Professor said I didn’t have to take the final so I bolted.
“Honeybee,” Jake said to her, feeling invincible since their last escape from the slaughter determined sniper, I need a butternut cupcake.”
“You promised me you wouldn’t call me that,” Jackie hollered, threatening him perhaps playfully with the hammer she was using to knock together the crib.
She was fanatically opposed to the nickname, and now, close to childbearing, she found her emotions all over the place, reminding both of them how human she was.
Hey Anne. I loved that last line of yours. It had a great flow to it.
btw, I have a gravatar at gravatar… wonder why it’s not showing up? Does other places. Oh well, not a big deal.
Anne, I wish I knew more about the nuts and bolts of gravatar. I was one of the clueless people who just went there and magically it appeared and I’ve never been back since. Hopefully someone here in the CCC has dealt with this before and can help you better than I can.
Well I don’t like to brag, (who am I kidding!) but when I tell you that I am a whiz in the kitchen, I am understating my culinary skills. Now don’t get me wrong, I am not a fanatic or anything, but I promise that when I create a dish there are purrs of contentment that can be heard all over the place!
I have spent all of my childbearing years experimenting, and refining my craft. Trial and error with a variety of spices and “secret ingredients” have resulted in exquisite flavors I can’t begin to describe! I can take butternut squash, and some walnuts and honey, add a few secret ingredients, and create a cupcake you would mug an old lady for (let’s just hope I’m not the old lady, ha ha)! Yeah, food is my passion and my downfall. Loving to cook has made me invincible when faced with the challenge of taking basic ingredients and playing magic honeybee with the flavors. As I like to tell people, “I didn’t get this ass eating celery!!
I would like to share some of my recipes with you all but let’s face it, I’m only human. I have to be selfish and keep those secrets all to myself. I’m happy to share the food but not the research (don’t make me smash my recipe box with a hammer.) Someday I may just want to publish a little cookbook to supplement my income in my golden years.
Until then, remember….You can’t go wrong with lots of butter and plenty of sugar and a ton of love!
Margaret, if you wrote that book, you know Sean and David would help you with it. And, the way you write, I’m sure it would be quite an enjoyable read.
Lines I loved:
when I create a dish there are purrs of contentment
create a cupcake you would mug an old lady for
playing magic honeybee with the flavors
I didn’t get this ass eating celery (favorite!!!!!)
Thanks Shane (how are you feeling, by the way?) Yeah, the cookbook is something I’ve toyed with, as is a book of ephemera using pics of all the antique “junque” I’ve collected over the years. I think Sean has his hands full for awhile, in fact i’m going to be helping him on a few of his projects, but hopefully I’ve still got a few good years in me !
Same old moans, groans, sore bones, and phychic overtones for me. More blood work on Saturday. I’ve got the CCC and some powerful mgs to get me by.
You’d make a great cooking show host I bet.
I thought I got to Food Network by mistake, and now I am really hungry, even after finishing my lunch just a little bit ago.
I realized after picking the words that they slanted toward the taste sensation. I must have been hungry. Matter of fact, I’m hungry right now.
I love that line “I didn’t get this ass eating celery ” And to think, in trying to lose weight, I eat more celery than a manatee can.
you can always stuff that celery with cream cheese and paprika or with peanut butter
“They’re all over the place!”
“Mom, hold still! Seems like anything that flies makes you act like a fanatic!”
“Promise me you’ll kill them, honey! But change your shirt first. They’re obviously attracted to that butternut color you’re wearing. You know if they sting you, your childbearing years are over!”
“Okay, okay, Mom, I’ll do what I can, even though you know I disagree about the future of my fertility. How will I eradicate them? This cupcake will lure them into my trap. They may think they are invincible, but I’ll win this battle of human vs. honeybee! I’ve got a hammer!”
(Don’t try this at home.)
That line about the mom wanting the bees killed, but requesting a shirt change and bringing up “you’re not getting any younger” overtones first is really good. Made me laugh. Thanks, and I will not try that method.
I did them in order this time. And decided to use conversation to tell the story. Interesting brain exercise!
Sorry, I DID notice you did them in order and forgot to mention how that added to the AwesomeSauce.
Speaing of AwesomeSauce, that would make a great book title for that book Margaret should write huh!!!!!
Here is my attempt (in alphabetical order this time), the first part of a serial fantasy story to be titled some time in the future, and planned to be continued with each challenge:
*********************
All over the place butternut squash is being cooked, by childbearing clones, into a giant cupcake.
The overseer is a fanatic about using a hammer, to squash the honeybees into a mush, edible by the human population.
Supposedly, by eating the cupcakes, and honeybee mush, the humans will be invincible, at least that is the promise of the shaman.
*********************
To be continued….
Steve, I like where this is going. I’m trying to imagine myself eathing a big butternet squash cupcake. Considering I grew about a ton of them last season and still have a ton left in my freezer, I should be the shaman!
eeewwwww!! honeybee mush…sorry, but I won’t be using that in any of my recipes! (funny)
The Homecoming
Katherine tossed and turned all night. She moved all over the place before exhausting herself into a deep sleep. She used to feel invincible. Now she felt violated because of the “supernatural” events that have taken place over the past few days. How could she be afraid? Maybe she was human after all.
It was Sunday and Katherine decided she had to get out of the house before she went insane. She planned to drive to Savannah. She wanted a lazy afternoon far away from the house. Perhaps a lovely cup of coffee at Wright Square Café along with a cupcake from Southern Belle Cupcakery would put her mind at ease. She thought about stopping at a road side stand and buying butternut squash. Yes, today it would be fun in the sun and not ghost and ghouls.
