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).
- Totally 80s
- Miracle
- Dinosaur
- Tattoo
- Shrinkage
- Reversible
- Poison
- Wheelbarrow
- Epoxy
- Dreamland
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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“Perfect. You look totally 80s,” Kelly patted James shoulders happily. “It’ll be a miracle if anyone thinks different.”
James plucked hopelessly at hair that felt like it had epoxy glue holding it up. “I suppose… Thank god I drew the line at the tattoo.”
“Oh come off it. You know you want one,” Kelly rolled her eyes. “You’re just chicken. Old dinosaur,” she stuck out her tongue.
“Look, they’re not reversible,” James pointed out, squinting down at the elephant-ear pants. “Do you blame me?”
“You’ll be every girl’s poison. Just think about it,” Kelly smirked. “They’ll be in dreamland.”
“I’d pass out. They’d have to cart me out of the shop in a wheelbarrow.” He hated this outfit. But at least it would get him in the club for the hit. “Alright, am I ready?” James spread his arms and twirled.
“Beautiful.” Kelly kissed his cheek and slapped his gun in his palm. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”
James, this is probably the cutest submission in the series. I really got a great visual with this post. I could totally see that scene in a film.
Those two really have fun together. Can’t wait for the book to come out! Congratulations to you for agreeing to write it (wink, wink).
This is really cute, and all of the prompt words feel natural as they flow through your story.
Sara, this is a series post. James has carried this theme through at least the last 6 challenges. Awesome stuff.
Very cool! I’ll have to go back and read the rest of them.
ROFL—I think “totally 80s” is what your daughter called your boots that last time I visited, James.
Go get ‘em, tiger.
Clarlie wasn’t gay.
He did have a slight lisp that men would rib him about, but he never did any ribbing with men, nor did he have any desire to do so. The thought alone enduced shrinkage.
No, good ol’ Charlie was gay because that’s what his wife would say to him about 10 times a day, each day, every day.
By gay, she of course meant stupid, lame, or ridiculous. That was her word. She loved to use it—partly in jest, partly as a passive aggressive method to get Charlie to stop doing whatever it was that she considered cock-suck worthy.
Charlie loved him some eighties—the music, the movies, the nostalgic dreamland it offered from the poison of his current, irreversible life. Charlie was totally 80s; so much so, he professed his desire to join one of those 1980s themed workout gyms if one ever came into town. His wife threatened to leave him before the ink dried on the contract.
In her eyes, such nonsense was the epitome of gay (times a wheelbarrow full of extra gay). She loves the 70s dispite polyester, flower-power tattoos, white afros, and pussy hair (and “that was that” in her epoxied dinosaur-like rationale).
So, it was a miracle that they both loved eachother so much and are still together after 20 years of marriage (and despite the fact Charlie hasn’t gotten laid in over a year and might actually turn gay if his gay-ass wife doesn’t start giving him some padded 70s pussy).
What a relationship! This sort of reminds me of Louis CK, pre-divorce! I really like how the prompts are used (especially “poison,” “wheelbarrow,” and “epoxied dinosaur”). Very funny and vividly descriptive!
Thanks.
I’m glad you liked it. Wonder what the other people think?!!!
Shane; Great. You had me hanging on the edge with every word. You sure think outside the box . Or do you?
A. you dirty dog you!!!
Wow. a wheelbarrow full of extra gay! that’s an awful lot of gay, Shane…I wonder what that looks like? A village people tour in a VW bus with rear-view mirror hanging my-little-ponies?
Ma, you make me laugh!!!
Totally 80s, I know, but I loved it just the same. It’s a miracle I survived really, to become this old dinosaur looking back in my morning mirror. It occurs to me that back in the day, getting a tattoo *was* totally bad ass. Not like today, where it’s just a pre-requisite for getting into university. (My tat is already suffering from shrinkage, as my “pipes” slowly atrophy into garden hoses… Damn the git who invented mirrors!)
Who says time can’t be reversible? In my mind, I’m always rocking out to Poison (or, more likely, Aerosmith or Van Halen), taking in a flash of those blue eyes strobing me from the crowd before surfin’ down someone’s back lawn in a modified wheelbarrow until the wheel sticks like instant epoxy on the edge of the apron, flinging me up towards the sky and then down into the pool. In those two moments – in the air and then plunged under water – I am the king of all I survey.
Of course now I realize, what I surveyed wasn’t much. But heh heh, the only thing I’m surveying now is the backside of this proverbial hill. At least back then there was the misconception that the balls of Life were in my hand. Now it seems Life is handing mine back to me, before a quick “Psyche!” and a smile at the end as She whisks them out of reach as I put my hand out to take them.
Dude, dude, dude. Dream on, indeed. Get me back on that barrow, and give me back those blue eyes flashing, let me ride that wave all the way down, and fer god’s sakes don’t ever let on it’s just a Facebook dreamland.
~Graham
Graham, you had me tearin’ up with laughter on that one. Very entertaining read. Thank you.
Wow, I love how you kept all of the words together as a single topic, and without any forcing. Awesome nod to the band Poison, “dream on,” etc. Those really added to your topic well (wish I’d thought of using “Poison” that way!). I really liked your story.
Great line, “suffering from shrinkage, as my “pipes” slowly atrophy into garden hoses.” Like Shane, you have to reach outside the box to compile a variety of words like that. Enjoyed.
Thanks all!
Yeah, I had fun with this one. Funny how the words just sort of carry you along…
~Graham
Graham -
Very nicely done. I like the images and the mix of humor with a serious edge.
Graham,
You have so thoroughly reminded me that I’m an old dinosaur, I think I’m gonna have to go to bed early with a hot water bottle and some warm milk to get over it.
Now, where are my slippers and my fluffy robe? I wonder if The Kid’s got VHII on her iPod so I can listen while I snoooooooooze…
Oh Gawd!! The thought of having to get all glammed up for this class reunion was like, so dinosaur! Like, gag me with a spoon, if those douchebags were in some dreamland thinking time was reversible and we could be, like so totally 80″s again! Back then our little clique was, like you know, epoxy on a pack of garbage pail kids cards! Couldn’t pry us apart with a wheelbarrow full of goo gone. Well, times had changed. The poison that comes with growing up had caused shrinkage of the good memories that were a tattoo on my brain. And it would be, like, you know, a fuckin’ miracle if I could walk in there without feeling like I was a transplant from a bad John Hughes movie.
But o.k., like, WHATEVER! I would put on my best black lace corset, fishnets and gloves, a big-ass happy face and make nice with that whole brat-pack scene.
Class reunion?!!!!! That’s classic and a cool angle, Margaret. Had me laughing as always.
One small point though…there were NO bad John Hughes movies!!!!
No, you are right! I had John Hughes on the brain after watching the cool tribute to him on the Oscars last night. It was great to see the contrast between the young 80’s kids and the stars we know today. I think he would be looking down in approval.
I fell asleep to Weird Science last night!
Like, that was, like, totally awesome, fer sure.
I remember dressing up as a Valley Girl for Halloween when I was something like 8 or 10 years old. Classic!