Katherine was a fanatic about her Shelby GT Mustang. She cringed at the spots on the windows. “Don’t worry Shelby, I promise to wash and shine you up, just not today.” She got in the car, started the engine, and took off for Savannah.
It was a hot and humid day but Katherine welcomed it. New York was fabulous, but the cold and snow gets to you after some time. Katherine found the Wright Square Café and was ready for her coffee and cupcake. She ordered her skinny latte and chocolate cupcake. It was all about balance. She made her way to a table by the window. Katherine dove into her dessert and felt like a kid in a candy store.
“Honeybee child behave,” said a grandmother to her granddaughter. Katherine turned around in her seat. The little girl couldn’t have been more than five. She was pounding a fork on the table as if it was a hammer. “Callie, you stop right this instance,” said the grandmother. “Yes, ma’am,” said Callie.” Katherine forgot she was looking at the grandmother and granddaughter. “Excuse me miss. I’m sorry if my granddaughter’s pounding disturbed you,” said the grandmother. “Oh, that’s quite all right. It brought back a childhood memory of me having a “moment” in a fancy restaurant,” said Katherine. “Are you here alone or are you waiting for someone?” asked the grandmother. Katherine blushed. “No I’m not waiting for anyone. I’m here alone enjoying this beautiful day in Savannah,” said Katherine. “Oh, that’s too bad. A pretty thing like you ought to have a young man. And, you know, the childbearing years don’t last forever. With your genes, I’m sure your children would be stunning,” said the grandmother. Katherine didn’t know how to respond. “Um, well thank you. But, I’m not in a hurry,” said Katherine. “I see. Well, I suppose I’m old fashioned. I believe in marriage and women being in the home raising a family. Perhaps if we had more emphasis on what really matters, we wouldn’t have all these issues in the world. Well, it was nice speaking with you, but Callie and I must be on our way,” said the grandmother. She helped Callie out of her chair, grabbed the child’s hand, and they began to walk out of the café. Katherine smiled to herself and went back to her coffee and cupcake. It was going to be a great day.
Rebecca, that was a nice, touching (relaxing) submission. Yet, I’m betting this was the eye before the storm for Katherine.
My brain rests right over my nose and face
Where my thoughts have been bouncing all over the place
Fevered and frenzied, frenetic and frantic,
These fields of ideas could fill the Atlantic
I promise I’ll focus; alas it’s a wash
My mind feels as soft as a butternut squash
A child bearing cupcakes with frosting and sprinkles
Invincible humans with honeybee wrinkles
Nails need a hammer, my mind needs a fence
That’s why that ending didn’t even make sense.
Awesome and your ending had me laughing.
Now I know you’re jet lagged!! see you tonight. love ya, mom
The Complex
At first, they wore pajamas.
Four years ago, the complex had been filled with the usual mix of older people who didn’t want to keep up a large home, young families who weren’t ready for a house yet, and people in transition. Over five hundred spaces, only five or six reasons for being there, until the big pharma company next door made a promise to one PhD from far away: a better life for your family.
He jumped at the chance as immigrants from all over the place always have, and defined “family” broadly: his grandfather, his sisters and their husbands, his wife and his baby and his mother-in-law all crowded into a three-bedroom in the complex and loved everything about it, except maybe the cold.
He sent news home? Or the company loved his gentle speech, his tireless work ethic, his loyalty and his incisive brain, and looked for others like him. Whichever way, more promises were made and for a while, fulfilled. Within months the character of the place began to change. The school bus stop became so crowded, as families of childbearing age moved in, that a second bus had to be added.
They were at their most beautiful in the morning, not because of their looks but because of their invincible family ties: the men in track pants, not ready yet to head off to Big Pharma, the women, in flowing headscarves and big coats used as robes and improbable American pajama bottoms. Flannels with clouds and duckies and all manner of sillynesses on them. Here in this semi-urban area, mothers were usually half-ready for work at this hour. It had probably been decades since anyone stood at the bus stop in their jammie-bottoms, but if they weren’t ready for the formal start of their day, they were ready to be fully present for the little humans they cared about so deeply.
The families were fanatic about togetherness, it seemed to an American observer: the entire adult population came out to watch each child hop on that bus, ready to take a hammer to old-country notions of who may fulfill their promise and who may not.
Later in the day, grandfather walked the baby in her brand-new Nikes on all the sidewalks: toddle, fall, toddle, fall. His voice, softer than a honeybee’s wings; his skin, brown and wrinkled as well-worn leather; his white kurta and cloudlike pants always gleaming in the sun. His feet, bare. Guiding a new generation in a new land.
The women went back to the busses in jewel-toned saris and glimmering butternut-colored sandals, walking slowly with grandfather to pick up their precious babes. Their voices were imperceptibly low, testing the language that they’d only used in school before, yet the children heard every jingling word, thrilling to “cupcake for snack?” or “Daddy will be home early.”
Then the recession came.
Their carefully cultivated savings turned to hot sand between their fingertips. Their promises looked infinitely further away.
These women—so many of them had incredible educations as well as their men—meant only to be able to participate fully in their family life, not to become part of the work force, not back home anyway.
One day I saw khakis under the big coat of a mother of two. There she was as I drove to the office, walking along with the men the half-mile to Big Pharma. Was she happy to put her degree to even more use than producing charming and brilliant children already taxed her?