We were watching the John Hughes tribute, too, and my husband and I were talking about how pretty much all his movies defined our lives during that time. He was a totally awsome filmmaker, like, fer sure.
This is really funny–and garbage pail kids really are totally 80’s! I completely forgot about them.
One word, “Fantastic”
thanks
Ethan grunted. “It’s bad, Jude. It’s bad all the way down. It’ll take a miracle for us to just make rent this month, and now this?”
Jude didn’t answer. He was never much of a talker. His response was the angry pulse throbbing in his temple, the twitch of the tendons in his clenched fists, making his angry dragon tattoo dance. Ethan spotted that, and shook his head.
“What’s up with that, anyway? Freakin’ dinosaur growling down your arm. That’s totally 80s.”
Jude hit him with a glare that shut him up. A moment later, Jude sighed. “Don’t pick a fight with me, man. I’m not the one burning down your dreamland. I’m just the auditor.” The corner of his mouth quirked up in a sarcastic smile at that, but it didn’t last long.
Ethan caught the humor, though. He barked a half-hysterical laugh. “Auditor,” he said. “I like that. And what’s that make him, then?” He jabbed an accusatory finger past his companion’s nose, at the white picket fence and the two-story Victorian clear through the passenger window. “What’s that, eh? Shrinkage? The little rat’s smuggling office supplies in a wheelbarrow!”
“You’re overextending your metaphor,” Jude said quietly. He shifted in his seat, unconsciously checking for the reassuring weight of the gun on his hip, and nodded to himself. “We can deal with him.”
“Deal with him? We’ve already tried that, Jude. We’ve dealt with him. I thought your little speech was most persuasive, but he kept right on poaching jobs. We handed him to the cops, with everything they needed to lock him up forever, but it just didn’t stick. What more is there to do? Throw in some epoxy?”
Jude shook his head. “Poison,” he said, and that sarcastic smile came back. “Metaphorically speaking. Some things ain’t reversible, boss.”
For a long time Ethan said nothing. He sat, staring through the window at the pretty little house, and Jude recognized the fire building in his eyes. At last, Ethan nodded. “Do it,” he said. “Keep it clean, though. That’s my daughter in there with him.”
Jude didn’t answer. It wasn’t a clean business, no matter what Ethan imagined, but he’d do his best. He checked his weapon one more time, slipped off the safety, and then climbed out of the car with a grim grin. He’d just been promoted to HR.
OUTSTANDING! Nuff said!
Wow! That’s some nice drama there! It reads like a movie scene.
In my mind, when reading this, I became the producer, director, set designer and costume designer, all in one. And that’s good.
Don’t pick a fight with me, man. I’m not the one burning down your dreamland. I’m just the auditor.
LOVE that!!
Warning – this is gender political…
Hey, don’t be such a dinosaur! You live in a dreamland and your ideas are epoxyed and poisoned and totally 80s – that’s 1880s! They seem to be tattooed in your mind.
I’m talking about the fact that the U.S. has yet to sign the UN treaty convention to protect women from all forms of discrimination.
It will take a miracle for men and women to learn to treat women well. Fortunately laws are reversible and when passed the shrinkage in the economy will result in wheelbarrows of cash.
It doesn’t take a miracle. It just takes a name change
“It will take a miracle (or James The Assassin)”
Yay Anne! I love your very relevant post on this International Women’s Day. I really like the “totally 80s” use too.
rotfl… let’s see, who should I be. Somehow ’sam’ appeals to me at the moment.
Andy Wayman!
Not Uncle Sam, I hope.
Anthony!
Great Idea… then maybe the ubiquitous they would call me and ask me how things should be run.
okay, okay, won’t do it again – until next year, promise
Here is my attempt (in reverse alphabetical order this time), the second part of a serial fantasy story entitled The Goodall Chronicles, and planned to be continued with each challenge:
*********************
After the shaman had procured a wheelbarrow full of the butternut squash and honeybee mush cupcake, he proceeded to keep it in a temperature controlled to the totally 80s range, that is 80 thru 89 degrees, no more no less.
His tattoo of a buxom maiden, was the subject of shrinkage, due to the non-reversible process of aging. Where she was once large busted and very pretty, she is now shriveled, even when he tries flexing his muscles, and her once impressive breasts sunken so as to be almost non-existent.
The poison previously prepared, by some miracle was still as potent as ever, after being buried for years, so many years that the origin is no longer known, in a glass vault sealed with epoxy from olden days.
The rest of the preparations, seemed to occur as if in a dreamland, with a dinosaur chasing him.
Our shaman, has done all he can, it is now up to Goodun to lead the small force to battle against the minions of Badun.
Only time will tell if Goodun can prevail, and the people of Goodall can go back to a life of peace.
*********************
To be continued….
That’s pretty cool, Steve. I likey.
“His tattoo of a buxom maiden, was the subject of shrinkage” (I’m assuming this is why men don’t get tattoos on their….”
Glad you liked it.
I don’t have any tattoos myself, but I if I did there wouldn’t be enough room on my …., not that my wife minds.
I will try to keep working everything into The Goodall Chronicles.
just the thought, huh!!!! Ouch.
If he could manage to get a couple of honeybee stings on that tattoo, maybe that would be the equivalent of implants for the used-too-be buxom maiden.
What rich descriptions. I really like this glimpse into this world.
The Homecoming
Katherine finished her coffee and cupcake at Wright Square Café. She walked out and looked up towards the sun. “God how I love the sun and hot weather!” said Katherine. She began to walk and went in and out of shops located along the street. She picked up a new pair of Skechers, sandals, and a dress. It was great day of shopping!
She kept walking and passed a tattoo shop. She contemplated going into the shop. “What the hell?” said Katherine. She walked into the shop which had a funky black and silver theme to it. The couches and client chairs were black, but the stations were done in silver. Mirrors and abstract paintings hung on the wall. One wall was done in graffiti style, it was very cool. VH1 one was on the big screen TV. They were airing a special called Totally 80s. Katherine laughed because she expected to hear Metallica or Slipknot blaring in the background since it was a tattoo shop. “May I help you love? I’m Jeremy, I own Get Inked,” said Jeremy. “I’m considering getting a tattoo, but I don’t know what I want,” said Katherine. “Here are my books. Feel free to look at my work. I recommend thinking about what you want because once a tattoo is on your body it’s not reversible. Unless you want to spend the money to have it removed, “said Jeremy. “Thanks,” said Katherine. She took one of the books and sat on the couch. She looked at the TV screen and Poison was on the screen. It was an old interview with the band. It was a miracle that none of them died because they loved to party! Katherine was beginning to feel like a dinosaur because she was a teen in the 80s. Jeremy sat across from her and placed another book on the table. “Thank you,” said Katherine. “You’re welcome and by the way, you have a great smile,” said Jeremy. He winked at her and left her to the books. Katherine smiled to herself. She got up and placed the books on the table in front of Jeremy’s station. “I need to think about it. I don’t know what I want. You obviously have talent,” said Katherine. “Thank you. Here’s my card, call me if you have any questions. Just remember with any tattoo there will be shrinkage because I have to make sure it fits your body,” said Jeremy. Katherine blushed. “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind. Have a great day. Bye,” said Katherine. She walked out of the tattoo shop feeling pretty good. But, it was time to head back to Tybee Island.
Katherine arrived home. She noticed a wheelbarrow full of flowers in the front yard. “That’s odd, I don’t remember that being there when I left,” said Katherine. She got out of the car and grabbed her packages from the backseat and trunk. She walked up the stairs to the house and set her packages on the bench. Her aunt had it made years ago. “Hello there,” said a voice. Katherine turned around and saw an older gentleman in old coveralls standing by the wheelbarrow. “You must be Miss Katherine. I’m Avery, the gardener. I’m sorry to hear about her passing. She was a kind woman,” said Avery. “Oh, I had no idea that my aunt had a gardener,” said Katherine. “Well, I’m more like a “light landscaper” these days than a gardener. I kept the outside of this house looking pretty for your aunt,” said Avery. “Yes, well. Um, would you like to come inside?” said Katherine. “That’s mighty kind of you,” said Avery. Katherine opened the door and let Avery inside the house. She grabbed her packages and put them on the sofa. She escorted Avery to the kitchen and he took a seat at the table. “May I get you something to drink?” said Katherine. “Thank you. Water will be just fine,” said Avery. Katherine got Avery a glass of water and handed it to him. “How long have you worked for my aunt?” said Katherine. “Twelve years miss. I met your aunt years ago while she was attending a garden show in Savannah. I used to own my landscaping business and she hired me. I retired from the business, but continued to work for your aunt,” said Avery. “Oh,” said Katherine. She wasn’t sure what to do. He seemed like a nice man, but she could tend to the landscaping. Maybe she’ll keep him until she figures out what to do. Perhaps she could use him to fix minor repairs around the house as well. “You do nice work Avery. Do you fix minor house repairs? There’s a sculpture I have that’s metal and wood that needs fixing. A piece broke off, and I wasn’t sure what to use to fix it,” said Katherine. “I’d be delighted to help you. What you need is a good epoxy. That will take care of it and your sculpture will be good as new. I better get back to the flowers. Thank you for the water. Oh, I work Tuesday, Wednesday, and Saturday from 9 am to 12 pm. I hope that’s all right,” said Avery. “That’s fine,” said Katherine. Avery took his water and went back to work. Katherine wondered what other surprises were in store for her.
Katherine was exhausted from her trip to Savannah. That night, she fell into a deep sleep, darkness was all around her and dreamland was awaiting her. She found herself back in the 1860s. This time she was with a distinguished man. He was tall, dark haired and dark eyed. He wore a suit like the ones Rhett Butler wore in Gone with the Wind. He was very attractive and Katherine had her arm through his. She was dressed in a satin peach gown decorated with a belt and flowers. She held a white umbrella. “Darling, shall we take our leave,” said Katherine. “Yes, my love, I think it’s time we left this party. It was a success, you were wonderful,” said the man. He grabbed Katherine and kissed her with fervor. “My love, we shall never be apart from each other,” said the man. “Even in death,” said Katherine. “Yes, even death. We shall always be together,” said the man. The way he said it made Katherine uneasy. She began to stir in her bed. “Katherine, we shall be together, even in death. We are meant to be together for eternity. I will not let you go. For you are mine and I am yours, that’s how it’s written,” said a voice. “Katherine, do you hear me?” said the voice. “Katherine, answer me,” said the voice. Katherine sat up and muttered, “Yes, I hear you my love,” and fell back to sleep.
Katherine is getting some serious interaction with the supernatural huh! I await what happens to her in the next CCC.
Yikes! When Avery came into view I had that sinking suspicion you get when someone evil enters the picture… I thought, “No, Katherine, don’t let him in!” I look forward to reading what happens next.
Jake unlocked the door and stepped out of his house on his way to work.
People were dressed in bright clothes,the place looked different,there never was a market in front of his house. Everything looked totally 80s. He thought it must be his hangover or he must be in dreamland.
Vodka was his poison,and he drank and went to heaven last night.
He was dropped home in a wheelbarrow by John.
Waking up today was actually a miracle.
He had been brought to Hades last night.
Inebriated intoxicated ‘n slurring , he couldn’t even tell the guard his name.
His identity was established by the dinosaur tattoo on his chest.
He was led into a dark room. Lord Hades sat atop a dark chair.The room smelled of epoxy.
Hades secretary then read out his fate , it seemed there was a mistake.The angel of death got a call on his cellphone on his trip yesterday , too busy on his call he picked up Jake instead of the designated person.
Now what ? Hades knew it wasn’t totally reversible – he took a gamble – Jake was back in his house. Hades magic had caused some shrinkage in time. Only 20 years.
Hades banned all mobile phones on the angels’ travelling assignments to earth thereafter.
Welcome to the fun Zephyr. You’re going to have a blast in here.
Very creative piece. Very much liked it.
ps. You forgot “dreamland” and “shrinkage” though. put those into another comment, I’ll add them to your post, then delete your 2nd comment. Thanks.
What a clever idea; I love angels screwing up their assignments because of their cell phones. That gives them the same human qualities the gods themselves are often given in Greek mythology.
Thanks Sara for the encouragement on my first story for CCC.
- Zephyr
Very cool, Zephyr. Sounds like a great idea a short story or a book.
You could call it ” DEAD RINGER: Cell Phones are Hell” : )
Great title Kenn
thanks.I’m already thinking of converting this into a continual story.
Cheers
Archie’s totally 80s Def Leppard tattoo trembled as he swiped the epoxy syringe down the edge of the wheelbarrow.
It had been a miracle that the dinosaur of a thing had still been there after all these years; sure, there’d been some shrinkage, but that was to be expected. What was done was done, and no sorry excuses, reversible apologies, or even whiny pleas for mercy would save his old roommate tonight.
One drop of poison, and off to dreamland…
Ohhhh. That was sinful, Sara. More please. Everone welcome Sara to the best damn writers hangout there is.
Hey, bad roommates are the worst! Just kidding.
Thanks for the welcome! I’m excited to be here.
Wow, remind me never to drink your milk… lol
Good short read!
~Graham
Haha, thanks Graham!
PROGRAMMING NOTE.
The CCC is 21 today. In honor of this, I plan to drink a Corona Extra tonight. Who’s with me? If you don’t drink an O ‘douls will do (or just tell some friends about this place).
ps. Going off grid until tonight. See you then.
Losing use of my legs was so totally 80’s
And the end of a miracle, my love and Katie’s
A groaning dinosaur now, well past my best
With that painful tattoo of her name and mine on my chest
No reversible shrinkage I’m stuck in this chair
A posioned mind and no legs, tell me how is this fair?
Like a rotting marrow in an old wheelbarrow drifting out to sea
They can cure bacon and Epoxy but they can’t cure me
I give thanks to the Lord I can still use my hands
As they close round my throat I drift off to dreamland
Jamie, that was super cool. Very nice write. Probably your best to date.
I’m not sure why your submission was held up in moderation. I think the sheer load of comments is bending our server or something. Sorry.
Thanks Shane, no problem. I’m in Scotland anyway and wrote that just before I went to bed last night so didn’t notice it took a while to get posted.