That afternoon a sister picked up her kids, but within weeks the sister had wool slacks under her big coat.
Yesterday the last pair of pajamas disappeared. There’s one elderly aunt in the complex who takes care of the children in the afternoons when grandfather leads them, Pied-Piper-style, signing and chanting over to her apartment, but she’s never out to see them off. No more saris roam the late-day sidewalks, trailing their butterfly colors in the setting sun.
At night they come out, tiny families en promenade, mother and father and two, three, four little ones, catching up on their separate days. They always hold hands. It all looks like a lost art in this cold land.
Her sandals still glitter beneath her khakis, their voices are soft like miniature bells, but their future is changed forever. It’s complicated.
I hope it’s for the better.
Kelly. I missed you. And now I, once again, remember exactly why. That…was…fantastic. Safe to say, your best to date!!!!!!!
Shane,
Bogged down in work. That’s a good thing! But oh, I missed my fix of CCC, so even though I’m still up to my ears, I couldn’t stay away any longer.
Any good tale’s got truth in it somewhere, but I don’t think I’ve done any yet that were so heavily inspired by a true story. Glad you liked it.
I could “feel” that one, ya know! Very emotional.
Great! Poetic to my ear
Bayou Billy, the Saga that just won’t go away….
So I’m sittin’ on the porch eatin’ a… okay, who done took my damn gumbo? This ain’t friggin’ funny!I swears if one of dem youngins done took my gumbo I’m gonna beat dere ass’s all over the place. You don’t mess with a man’s gumbo! You can steal his women, hell you can even take his kids, but don’t ever mess wit his…. oh, there it is. Sorry ’bout that. I know’s I can be a bit of a fanatic about my gumbo. The wife is always telling me to look before I open my mouth or somethng like that. Can’t remember, she’s always tellin’ me something I ain’t listenin to. Anyways, I promise not to fly off the handle no more. Well, at least no more than usual. Now where was I? Oh yeh…
So I’m sittin’ on the porch eatin’ a big ol’ bowl a gumbo and Butternut, that’s our chicken, is moping ’round the yard all depressed cuz her twin sister, Butterball, got swallered by that there gator. I’m gonna miss that chicken too, especially come supper time, but I ain’t gonna get all depressed about it like poor Butternut. It’s just a damn chicken. Chicken gumbo, Mmmm I’m gettin’ hungry. Maybe it’s one of them cravings like womens gets during their childbearing years. Well, most women that is… my wife gets cravings 24/7. I swears that woman will eat anything that ain’t moving. That woman done got so big her cereal bowl comes with a lifeguard.
There was this one time she was making cupcakes for the youngin’s birthday and she was eating them quick as they’d come outta the oven. I tried to make the best of it for the youngins by havin’ plenty of games since the wife done eat all the food b’fore the utter kids done got to the party. Pin the tail on the gator was a fun game. The kids liked it but the gator was a might bit pissed. Ya’ll just think a gator be invincible, but throw’d him in the middle of a pack a starvin birthday kids and that gator was shivering like a wet dog. My favorite game was hide-and-go-home… I hide in my bed until the little bastards go home. I was up there for three days waitin’ for them last six kids to go home and thats when I ‘membered those six wuz mine!
Lord a-mighty they was hungry too cuz they ain’t et in three days. I was a might bit hungry too. The wife was gone cuz she signed herself into hospital. She wasn’t sick or nuttin’ she just wanted the food. She musta been starvin if she went to the hospital for the food. Did ya’ll ever eat that stuff? If you ain’t sick goin in the hospital you’d be damn sick comin’ out. That crap ain’t fit for a dog let alone a human. Doctors told her theys gonna keep her until she loses a hundred pounds. The kids will be graduated b’fore then and they don’t even goes to school.
Anyways, I’m left alone at the house wit the little bastards…err, my youngins… and all we’s got in the house is gumbo and an empty jar a Honeybee honey, so I says to myself, “Self,” and I recognized the voice cuz it sounded just like me, “Self,” I says, “you gots all this gumbo and the kids are starvin’ so you gots to do the right thing.” So I gives them the honeyjar and tells them to pretend they’s Winnie the Pooh. Then all of a sudden I hears this god-awful screachin’ so I run’s to the front porch tryin not to spill my gumbo and there’s the little whipper snapper… he’s smackin’ a gator with his wheechair. So beings the helpful fadder that I am I tells him, “Don’t be stupid boy, try hittin’ him with a hammer instead. ” I’m always happy to dish out advice to the youngin’s. Speakin’ of dishes, I needs a refill a gumbo.
And for ya’ll that’s been payin’ attention, I done used all-a Shane’s 10 words in chronolitical… chronomical… krononinomal…. kronlogical…. I used dem all in order!
Kenn, I had to whipe a tear of laughter from the corner of my eye. Best Bayou Billy episode to date. Funny, funny stuff my friend!!!!!!!!!
And to work that submission into the series AND do so in the order the words appeared makes it even more awesome.
It was fun. I was grinnin’ like a fool as I was writing it. I don’t know why I did them in order… actually, I do: I felt left out cuz some other people were doing them in order LOL So I decided to try and do them in order and had a whole lot of fun in the process.
Thanks for the kind words,
Kenn
o.k. Kenn, you got me again! I think that gator is going to have to be the “secret ingredient” in the next bowl of gumbo…you know, “secret’s in the sauce”!
Peter had fallen asleep during the movie and when he woke up the contents of his lounge were scattered all over the place.
It looked very much like he’d been burgled, but who would have done such a thing? A Chicago Bears fanatic was Peter’s guess as all his signed memorabilia had been taken.
After the accident all those years ago he’d made a promise to himself that he would never get so low again, but the butternut squash soup he was going to have for dinner had been splattered all over the walls by his intruder, and that was the last straw.
His mind started to go into meltdown and the only woman he’d ever loved with those delicious curves and childbearing hips was staring down at him, laughing while she said “goodnight my little cupcake.”
Was she in the room or not? Peter really didn’t know, although it felt like she was just as it had done at the cinema. When he’d been with her he’d always felt invincible, but now he was all fragile, pathetic and painfully human.
Suddenly he was aware of a honeybee that had perched right on the end of his nose, Peter opened the kitchen drawer, took out the hammer and hit it as hard as he could.
Jamie, I’ll say this; I feel sorry for your Peter character, and that’s a good sign that you as a writer did your job. But, I couldn’t help laughing out loud at poor Peter at the end.
Another fine submission.
Thanks for your comments Shane, that was my first go at using the words in order. I’m afraid that’s the end of poor Peter, time to move on to something fresh in the next challenge.
Man! I was having fun reading Peter. You could just give him a fractured skull to go with the broken heart.
Maybe I’ll give him one more challenge…I’m now thinking he should go out in a blaze of glory after all I’ve put him through!
Now you’re talking! Shock and Awe as the saying goes!
PROGRAMMING NOTE!
Hey everyone. In case you didn’t see it, we added a “CCC community links” page to the navigation bar as our way of giving a shout out to all of you who make this place what it is.
Let me know if I forgot anybody, or if you want me to link to a specific page of your site that you’re trying to drive traffic to. I just linked to everyone’s homepage (if they had one).
That was very nice of you. Thanks, buddy!
I agree, thanks for the links, Number One Moderator!
Thanks for that. You guys make it easy.
Hey, thanks! That’s awesome of you
. It’ll make it easier for me to visit other contributers, too!
But could you change the link for me? I bought my domain about halfway through my CCC contributions so now I have a new “home”. www.butterfliesinmyhand.com
Thanks
I’m all over the place today. Since last week I’ve been running around like a fanatic, and I don’t even know why. Dammit, I made a promise to myself that I would slow down.
Just last night I went to the store for some butternut ice cream, but all they had was chocolate. So like a fool I get a 1/2 gallon and eat the whole thing. Then I get a sugar and chocolate high and I’m running around like a 5 year old.
Speaking of 5 year olds, if my partner was capable of childbearing, we’d probably have one of them running around asking “when can I have some more ice cream!”
If only I’d bought a cupcake instead of the ice cream, I’d be invincible. Yeah, right. I’m only human. And I love to eat sweets. I wonder if they have any honeybee ice cream?
I must be hungry because all I’m thinking about today is food. No wonder I’ve been putting on weight. Guess I’ll go to the store and buy a new hammer. Then I can fix the shelves at home and get those books that are piled up on the treadmill in order so I can start exercising.
Eric, excellent submission…and in perfect order, too! People are kickin’ butt with the order today! Thanks.
1. I love the Programming Notes here.
2. Aww, that’s so nice! Thank you, Shane!
Most welcome!
Okay folks, going off grid until tonight. Chat then.
Each goon the government had sent to thwart my mission seemed more of a fanatic than the one before. I surmised this sniper fit the profile. He was probably even more inhumane than his predecessor. After all, he was up there trying to stop me from getting this precious medicine to the villagers who desperately needed it.
Clearing my mind, I cautiously extended a long stick out into the open, while remaining safely behind the large boulder that protected me from the sniper.
“Boom!” The stick exploded in my hand, sending splinters of wood all over the place. Like a honeybee to a flower! He took the bait like it was a delicious cupcake!. The unsuspecting sniper fell for my bait instantly. My secret weapon, the Stealthy Spy Scope 3000, served me beautifully. I spotted the sniper’s location as he demolished my bait. If I move quickly, I can get away before the trap closes. It’s obvious they’re trying to drive me back towards last night’s campsite.
Reaching into a pouch hanging from my pack, I withdrew my second favorite secret weapon: an extra-large smoke grenade. Pulling the pin, I slammed it down on the ground just below the cliff where the sniper lay camouflaged.
“Poof!” Smoke filled the air, completely obliterating the sniper’s line of sight.
Now, run! I leaped out from behind my boulder and ran, trying to be as quiet as possible. After rounding the next bend in the trail, I slowed to a steady jog, attempting to conserve my energy. My heartbeat thudded in my ears, hammering a frantic rhythm of panic. The recent experience had illustrated to me once again how “not invincible” I was.
As I jogged down the trail, putting distance between me and my pursuers, my thoughts turned to my family. If only they could see me now. They wanted my promise, my vow, to honor them through the act of childbearing. I fought the urge to break into hysterical laughter as I recalled my mother’s face when I told her I was leaving. She didn’t usually show much emotion, but her face was full of disbelief when I broke the news. I wondered what she would say if she could see me now.
Suddenly my steps faltered as I glimpsed a stream cascading across my trail. Perfect! Now I can throw my pursuers off. Maybe I can lose them entirely. I waded into the stream and headed upstream. Brrr! This stream came straight off a mountain peak! Visions of camp and the MREs in my pack danced through my imagination. I distracted myself from my cold feet by dreaming of warm butternut squash seasoned with butter and cinnamon. Mmmm, that would be a good supper. Too bad MREs don’t come in such interesting flavors.