Would it be possible to change my link in the community links page to point to my new creative writing blog site please? http://www.jamiegraham.co.uk Thanks again.
I was wondering last night if you would want to change that. I just took care of it.
Excellent, thank you Sir!
The music playing in the background was totally 80’s. Frankly, I couldn’t stand it. I much prefer old jazz. It’s beautiful, and soothing, and. well, it’s just a better class of music. You know what I mean? Anyway, I need to tell you about the miracle, not the music. Maybe it wasn’t really a miracle, but it sure seemed like one to me. I was there, in the museum, late at night. My office is on the third floor, above the dinosaur’s. I really like it except for the piped in music. Why can’t they just let us have our own music instead of piping the same stuff all through the museum? Anyway, Jowls came in to visit as he often does late at night if I’m still there. Sometimes we have a Corona together. Sometimes we just talk over old times. And sometimes, sometimes we plan our next “program”.
Anyway, he wanted to show me his new tattoo. Personally I don’t have any and wouldn’t ever even think of getting one. But Jowls does. He likes them and he’s got several. The new one is a multi-colored dragon wrapping around his wrist and up his arm. It’s actually an interesting tat, but I think of how they would look in forty years. I haven’t ever met anyone with a tat over 60 years old who still thinks that their tat is cool. They all wish that they had never got one. Oh, I’m sure there must be some out there that do like their tattoos, but I’ve never met one.
I’m thinking about the damage and potential shrinkage that the papyrus from the scrolls might exhibit with the climatic changes they’ve experienced. From the Middle East, to Greece, to Chicago, to Utah, and back to here. All those temperature and pressure and humidity changes. It’s not like that kind of deterioration would be reversible. And all Jowls is doing is going on and on about this “fantastic” new tat artist he’s found and the cool new inks and colors and blah, blah, blah. Doesn’t he know how they are toxic time release poisons? The damage they will cause to his immune system over time? He just doesn’t get it. And I’ve got to worry about preserving these incredible ancient documents or they will be lost forever, never to be recovered.
Suddenly it hit me! Those inks in the tat’s, those poisons, can be used to help preserve the scrolls! “Grab the wheelbarrow done the hall!” I scream, almost causing him to spill his Corona onto the computer keyboard he’s sitting next to. “If we mix the cyan dyes with some epoxy, and paint it onto the surface of the scrolls, it will preserve the papyrus, gluing it together to prevent further damage and the dyes will mix with the inks, making it easier to read.” And with proper light exposure, it makes it even easier. And then a careful wash with vinegar to stop the chemical reaction and a careful washing and drying. I don’t mention to him that we’re mixing up the old cyanotype formula that was one of the first photographic emulsions or that too much exposure to it causes cyanide poisoning which results in neurological damage. Where do you think the phrase “Mad as a Hatter.” came from? From cyanide and arsenic poisoning to the hat makers from their craft. The early photographers suffered from the same problems. Many hatters, and seamstresses, and photographers over the years have died from these poisons.
It worked. I never would have thought to do it if Jowls hadn’t been going on and on about his new tattoo and the inks and the new, cool, colors. It was truly a miracle. Like flying over Dreamland and not getting shot down. We were able to not only preserve the scrolls, but actually read parts of them that had been obliterated by age. Thank you Jowls!
That’s a great story Cleve. I like how you actually make me wonder if what you say in in fact true. I’ll have to look some of this up. Excellent.
70% fact, 30% fiction roughly… I’ll let you figure out which is which and then we can discuss it…
Ok, did you look it up?
Actually, cyanotypes are real, as are the cyanide, etc., and the neurological damage and deaths mentioned and the origin of the phrase “Mad as a Hatter.” I have a first generation color Xerox of an original cyanotype that I made back in the late 70’s hanging on my wall right now. Boring as a black and white, it turned into a rather nice cyanotype, and then a really cool color xerox when I moved the postioning slightly before the third scan (the magenta one.) Whether or not it would work mixed with epoxy to preserve an ancient papyrus, well, that part is I suppose potentially possible, but I’ve never heard of it being attempted.
I never knew those facts. Amazing. Thanks Cleve.
You’re welcome. I think that’s what makes good fiction, to use as much reality and truth as possible and then add your little “twist” to it to tell the story. The best sci-fi is really a look at human interactions based in a made up world or our world with made up technology. Some of our best authors were actually scientists, doctors, politicians, teachers, etc, who used their imaginations to take what they knew in their work to create new technologies in their stories and as a result invented them. (Clarke, Asimov, Pournelle, Crichton, etc.) I love a good story that makes me think, so if I accomplished that here, then I’m tickled pink. Thanks again for these challenges!
I’m with Shane. I love a story where I’m thinking, wow, this guy knows his stuff… or enough to fool me into a trip to Wikipedia. You had me hooked, Cleve.
She must have had shrinkage of the brain that put her in dreamland when she got that, totally 80s, tattoo of a dinosaur on her entire back. It’s a miracle that poison didn’t get into her blood from the wheelbarrow of ink it must had taken.
So I says to myself, “Self.” (From Bayou Billy), What about epoxy? How in the hell am I going to fit epoxy into this short challenge about a tattoo? Oh well! It’s too late now. Like the tattoo, my short challenge is not reversible.
Great, creative way to weave a word into the challenge A. Hamilton. And I’m sure Billy will have something to say to you about how well you’re learning swamp talk.
Without a footnote, it’s called cut and paste plagiarism
Got stuck on epoxy? The irony…
Pulled it off in the end though — I liked it!
~Graham
thanks guys
Jaiden couldn’t believe her luck. It was an epic miracle when she scored tickets to see Poison live. Ever since she attended the Totally 80’s theme dance last year she’d been obsessed with the band.
Sonya couldn’t believe Jaiden liked those dinosaurs but figured what goes around comes around sooner or later. After her visit with Cecily she felt her attitude towards Jaiden shifting. She didn’t need to be so strict. After all, maybe if she loosened up, Jaiden would be less likely to rebel later on. At least that was what Cecily suggested, “It’s not like you have to epoxy the rules, you know.” Sonya was willing to listen to her sister this time.
What Sonya didn’t know what that Jaiden was planning to get a tattoo of the band’s logo. It would be just like the one on Rikki Rockett’s arm from Flesh and Blood, except hers would be over her heart. She had it all figured out. Her friend Kylie’s mom said she’d sign the permission form for her. Kylie’s mom rocked! She was going to take them to the concert and bring them home. Jaiden would spend the night at Kylie’s house after they got their tattoos. It would be irreversible.
The big night finally arrived. Jaiden screamed until she was hoarse when they played Unskinny Bop, her total favorite. Ears ringing, they headed off to the late-night tattoo parlor. They all wondered what a wheelbarrow planted full of dried up flowers was doing in front of the place. It was meant to help the store look less seedy, but really? It just looked lame. The plants were wilted from lack of water, so much shrinkage in the dry soil that it looked like a Tim Burton landscape.
Jaiden and Kylie talked late into the night about boys, bands, and their new tattoos before slipping off into dreamland. Jaiden knew she’d have to deal with her parents later but it was so worth it.