Karetha, you know this, too, has to carry on in the next one. The medicine must get there, right! Very entertaining.
After checking with the national weather, I found that there would be no hurricanes in Louisiana for the next few days. So, being a fanatic for traveling, I jumped on a jet and flew from my home in the “Big Apple,” New York to Baton Rouge, where, a few years ago, I purchased a luxury condo as a retirement investment.
The condo checked out to be fine. Thus, in keeping with a promise I made to myself, I rented a car (BMW, another promise to myself) and headed to the French Quarter in New Orleans, stocking up on, (my favorite), butternut cupcakes to eat on the trip.
Not paying attention to road signs, I became hopelessly lost and on a dirt road covered with a tunnel of moss-laden trees that seemed to cast shadows of invincible scary monsters. Here, there was not a human being in sight.
Suddenly, I came to a stop in a clearing out of nowhere in this God forsaking swamp. At the far end of the clearing leaned a shack that appeared to be constructed of discarded, weather blackened plywood and old cedar shingles.
I cautiously slid from my BMW and was immediately surrounded by numerous cur dogs and children from infant to childbearing age. I took special note of one child, who was missing a leg, in a wobbling wheelchair with bent wheels that were draped with the residue from swamp muck. This place was worthy of a photograph and defiantly void of prophylactics.
An adult male was sitting on the steps of the leaning shack eating something, from a bowl, that looked like it had been slaughtered with a blunt hammer an hour earlier. He smilingly motioned me to come forward. I approached and introduced myself as a hopelessly lost soul who was a foreigner to these parts of the woods. He stood, put the spoon in the bowl of, what looked like gumbo, wiped his free, right hand on the side of his stained, bib overalls and extended it to me saying, “Howdy, the name is Billy, Bayou Billy.
We discussed my dilemma, and then Bayou Billy gave me a grand tour of his domain. There were a variety of rusty machines all over the place, including an old Chevy that looked like it was driven off the levy. The windshield was broken and honeybees had built a huge honey cone inside. In the swamp I could see a matrix of tyrant alligator eyes bobbing in the water.
During the hour-long visit, Bayou Billy never stopped eating his gumbo or introduce me to his wife, who I assumed, was the gumbo cook and mother of all these children.
In all, wrong turns lead me to the wonderfully strange, sometimes hysterical, world of Bayou Billy, where I extended an open invitation to him and his family to use my condo in Baton Rouge. I informed him that it was a gated community and he had to use the password, “Red Wind,” to gain entry. Then, he was to ask the guard at the gate for directions to Mr. Bucket’s condo.
I hope he takes advantage of my offer, as it will surely be a new adventure for him and his family.
I forgot to mention that the condo is only a one bedroom, but it’s loaded with every modern gadget one can imagine.
That’s great, A. Hamilton. I like how you tied into Billy’s world, AND used some of the older words from previous challenges. Nicely done.
Howdy A.
God-darnnit I sound like one of them there Canadians, eh? Anyways, I took you up yer offer but I couldn’t get in. I follower’d yer directions bestest I could. I gots to dat dere gated entrance and somebody came and asked for the password so I broke wind. They done went and runned off! Maybe I wasn’t fartin’ the password right. That’s kinda a funny password if ya ask me. I even scoff’d down a big ol’ bowl a beans jist to make sure I had plenty of ammunition. I even wrote the directions down so I wouldn’t forget. The password is “Red Wind”…. Red Wind? How in the hell am I supposed to break red wind? Ya’ll got some mighty strange passwords.
Anyways, when we was gettin’ ready to board the plane to visit ya’ll in New York city I ask’d the missus if she wanted the window seat, but she said no cuz she just had her hair done. She weren’t none too keen on goin’ in the first place but when I told her it was called the big apple she done started drooling like a hound dog at a steak convention.
It sure was a pleasure havin ya’ll visit me and the kin folk up here at Gator Crossroads and hope to see ya’ll soon. When I was in the big city I gots me one of them dere ‘puter thingys and even gots me a Bayou Billy webpage set up. There’s a picture on there of my wife just before we gots hitched. I’d show ya’ll a modern picture of her but my camera ain’t got a wide angle lens big enuff. The last time I tried takin’ a family photograph I had all the youngin’s gather round the missus but I woulda had to use the Hubble telescope to fit all of her in the picture.
A soon as I got back to the bayou I said to myself, “Self,” and I recognized the voice right away cuz it sounded just like me. “Self,” I says, “You gots to remember to tell A. Hamilton you ‘ppreciate the offer but you ain’t never used a condo before cuz the missus don’t believe in birth control.”
Signed,
Bayou Billy
Butternut, butternut, promise me,
I’ll be as free as a honeybee;
Invincible with a human face,
Hammering cupcakes all over the place.
Butternut, butternut, promise me,
I’ll be as free as a honeybee;
Away from fanatics,
And childbearing addicts.
Butternut, butternut, promise me.
JACED!!!!!!! Dude, you should put THAT to music man! Seriously. That’s bad ass. That’s like a Beck-like tune waiting for you to create.
The kitchen stank of burned butternut and soy sauce. She had the fire out, now, but smoke still hung all over the place. Karen turned her back on the stove, a self-critical smile playing on her lips, and shook her head. She waved a hand in front of her face, but it didn’t do much good. She sighed.
Then, to her surprise, the front door opened. Karen caught a flash of her daughter’s red hair, way across the kitchen, as she came in. Skipping classes, maybe, or just released early. Karen was in no mood to chastise right now, though. She stepped through the doorway into the laundry room and cupboard, to find an old towel to clean up the mess she’d made putting out the fire, and called over her shoulder, “Hi Amy. Sorry about the smoke. What are you doing home?”
One word stopped her in her tracks, halfway through the door. “Mom.” She heard the quaver in her daughter’s voice, not three paces away, and she felt the weight of it in that one syllable. Her breath caught, and she turned slowly, like a hunter afraid of spooking his prey.
Her daughter was there, just inside the kitchen, and behind her stood a young man, tall and slick, with a fanatic look in his eyes and a possessive hand on Amy’s shoulder. She could see the skin pale white where his fingertips dug into the girl’s collarbone, and Karen knew something was very, very wrong.
“What’s going on?” she asked softly.
The young man shook his head. “Nothing you need to worry about, Mom.” She flinched at the familiarity in the name, paired with his menacing tone. It was cold, distant…barely human. His eyes were alive, though, thick with malice. “Amy and I have got some stuff to sort out. That’s all.” His nostrils flared in irritation. “She didn’t think you’d be home.”
“I’m sorry, Mom,” Amy said quietly, but fell silent when his grip on her shoulder tightened. She took a deep breath, and with her eyes locked on the floor, she said, “Please, Mom. Just go shopping or something. We need to talk.”
Karen barked a sarcastic laugh, then immediately regretted it when Amy flinched again. “I’m not going anywhere!” she said. “What’s going on here?”
Amy met her eyes, then, and Karen could see her daughter’s tears. Amy whispered softly, “Please….”
The young man tried to help. “Everything’s fine, Miss Kane.” His lips pinched together in what must have been a smile. “We just need to talk. Give us some time, would ya?” He stepped closer, propelling Amy ahead of him, so that he could loom over Karen, too.
He snatched up her car keys from beside the stove, and pressed them into Karen’s left hand, dropped his voice to a whisper. “Go grab some air. By the time you get back, we’ll have everything sorted out. I promise.”
The teeth of the keys dug into her palm, and the stench of his breath burned more strongly in her nose than the smoke still in the air. Her heart raced, but she kept her face calm. He was dangerous, she could tell that much, and she couldn’t let him hurt her daughter.
She had survived worse than this. The pinprick sting of a honeybee had sent her to the hospital at eight, allergies nearly killing her, but she’d come through. She’d fallen through the ice skating on her uncle’s pond at twelve, and when they finally dragged her out she’d spent four and a half minutes still as a stone, breathless, lifeless. She’d come back, though. She’d survived pneumonia, two car accidents, and childbearing for goodness sake! After that, she’d felt damn near invincible.
But this…this was different. It wasn’t physical pain. It wasn’t fear for her own safety. It was little Amy. Her daughter, her princess, her cupcake.
She felt the muscles in her jaw tense, felt her eyes go cold, but the thug wasn’t paying her a bit of attention. She was still standing half in the laundry room, half in the kitchen, and out of his sight she raised her right hand to the countertop in the cupboard, and silently closed her fingers on the rubber grip of a claw hammer resting there.
She took a breath, and turned to face him.
Aaron, welcome to the addiction we call the CCC. Great submission, man.
Of course, we have to know what happens, so you’ll have to continue this story in the next challenge on Monday.
Everyone welcome Aaron to the fun.
Aaron,
That. Totally. Rocked.
One of the best pieces ever here at CCC. I can barely breathe.
Welcome!
You got me hooked. See you in 21
I’ve been in this game long enough to witness horrible things all over the place, but Butternut sticks with me.
They built Butternut for the railroads. When they left, the town evaporated. Now, there’s nothing left but a gray, half-collapsed store front on what used to be Main Street.
A Michigan ghost town is a weird place to find yourself on your birthday.
It’s even weirder when the victim, a woman a half-century removed from childbearing age, is wearing a little girl’s jumper with a big cupcake on the bib.
The sign was lettered with precision in calligraphy. He was a fanatic about leaving those signs and somehow found a rafter that his hammer wouldn’t shatter to display the message: “Ain’t She Cute?”.
A honeybee, which may have been Butternut’s last living resident, zipped through a window and landed on what was left of her nose. She wasn’t cute. She didn’t look human.
I thought back to one of those mandatory Wednesday afternoon chapel services at St. Siena’s. I could hear Reverend Fitzberger talking about good, evil and an invincible God. I wanted to drag him to Butternut by the collar. I wanted to know if he’d still trumpet the promise of a righteous victory or if he’d surrender. Like me.
Carson, that was one of your most moving submissions. I felt the pain of that place (I even did a google map search to see if that was a real place
)
Great job.
Even more importantly, I used the 10 words in alphabetical order.
Thanks, Shane.
Damn. I missed that again! Even cooler Carson.
“Hey butternut, what are you doing?” John was beside his wife, Katy.
“Cupcake I am trying to make a chicken pasta for you. I am hungry for love.” John hugged his wife Katy.
“Well, that’s only human.” Katy, hugged him back.
“Whenever I leave you, I have this invincible pain in my heart.”
John was now murmuring in Katy’s ears.
zzzzz
“What’s that sound, Katy? Whenever I have sweet nothings for you, this sound comes from nowhere. Have you hidden a dog somewhere that gets active when he hears my sweet nothings?”
“Come on, John, don’t be crazy. Let me see. Oh my God, look at that honeybee.” Zzzzzzz.