Note: This story started in CCC#5 and #6 and has continued non-stop since #9.
Loran that was really neat. Loved it as always. I’m loving the saga of Cicily. More please.
It was a totally 80’s weekend and I couldn’t care less. The 80’s were just a warm up to the sweet miracle of music I’d found in the 90’s.
Nirvana and Pearl Jam, Mudhoney and Dinosaur Jr. Sure, the Lollapalooza tattoo on my arm is a bit dated, with a bit of obvious shrinkage, but that probably had more to do with the red-hot paperclip and bottle of smashed blueberries from Burning Man than anything else.
Too bad they weren’t reversible. But they weren’t. Once you put the poison on your skin, it was there for all the world to see forever.
I put on an old CD and flicked the lighter. iPods were for yuppies and hipsters. I inhaled and held it in my lungs, then imagined my listless limbs dangling over the side of a wheelbarrow, an epoxy of apathy bolting me to the wooden bottom as the acrid scent of burning chemicals sent me to dreamland.
Sean, perhaps “totally 90s” will come up soon in the CCC.
I went to several Lollas. They were a blast. How does one spell Whippits?
“Mom, I am going out to this party called, totally 80s. Everyone will come there dressed in clothes of that era. How do I look?” Ana was beside her mom who was watching her favourite movie. “Sweety, just give me 5 minutes and i”ll be out of my dreamland”. “I will be out of our home in 5 minutes. Jack is coming in his convertible BMW to pick me up.” The sentence caught her mom’s attention and she looked at her daughter. “Ana, you are looking like a princess and you are wearing the perfect dress to showcase your tattoo” she hugged her. “But, let’s talk like two adults now. i don’t like Jack at all. You have to be careful when you are with him. Please don’t let his thoughts poison your mind. Whenever you need me, just shout and I”ll be there”. “Sure, mom. Dont worry. Your daughter is very mature and responsible to handle things.” “I love you, my princess. Come back soon.” Said her mom. Just then Ana heard a horn. “Go sweety, otherwise Jack will keep blaring the horn and the whole neighbourhood will be out on the streets.”
“Hi sweetheart. You look lovely” Jake was handing over the flowers to Ana. “Thanks. Though its a miracle that you have noticed me and my dress. By the way, what’s wrong with your hair? Have you used some epoxy gel on your hair? ”. “Come on Ana, I am trying to look like the movie stars in 80s and babe, I have my eyes only for you” he gave a lop-sided smile which made Ana’s heart beat faster. “Lets go Jake. I am feeling cold.” “Sure, princess”, Jake showed some chivalries and opened the door for Ana to sit.
Ana’s mom who was watching the drama unfold from her kitchen window was not too happy with her daughter going with a pig like Jake. She knew Jake’s family and didn’t like the values instilled in Jake by his family, which according to her were zilch.
Jake parked the car and opened the door for Ana to step out. As soon as they reached the hall, something hit Ana and she shrieked. Jake’s arms were around Ana, “hey, don’t worry, it’s just a balloon shaped dinasour.” Ana regained her balance and they walked in the hall. Ana and Jake looked around at their familiar class friends who didn’t look so familiar in their weird dresses. The scene was more of totally 60s and 70s rather than 80s. “Hi Ana, you look lovely”. “Hi Cynthia, you look lovely too. I love your reversible dress. Tell me something, do you think there will be any shrinkage when you wash it as the dress is already too short”. Cynthia had a particular laugh and when she laughed everyone used to laugh at her more than with her. “Hey Ana, look at that wheelbarrow. Is it just a show-piece or can you drive in it?” Jake left her side to inspect the wheelbarrow. Ana and Cynthia were there too when someone wearing a dark coat with a knife approached them. “Who’s Ana amongst you?”
Natasha, that was great. And the ending!!! Love to see this continued.
Thanks Shane. I”ll try to continue this in our next challenge
It’s a good read Natasha. Love the cliff-hanger ending.
Thanks Kathleen. I will try to continue this and break the suspense in the next one
The Saga of Bayou Billy…
So I’m sitting on the front porch eating a big ol’ bowl a gumbo and got to thinkin’ about my wife, my sweet Yvonne, up there in that there hospital and the sufferin’ she must be going through tryin’ to survive on hospital food. That health food stuff just ain’t good for you. Ya’ll every walk into one of them there health food stores? The damn owners always look like they’s half way dead. They sure is gonna feel stupid when they gets old and is in the hospital dyin’ of nothing. You won’t never see one of them with a tattoo neither cuz they can’t git ‘em – the needle would stick clean in the bone cuz they ain’t got ’nuff fat on them to grease a fryin’ pan.
Did I ever tell you my Yvonne gots a tattoo? Yes sir, she got a raptor tattooed on her butt when she was teenager. Now-a-days it done stretched so big it looks more like a brontosaurus. Why just the utter night I was at my wife’s brother’s mother’s son’s house watching something called Jurassic Park and when I saw’d them big ass dinosaurs I couldn’t help but think of my wife. I sure do miss pushing her around the grocery store in the wheelbarrow.
It’ll be a miracle if me and the youngin’s can survive another month without her around here to keep us all civilized. The whipper-snapper done gave his brother Jeb a tube of epoxy glue and told him it was tooth paste! Sure ’nuff Jeb tried brushin’ his one good tooth with it. From nows on I’m gonna start callin’ Jeb “Double D”… Dumb as Dog shit.
I told the whipper-snapper if he ever does sumthin’ like that again I’d break his two legs. He looked up at me from in his wheelchair and said, “Go head, make my day.” That’s was so totally 80s of him I just had to kick his Dirty Harry ass all o’er the bayou. Now I read somewhere that ya’ll ain’t supposed to hit yer kids in anger. Which got me thinkin’: When is you supposed to smack ‘em? Daddy’s in dreamland he’s so happy so come on over here so I can smack ya’ll around for a while cuz I don’t wanna hit you in anger. Now I ain’t gots me a higher education like them people who wrote that book, but even I knows that’s just silly.
So I’m tryin’ not to be angry as I’m teaching him lesson – actually I’m trying not to enjoy it too much but that’s another story. Anyways, outta nowhere this travellin’ salesman come a’callin. He done interupted a good whoppin’ so now I is gettin’ angry. I tells him I ain’t interested in nuttin’ he gots but that sales feller is persistent. He tells me he gots a new kinda rat poison that will kill all sorts a critters but it’s completely harmless to people. So I handed him a spoon and said, “Prove it.” He weren’t none to keen to prove it so I kicked his ass all o’er the bayou too.
Just then, outta the blue comes one them Jehovahs Witnesses wanting to preach the good word to all us ignorant folk up here at Gator Crossing. I gots plenty of good words and I was using them all b’fore he even showed up. I swears I ain’t had this many visitors since my wife told everyone I had a stiff neck cuz a Viagra got stuck in my throat. Now I don’t want y’all gettin’ the wrong idea… I only bought them cuz of that damn commercial. Ya’ll know the one where the guy runs outta his house all smilin’ and jumps o’er the fence and dances down the road? When I saw’d that commercial I said to myself, “Self,” and I recognized the voice right away cuz it sounded just like me. “Self,” I said, “I ain’t gots a shrinkage problem or nuttin’ but I’ll buy them damn pills if somebody would introduce me to his wife!”