Katy picked up a hammer and left John staring at her. “Honeybee is too small for a hammer. Have some mercy and don’t get fanatic over her.”
John tried to explain to his wife. Katy was running after her all over the place and was hardly listening.
“Katy, just promise me that you won’t hurt yourself.” Now John was after Katy.
They went in circles for quite some time till John stopped and said, “Katy, will we chase the honeybee till the time you leave your childbearing age behind? Or maybe, we should keep running till the time we grow old.”
Just then, honeybee left the kitchen and Katy stopped. She approached John and hugged him.
“She’s sweet and doesn’t want us to wait till the time we get old.”
Thanks for stopping by Natasha. That was cute (and nice of that honeybee to think of her ticking clock).
Everyone welcome Natasha, too.
Hi Natasha, welcome to the addiction!
Cute story, I liked it. Swatting a honey bee with a hammer – it’s all fun and games until someone loses an eye…. then it’s a sport LOL
Great job,
~Kenn
Hi Kenn,
Thank you so much. I”ll see you around
Aaron & Natasha:
Welcome to CCC. You will find we are all over the place. Soon you will be a CCC fanatic just like us. I promise you, you’ll be hooked. The list of words may furrow your brow, but like the butternut, the furrowed casing will open to the sweet kernel of creativity.
More satisfying than childbearing (and a lot less painful), you’ll experience the simple joy of a child with his 1st cupcake. You’ll feel invincible with the touching, human support of the CCC community when like a honeybee, you search for the tasty nectar of the next verse as you hammer away on they keys.
Welcome!
Cathy…that was awesome.
And so true too!
That was GREAT Cathy! A perfect way to welcome folks and explain our addiction, and it IS addicting. Guess we’ll be having meetings soon….
“Hi my name is Kenn, and I’m a CreativeCopyaholic. It has been 2 days since my last challenge.” Quick, somebody get that laptop away from Shane, he’s gonna fall off the wagon! : )
Cathy that was indeed awesome. So creative and so unexpected. This place is fantastic. Kenn, there’s no wagon big enough to carry my addiction to the CCC.
LOL, Kenn! This is just plain ol’ fun. Work keeps me from CCC most of the week but it’s the way I start my weekend. It always makes me smile.
I just got back from the 1st day of my training for the Susan G. Komen, 3-Day, 60-mile Walk for Breast Cancer. I came back to all these happy comments. Almost makes me forget my screaming leg muscles!
Don’t ‘cha just love this place?
Thanks, Aaron & welcome!
Awesome, Cathy. Just perfect.
Hi Cathy,
you”ll also find me all over the place now 
That was awesome. I loved it. I think CCC is more than an addiction
Thank you, Kelly & Natasha. I wish I would become independently wealthy so I could visit more frequently!
I second that Cathy. I’d love to be able to do this site full time. That would be awesome.
Thanks a lot Shane. I think I am already addicted to CCC.
The only way to satisfy this addiction is to keep feeding it!
When I saw her running all over the place like a fanatic, I didn’t know what to think! The promise’s we had made under the old butternut hickory were forgotten. She had our son in her arms as she flailed about in terror. I can tell you that while childbearing may be difficult, child-rearing is even more so. Anyway, she was making cupcakes when he started having a seizure and she panicked. Luckily, I drove up the street as she was running back and forth. I got them into the van, and off to the hospital we went. And when the doctors took over, I collapsed. It took almost as long for me to recover as it did for our son. My wife, well, she took even longer.
We always think of ourselves as invincible until life has shown us how human we really are. We’re not allergic to honeybee’s at first. But get stung several times, and what happens? Hammers are just tools until we’ve hit our thumbs about twenty times. If only we could accept our mortality without going through so many problems. But we don’t.
So true, Cleve. I count my blessings every day, even through the suffering. Thanks for the reminder buddy.
The meeting was all over the place. No wonder I never liked to go. There’s the Big Book fanatic always talking about the promises of the program, Betty Crocker talking about her butternut squash recipe because she’s trying to eat healthy now, and Condaleeza Rice boo hooing about being past her childbearing years. I know to err is human but I’m fantasizing about becoming an invicincible honeybee in search of the perfect cupcake and getting the hell out of here. Oh, just give me a hammer and I’ll pound myself into oblivion.
“Hi, my name is Christina and I’m an alcoholic.”
Now remind me again why I want to be clean and sober?
Lots of power packed into that piece, Loran. I likey!!!!
Programming Note
You all rock!
That is all.
I have been all over the place looking for it. Some would call me a fanatic, but I promise you that the Butternut Crunch Swirl would have me consider becoming a childbearing machine for just one more taste. A cupcake won’t do. I need the nutty, gooey, orgasmic cool slide of my Butternut Crunch Swirl. So, come on, my invincible human male hunter. Do this for your little Honeybee. Hammer down the door of the locked ice cream store. GET ME MY BUTTERNUT CRUCNH SWIRL–NOW!!! Please…
SOLD! I’m trying me some Butternut Crunch Swirl. I have not had ice cream in over a year. Is that sad or what?
That’s the saddest story I ever heard.
“It was a dark and stormy night…”.