Anyways, back to me story…. so I gots my hands b’tween kickin’ the little feller’s ass and that salesman who wasn’t smart enough to keep travelin’, all the while trying to pry the toothbrush off the Double-D’s one’s tooth and this Jehovah is trying to preach to me from the good book. And it was a good book too… good and heavy. I musta hurt like b’jesus when I smacked him with it cuz he took off quicker than a coackroach when the lights come on. Now I don’t know’d much about them Jehovah people cuz my folks done raised me Cat’lic. Now I don’t like comparin’ religions or nuttin but I learnt bein’ a Cat’lic has it’s perks. The best part is yer sins are reversible – ya’ll just gotta go into that confessional thingy that looks like a phone booth without the phone and tells the preacher yer sins and you walks out with a clean slate. I reckon the phone is on his side cuz he always talkin’ to God. That reminds me… How come is it if you tell people you talk to God they say its religion, but if you tells them same peoples that God talks to you they think yer nuts?
I remember this one time I went to confession and was tellin’ the preacher all my sins and he done dropped his Bible fourteen times! Guess he wasn’t expectin’ so much sinnin’ from a nine year old.
Well I’d love to stay and chat with y’all but them utter two little bastards are fightin’ o’er the Nintendo again. How many times do I gots to tell them ain’t no use fightin’ over the joystick cuz the tv’s broke? Damn kids are about as sharp as a bowling ball.
I have to admit I almost enjoy reading about Bayou Billy as much as my own poor attempts!!!
As always Kenn, I have a face-wide grin on. Thanks buddy. Billy Rocks!
The best part is your sins are reversible! Gotta love it. You are one talented dude (checked out your website too).
Laughing. So hard. I’m crying. Thanks, Kenn, I needed that!
Soon the stream forked and I paused to consider which direction I should go. The inevitable shrinkage of the stream would poison any attempt to keep my trail submerged in the water. I quickly realized the decision wasn’t reversible, and standing still wasn’t going to produce a miracle to solve my plight. Sighing, I turned left and began wading upstream again.
Shortly I concluded I had been trekking through the frigid water for nearly 30 minutes. Hopefully it’s been long enough to confuse the goons on my tail. I really have to get out of this water before my feet are blue. I stepped out of the stream and looked up gratefully at the hot sun. My footprints should dry in 5 minutes or so.
I reached around into my pack and pulled out my lunch. “Trail mix and Gummy Dinosaurs…that’s some combination,” I mused aloud. “Gummy Bears would be better, but this isn’t Earth, after all. Besides, Gummy Bears are so totally 80s, silly girl!”
The stream I had just emerged from was flanked by steep rocky walls. If I’m careful, maybe I can find a way up to the top without leaving any tracks. I munched my trail mix as I surveyed the cliffs. The location of the village was tattooed into my memory, complete with surrounding geographical landmarks. Once I’m at the top, I’ll get a good view of the area so I know which direction to go.
I began picking my way toward the cliff, scanning for the best route to the top. Good thing you chose these boots, because they always stick like epoxy to surfaces that look traction-less. Be careful though, you don’t want someone to be hauling you out in a wheelbarrow after you knock yourself into dreamland from a bad fall.
An hour later, I finally hauled myself over the top edge of the cliff and scrambled to my feet. Whew, that was a climb! Glancing around, I was stunned at the beauty of the view. Mountains stretched for miles, as far as I could see. I recognized two peaks that were to my left. My destination lay in a valley between those mountains. I was not far from the end of my journey.
Great eye before the storm buildup here. Can’t wait to see what happens to your character. As always.
The Offices of Dreamland
The offices of dreamland were totally 80s, but somehow perfect anyway. Elisa wondered if they looked this way to everyone, or if each person’s version of dreamland was a custom job. Teal walls with purple melamine counters covered in potted African Violets made the place look like a surreal bank lobby, and the tattoo of a constant heartbeat coming through wall-mounted, white, Bose speakers instantly slowed Elisa’s breathing and made her feel a little sleepy.
It looked a lot like the drawings in her notebook; she had thought it was amusing to draw the offices of dreamland, to create a corporate center for a place that didn’t exist. Whenever friends came over to their apt., her soon-to-be-ex boyfriend, Kip, would tell that same, stupid, story about how he had taken Ketamine and cough medicine and ended up laid out in a convenience store ice machine in the bad part of town, and Elisa would pull her knees up to her chest, tune out the drone of his voice, and sketch. When he got to the end of the story and started to say it was a “miracle” that he had survived, she would have a new map of dreamland fully realized in pastels on the page.
In her mind, dreamland was sort of like a classy social service agency. They doled out sweet dreams to all children, and even sweeter ones to orphans or kids in war-torn countries. The office administrator was a tall, pretty, red head who had toys on her desk. The blue dinosaur was left over from a visit from her son, and she also had a tiny wheelbarrow that her daughter’s doll could use to garden. Even though Rachel–that was the administrator’s name–was striking and walked with the grace of a gazelle, she was also exactly the kind of person Elisa would want to stroke her hair while she was half-in, half-out of sleep.
And maybe because Elisa had fully imagined Rachel at work in the dreamland office, she felt she knew her. Rachel became Elisa’s daily companion as she walked past the blossoming ornamental pears trees that bordered the sidewalk on the way to the art building where Elisa had class. Once, her favorite teacher, Dr. Cunningham, herself a kindly red head, though plumper than Rachel, had worn a reversible silk jacket that slipped from a pattern of violets to green leaves depending on the mood of its wearer, and Elisa thought, “That is Rachel’s jacket. Why is Dr. C. wearing Rachel’s jacket?”
She was lost in thought until Dr. C. said, “Elisa, you seem to be in dreamland today. The epoxy you’re using for that plastic sculpture is dripping on your legs.” Elisa managed to wipe it off in time and to finish gluing the pieces of plastic she’d molded to resemble thin slices of pears. For her, each slice of plastic pear was a luminous white slice of memory from the past. The epoxy had turned yellow in some spots, and even though there would be some shrinkage as it dried, the glue somehow blurred and poisoned the perfection of the perfectly white slices. The piece that was the memory of green June corn stalks in her grandmother’s field turned yellow like old cellophane tape, and that night Elisa dreamed she was lost in a strange city and couldn’t reach Kip by phone to come and find her.
She located the dreamland offices she’d drawn in such detail, but everyone had gone home for the day, and Rachel’s son’s blue dinosaur seemed discontent standing all alone on top of an old, putty-colored computer monitor. Elisa woke up too early covered in sweat as if she had really been running through the streets of a strange city trying to find a working pay phone to call Kip.
The next night set Elisa in a courtyard with her own plastic pear slices towering over her like giant, shining, half moons. Behind each slice, a dreamland worker waited patiently, but Rachel was nowhere to be found. Even so, in this dream space, Elisa was strangely comfortable. Lush Kentucky bluegrass blanketed the courtyard and curved under the giant pear slices Elisa knew she must have sculpted and set up like white doors to another world.
Someone called her Rachel, and she looked down at her sleeves and saw the green sleeves of Dr. C.’s reversible silk jacket covering her own wrists. Her hands were graceful as she began to motion for the workers of dreamland to gather round. Elisa heard herself telling them about the office’s next project. She said, “We’ll make dreams of golden pears that feed a hundred hungry children, and we’ll make dreams of poison too. Those will be for the legions of cruel colonels who think it is amusing to collect sliced-off pieces of childrens’ tender, pear-shaped ears.”
Gretel, that was outstanding. Super creative, super deep. And you don’t have a website? You should really have one to get your words on paper.
Welcome to the CCC. Everyone say hi. This place is addictive. You’ll see.
ps. How’d you find us?
pps. Only need to bold the words once.
Save you some effort, huh!
ЎHola!
http://www.creativecopychallenge.com – da mejor. Guardar va!
[url=http://www.hope4live.com/]Dougles[/url]
Calling it the Blue Dragon might have made more sense, instead the sign read “Blue Dinosaur“, in block letters, a faded blue, which had never been navy, but had, at one time, been brighter, bluer. Under the simple sign, was a window, large and gleaming, unlike the sign, the window had a life of its own, it was bright, illuminated and the reversible curtains, fresh, red velvet and a deep dark black, unlike the sign their color was rich with meaning.
Beyond this storefront was a dark hallway, with a totally 80s kitsch decor, nothing of importance stood in the hallway and yet the hallway seemed of importance, it served a purpose, the desk, generic and nondescript, had a very specific function. During the day it was less foreboding, more like a traffic light, but in the waning light of evening, it was a traffic light and an outpost, like the drawbridge, the arbitrator of who gets across the moat in times of feast and famine.
Tourists by the wheelbarrow full, flocked to the cobblestone streets, in search of poison and delights, night after night. Regulars knew the alleys and back doors well, the epoxy of filth and the stench of hope, ripe in the summer evenings air. To some this dreamland held untold delights and for others it just was, the same faded facades, perhaps once vivid with promise, but now they were just like a pair of blue jeans, faded and showing their age in stains and tears, maybe dressed up or down or maybe just what was on the top of the pile on a given day.
The shrinkage of hope, a pervasive cloud, this night was sliced cleaning by the rip back of the curtain. For in the gleaming window, instead of a bored smiles and some skin, stood a willowy girl, with black hair and bright eyes, vacant but bright, like she saw the stars but refused to tell you where you too could find them. The stars were hers, but she would enjoy your stares.
In a short silk jade dragon, not dinosaur robe, she planted a chair in the center of the window. Plain and wooden, standing in the center of a clearing like a bare winter tree. Her knee high boots and stockings a sharp contrast with her creamy skin. She plants herself in front of the chair, knees up against the seat, looking over her shoulder, out into the night, looking up above the heads of the crowds staring into the window.
Straddling the chair, like Khan’s concubine on his most prized steed, she sheds the robe in a smooth waterfall like movement, fluid and rippling. At the same moment the lights in the window dim, highlighting her luminescent skin in the darkness and in seconds, the creamy skin is marked in growing, glowing, swirling lines, her LED tattoo springing to life, dancing across her back following the movement of her body as she sways slowing to the music only she can hear.
“A miracle,” gasped a woman passing by, making a sign of the cross. For to the darkness, came a light.
Elisa, that was damn good. Very detailed.
“like Khan’s concubine” that was my fav.
Thank you… I am pleased with this entry also…
It was a totally 80’s moment. All around one could see big hair held in place with epoxy-strength hairspray. Guys had on parachute pants or jeans and rayon button down shirts, open half-way down and a few wore felt fedoras. The gals had their stirrup pants or jeans, legwarmers, over-sized shirts with belts around the waists and even black fingerless lace gloves. Some of the girls had fedoras, too. Susan was right in the mix. Real Life played in the background, Send me an Angel, and she moved slowly, but in time with the beat, singing at the top of her lungs. It’s a miracle no one noticed, but then everyone was singing so maybe she just blended in.
“Hey, Kool Aid! Watch out!” Tiger whizzed past, skating backwards, a scarf tied around his leg, just above the knee, flapping behind – well – in front of him. Kool Aid, or Susan, had earned that nickname back in college by dying a streak of her hair with Black Cherry Kool Aid, giving it a bright pink color. Tom had an amazing tattoo down half his back and part of his arm of a tiger wrestling a dragon and Tiger just fit better than Dragon.
“You watch out!” She yelled back, laughing. Skating at Dreamland roller rink was always a blast, especially during their special events. The Xanadu Skate Party was the was the first time she and her friends had ever gone to the Coney Island rink and she had fallen in love with childhood again. This time, she came with family. Susan laughed glancing down at her daughter who was skating next to her. Danielle rolled her eyes but was laughing, too, as her dad went rolling on around the rink. Poison’s Talk Dirty To Me was next to play and the place went wild. Susan and Danielle looked back at each other and laughed even harder.
Two skaters came past goofing around and doing some kind of wheelbarrow; the “base” of the wheelbarrow had his skates on his hands while his girlfriend held his legs. They headed to the center of the rink where several others were spinning and twirling, a mix of flash and color not seen since Breakin’ hit theaters. Several others were crawling along the edge of the rink, gripping the wall as though life depended on it.
“Hungry?” Susan shouted down to Danielle.
“Yeah,” Danielle answered back. They rolled over to the break in the rink wall and made their way to the snack bar. It looked like it had been there since dinosaurs walked the earth but the owners were in the process of renovation. The carpet had been pulled up and shrinkage cracks in the concrete spread like a fine web across the floor, but the snack bar was clean and they headed to a plastic booth to eat.
“This is so much fun, mom. Was it really like this when you were a kid?”
“Yeah, it was pretty fun back then – innocent, too, at least for me and my friends,” Susan mused, “Too bad time isn’t reversible.”
That’s probably the best description of the 80s to date here! I loved the roller skating thingy. Totally forgot about that. Great write.
I Googled “dreamland” to see what would pop up and the roller rink was one of the hits. It’s apparently a real place that has 80’s parties, including the referenced Xanadu party. I wish I lived closer ~ it would be great fun!!
Indeed. I loved that time period of my life. Everything was fun and exciting.
“Joe … can you take a look at this?” the clean skinned youth asked as he handed the drawing over.
Joe and his apprentice looked at the sketch. It was a pen and ink of the dinosaur and was good enough to become a resellable flash — and be sold across the U.S.
“This isn’t the same drawing you brought in last month,” Joe commented as he inspected the intricacy of the impending tattoo.
“No … you were right … that one was so totally 80s…” his giggle turned into a laugh.
“Getting your first inking is really important,” Joe repeated for the umpteenth time. “This is permanent. It is not reversible.” The boy was still smiling.
“But as he gets older … will there be shrinkage? Will the colors fade?” the boy’s mother asked. She was trying to make sure her oldest was fully educated before he made this leap.
“It will shrink and grow as he does. If the color fades… he can come on back and I will re-ink it,” Joe said.
“Okay. Will you do the job?” the 18-year-old asked.