Stephen violently scratched out the line with his gnawed HB pencil until he broke the lead, creating an audible exclamation to his frustration. He grunted in disgust, finally wadding the sheet of paper and throwing it to join its brethren in the overflowing wastepaper basket. He had been working on starting this novel for 36 straight caffeine-filled hours and this was the sum of his progress… a measly seven miserable words that every pathetic B-grade horror novel begins with. Being successful and rocketed to fame with his first published work was perhaps the worst thing that had ever happened to him. That first book, a psychological thriller entitled ” The Honeybee and the Hammer“, seemed to flow effortlessly from his fingertips. Throughout the entire process, he felt completely invincible. Now, he was beginning to wonder if it was even him that wrote the first book. Every time he attempted to begin the promised sequel, his brain went on hiatus and all of his thoughts just seemed to be all over the place. He had tried everything to get past this block; changing the times he wrote, the places he wrote, how he slept, how he exercised, even what he wrote with, all to no avail. He had tried repeatedly to start this book using a word processor, his faithful Mac, a ball-point pen… christ even a crayon but could never get past the opening line. Hell, he couldn’t even complete THE opening line.
“Come to bed, Cupcake,” Ann suddenly crooned in his ear, nearly scaring the living shit out of him, ” you’ve been working too hard. I promise I’ll help you relax.” Ann was nearing the end of her childbearing years and her biological clock was ticking so hard, it could be heard in the next state. TICK-TOCK. TICK-TOCK. The sound made Stephen’s head ache blindingly. One human should never have to endure this much stress.
“Butternut…”
The more she crooned, the farther his testicles wanted to crawl into isolation and to take their close cousin, the brain, with them. What the hell was he thinking when he married the first fanatic who asked for a signed copy? Yes, success truly was the beginning of the end.
“the farther his testicles wanted to crawl into isolation…”
Lisa, I feel for the poor dude. That line was… painfully easy to relate to, even though I haven’t got the equipment!
As a man, that line WAS INDEED painful.
Great write Lisa. Too bad Stephen doesn’t know about the CCC huh!
It was all over the place. It looked a little like that jarred baby food… what was it? Oh, butternut squash, but the color wasn’t right. It shouldn’t be that color. Why is it orange? she thought abstractedly. Julia rubbed at her temple where the pain was growing like fanatic weeds in a long-deserted garden. It was promising to be a big one, the biggest yet, waddling in through her mind like a childbearing elephant.
Why didn’t she listen to me? Why did she make me do this?
The body lay sprawled across the floor, the butternut squash puddle growing larger and larger. It was barely recognizable as human in Julia’s eyes. Wow, who knew that a hammer could do that? Julia rubbed her temple even harder, squinting as sunlight shown through the window glancing off little dust motes dancing in the still air. She shuffled over to the window to close the blinds, carefully avoiding the puddle. Random thoughts scattered through her mind. It’s creeping like that black tar monster from that old Star Trek series. I still have to make those cupcakes for Samantha. Crap, now I have to clean, too. Why couldn’t she listen? I told her I wasn’t interested.
The pain throbbed and a honeybee buzzed in her ear. She swatted angrily but there was nothing there. At least it wasn’t as bright now. Julia turned and grabbed the blanket that covered the back of the couch. She wrapped the body tight, careful not to get anything on her clothes or her hands. Wouldn’t do to get any butternut squash in the cupcakes, now would it? Didn’t she know I had plans for this afternoon? I didn’t want to talk about that stupid neighborhood watch thing, anyway. She should have just left when I told her to. I didn’t need any help hanging that picture, I had it all under the troll. And now I have to clean up this mess on top of making those damn pupcakes.
The pain, that invincible pain, gathered even more strength and light exploded behind Julia’s eyes. She cried out and fell to her knees, gripping her head. She didn’t even notice her knees were covered in butternut squash as she fell to the floor next to the body. Sweet blackness soon followed, taking away the pain.
So much for Samantha’s cupcakes…
Kool Aid, that was outstanding. Julia was quite a character.
Loved it.
Sitting back on my sit-bones,
like a balanced butternut squash,
the seeds at my center, waiting,
anxious for childbearing, for the
promise of the coming blossoms.
A honeybee travels slowly,
zigzagging all over the place, not noticing
the gentle breeze, delicately visiting
blossom after blossom, knowing
the best welcome is without a hammer.
Invincible is the wind, on which he flies.
Creamy velvet sugar, the perfect top hat
on the crumbly cupcake. Ants marching, across
the counter, fanatic and hungry for gooey
sweetness. Sticky fingers of a human child
swoop down, like a crane and steal
the prize, leaving a trail for them to follow.
Elisa,
You brought the gooey sweetness with this submission.
The CCC gang is going to love you I know it. Especially if they check our your CCC19 submission, too!
Great to have you here.
Thank you so much! It is good to be here!
I couldn’t get the Sniper or her words out of my head. “If I could turn back time,” she said. “I might not again answer the call of Shan Earth Ur.” Now, in my mind, she was neither a Sniper nor an addict—but almost human—far from the cardboard characters I had been commissioned to write off.
“She had to go,” said Velvet. She shuffled forward, intently hammering her chrome quill on the palm of her hand. “She was a fanatic! She was trying to destroy the very fabric of Shan Earth Ur.”
“I’m not sure I believe you,” I said.
“That’s a shame, Cupcake” she said. “You actually had me considering childbearing, again.” Velvet smelled of butternut shampoo and mothballs—somewhat less interesting than before.
I tried to imagine what must lie beneath her honeybee housecoat. My thoughts perverted all over the place.
“It’s a pity. Our child would have been invincible,” she said. “But I can see you are ready for this to be over. And it will soon.” She dipped her chrome quill.
“I promise.”
And it was—THE END.
What! This is the end end? Sure hope not.
Say it isn’t so!