“Is it okay, mom?” Joe did not directly address the boy’s question.
“It was his birthday last Wednesday, he’s old enough to be legal now,” she said gently with a hint of uncertainty.
“Okay. Sit. Take your shirt off. We’re puttin’ this on your arm … right?” Joe confirmed as he reached for the epoxy. After the boy nodded, Joe affixed the drawing to the young man’s deltoid.
As the needle pierced the skin, all of the mom’s teasing ran through his mind, ‘puttin’ poison into your body… it won’t ever come off…” he began to force positive thoughts into his mind.
He passed out. Joe stopped inking him. He helped the mother load the boy into a wheelbarrow. Her brave boy was off in dreamland.
“It will be a miracle if he comes back,” his mother muttered under her breath as she steered her son out of the studio.
Hey KathleenL, welcome to the CCC. You are the 92nd submitter to the fun.
That was a funny read. I saw a big meathead dude pass out in a drug study once. As soon as the needle went in and he looked down, his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he started shaking.
Everyone welcome Kathleen to the fun. Ps. how’s you find us?
Thanks for the warm welcome Shane. It was a nice way to spend my lunch “hour”… writtin’ a little ditty. I deffinely will be back. It’s a great way to stretch the old writing muscles without having an editor’s deadline looming. And I get to see some good reads while I’m here.
I found yah’ll via Anne at http://www.AboutFreelanceWriting.com (she’s a great source).
Anne promotes this site more than anybody I believe. She’s awesome.
In dreamland it made perfect sense, though now the reason eluded her totally. 80s-era music blasted from the sound system of The Ink Factory as she tried to steel her nerves. A tiny dinosaur tattoo, right at the bikini line, to honor the miracle of her little brother’s return from Iraq. Steggie, as they’d always called him for the way he plodded around like a stegosaurus, had survived poison gas and bombs pushed down residential streets in wheelbarrows, and now with “just a little epoxy in my spine and a few adjustments,” he liked to say, he was “good as new.”
“There won’t be any… um, shrinkage there, will there? I don’t want it to look like an ant later.”
Her brother laughed as he steadied the needle. “Sis, it’s not reversible and I don’t know what your skin’s gonna do. Maybe we should make it… a bigger dinosaur. Or put it on your ankle or something. If I recall, we Redburns have good ankles.”
She shot a furtive glance at his wheelchair, and uttered a quick futile wish for his ankles to come back.
“No, I’m cool, Steggie. Tiny dino, right here.” She touched her skin, just inside her hip bone.
When the needle came down, she didn’t have the courage to tell him it hurt.
Wow, that’s such a great write. Lots of human emotion in that one. Lovin’ it Kelly. Thanks.
Yes, we were the future; the new generation. Christ, what a farce.
The times were totally 80’s. The gag me with a spoon era… Michael’s one white glove… E.T. & MTV. Pop culture took priority in our teenage lives and we just wanted to have a good time. To hell with the politics of the the 70s… just give me a good time. Let me forget the fear of the conflict between the US and Russia, of nuclear threats and nightmares of what could be. I was totally living in the now, “going to hell in a bucket” but at least I was enjoying the ride. Anyone who told me different I considered to be a dinosaur, a square, a stick in the mud.
Today, it is a miracle that I have any doors in my mind left open to sane thoughts. You see, I truly believe that there was shrinkage of my grey matter from sniffing all of that epoxy as a teenager. I was forever trying to find the correct combination of poisons that would take me out of myself. Remember that television ad, the one that went “this is your brain on drugs” with the fried egg? I know the consequences now but when youth is in control, my ego believed I was invincible and the future seemed just so far off. However, brain damage is not reversible.
Yep, I’m having a good time now, pushing a wheelbarrow and digging ditches, that once totally hip tattoo of Boy George now sagging between the droopy tits of middle age. Dreamland seems so far away.
Do you suppose there is hope in the future; in the new generation?
Lisa,
Now the truth is out: The toughest place Boy George has ever found himself is revealed!
LOL, LOL, LOL. You took me back (but maybe not in a good way?).
That was super Lisa. I’m looking right now at my People Magazine’s “Celebrate The 80’s” collectors edition with Madonna, Tom Cruise, Princess Dianna, ET, Max Headroom, etc. Brought back memories.
Welcome to dreamland where the miracle of this age has brought forth the invention of the reversible reduction redoer. The R3 Time machine jets a couple thousand billion years before great era’s like “Totally 80s” where famous bands were abound such as poison. What is done with such a device you may ask? We go back to the cretaceous period and analyze and discover how the ice-age affected male dinosaur shrinkage. We aren’t merely traveling in a wheelbarrow held together with epoxy resin either. This R3TM is legit, just equip yourself with the 3-day tattoo and hop in line with all the other anxious learners.
-DRJUMP
Like most adults, Brett’s taste in music was stuck back in his teenage era. His collection of CDs was totally 80s, totally rock.
It was a miracle he survived those years. He kept the collection as a pounding reminder. It amused him that the younger guys at the precinct might think him a dinosaur, but appreciated the Boss, U2, Queen and the other legends of the time.
Propping his feet on his deck railing, Brett smiled at the memory of his grandmother, Nana Connors, warning a 17-year-old Brett of the dangers of getting a tattoo.
“You might think they look cool now but just wait until you get to be my age. There’s shrinkage and they’re not exactly reversible. Not to mention you wouldn’t live long afterwards, ‘cause I’d kill you for getting one.”
Brett chuckled, remembering it all started when he admired the knife and heart tattoo of Poison band member, Bret Michaels. God, he missed Nana. She was his rock, when no one else cared.
It was a rare day off from his job as a homicide detective in the north coastal community of Encinitas. His plan was to do absolutely nothing. From his deck, he watched some new construction going up, half a block from his beach bungalow.
He watched a worker lift the handles of a wheelbarrow, piled high with gallons of epoxy paint, his muscles straining with the load.
Brett loved the idea that he had nowhere to go, nothing to do. It was a dreamland he had not visited in much too long.
@Cathy: I love this Brett character.
She was a totally 80s girl—like totally 80s. And I was a LDS missionary calling on the slacker community of Austin, Texas. That’s where we met—at a Dinosaur, Jr. concert in the Spring of 1985.
She was a miracle—or so I thought—my acid wash angel. Then came the 90s, grunge and tattoos, Smashing Pumpkins and Nirvana, booze and pills. She grew hotter with age. And colder, too. She had a mouth that could cause irreversible shrinkage.
The Epoxy was a last resort. I didn’t realize it was poisonous. I just wanted to make her quiet.
I was bedside when her eyes popped open. Then came the convulsions. Her lips sealed, the vomit found its way out her nose. It was the strangest thing I had ever seen. I threw a blanket over her when I couldn’t bare it any longer. Finally, she stopped thrashing. I carried her to the bathtub where I cut her up as best I could. Then I put the pieces in wheelbarrow and rolled it back into the woods behind the house.
I’m back with Jesus now. He brings me peace. I think about her from time to time—I imagine her in an acid wash dreamland in the sky.
@Troy: That is the eeriest post to date. Powerful, powerful write. I like it.