BET YOU CAN’T do this writing prompt. Take the 10 random words below and, in the comments, crush writer’s block by creating a cohesive, creative short story tying all of them together! And remember: after (if) 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 previous writing prompts, we BET YOU CAN’T do those, either.)
- Rain
- What have I done?
- Triangle
- Change your mind
- Out of order
- Heart
- Missile
- Fantastic
- Atomic
- Picture
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.
{ 121 comments… read them below or add one }
I like this place called CCC
Where thought fission has no boundaries
And the reality of time and space intersect
At the center of the final period.
Excellent insight, A.
Pure poetry!
If there’s such a thing as picture-perfect, we had it.
But you blew it.
And now you’re kneeling in the rain wimpering, “What have I done?” as your sick love triangle unravels a perfect marriage.
It’s too late to change your mind, and apologizing won’t cut it.
Your life is out of order, your heart black…cold…empty.
This fantastic piece of hardware I hold to your head will deliver a missile of atomic unforgiveness.
Cock…squeeze…a picture-perfect ending.
Shane, that was really a scary ending! As brutal as it is, I love the line, “This fantastic piece of hardware I hold to your head will deliver a missile of atomic unforgiveness.”
Shiver. Well done as always!
I “aim” to please.
Groan!!
Please, don’t aim!
Shane,
Yikes!!
It was a capgun. She takes half and moves in with the neighbor!
Ah, yes. Thought I smelled that weird cap smell.
Shane; Like the sign in the men’s room, “We aim to please, you aim too – please.”
I like that one. Never heard of that one before.
Shane,
Sara’s right. I’m loving the “missile of atomic unforgiveness,” too. In spite of the eeeeew factor. Nice phrasing!
I didn’t exactly come out and say which head she was aiming at either!
LOL!!! That was really, really good (the joke & the writing!)
“What have I done?” she whispered, staring down at his lifeless body. Her tears fell like rain onto his face–his always handsome face, which even in death, was picture perfect.
It had been fantastic. Sure, the late night rendezvous had been out of order when it came to her own morals, but he’d hit her heart like a missile and hadn’t stopped; and his own devotion to the holy triangle had convinced her that it was okay.
Sometimes it takes the tiniest piece of reality to change your mind; for her, it had been a single overheard conversation concerning an atomic plot in the name of the cause she’d been a fool to follow.
Now all she had to do was wait. Slipping the now-empty gun safely onto the floor, she sat against the wall and waited to be sent to jail for saving mankind.
Loved it. I could see this submission as part of a 24 show. Excellent.
Thanks Shane! I was going for something that’s not clear-cut; is she a crazy terrorist, a crusader against a conspiracy, or what? I don’t even know.
And that’s the best part. I never know what I’m going to write, and sometimes I turn off my conscious mind when I start with an idea until I’m done. It’s like being on autopilot. I can’t even remember what I wrote on Monday and I’m sure I’m not the only one where this happens. I love the CCC magic.
Me too! It’s one of the most enjoyable parts of my week now.
For me, that’s such an awesome thing to hear. Knowing that and idea I had in passing ends up affecting people in a positive manner. So honored to do so, too.
Sara,
Nice ending.
Thanks Jesse!
I like it!…saving mankind is a good thing!!
Thank you, Margaret!
Well, thank you for doing it in the first place! I love being a part of it.
Excellent, Sara. Glad there’s no gun control at CCC!
If there was gun control at CCC, there would be a lot fewer entries!
Standing in the rain outside the depot, waiting to catch the bus to Wichita, I asked myself, “What have I done?”
It’s too late to go back. I broke your heart. There’s no way you will ever change your mind.
I need liquid courage to get myself on the bus. I see a triangle of cold travelers standing in front of a vending machine. The sign reads, “Fantastic Hot Coffee”. I put in my three quarters and push the button. My head is spinning with all the “What ifs…”
The machine isn’t working. It won’t release the hot liquid that I know will save me. Instantly, like an atomic missile, my foot delivers a swift kick to the base of the machine.
Only then, do I notice the picture of the crossed-out cup and the words, “Out of Order“.
Nice.
I could read that story all day, Jesse.
Jesse,
I think she needs more courage than that. Where’s the whisky vending machine?
I love “waiting to catch the bus to Wichita.” That’s a song lyric if I ever heard one!
Kelly,
The whiskey would have been a nice touch. Whiskey in coffee, anyone?
Aye, Jesse, ye must have a touch of the Irish in ye.
It’s my understanding that after noon, it’s illegal to have my coffee any other way.
*hic*
I love it & I think we can all relate to days like that! “Nice” is right, Jesse.
Thanks – out of the rain, tho’.
That one was a little tougher.
I thought so too.
“The Stranger” (continued)
The cowboy held the stranger’s gaze, the other’s hand still hanging awkwardly in the air between them. At last the cowboy smiled. “Of course you’d know my name.”
The stranger — Jonas, he’d said — shrugged one shoulder. “I have knack.”
The cowboy shook his hand, with a gesture sure and strong, but quick and efficient. “You can just call me Lowell, though. Leave off the mister.”
Jonas ducked his head in acceptance. “Glad to.” He turned away, breaking eye contact to meet his own gaze in the mirrored wall behind the rack of spirits. “You’ve got a way about you, Lowell.”
It was the cowboy’s turn to shrug, as his eyes fell back on his glass. He tipped it idly at an angle, watching the slosh of the warming beer. “Life has taken me some interesting places.” He snorted. “Though I guess you could say the same.”
Jonas smiled. “Me? What have I done? Met a few people, snapped some pictures….” He slapped the side of the heavy leather camera case on the bar before him. Then he trailed off, and his eyes got sad. He nodded. “It’s been fantastic.”
“Funny how a man can say that with such a sad face,” Lowell answered, then rushed to cover up the stranger’s objection. “No, no, I know exactly what you mean. Easy enough to change your mind, but I ain’t met a man yet who can change his heart. Shame, too, because we pretend it’s just the opposite.”
Jonas spoke again, breaking a long moment’s silence. “We’ve got it all out of order.” He chuckled darkly. “Always have.”
That ended their conversation for a bit. Lowell drank his beer, and Jonas stared at his own reflection. Jonas finally broke the silence, turning to stare at Lowell again. “I’d really like to know, friend. What’s your story? It’s always something. Religious experience at Stonehenge? Rocky flight through the heart of the Bermuda Triangle? What?”
Lowell took one last gulp of beer, and a burst of pain flashed across his eyes, but then he ducked his head in surrender. “I spent a lot of time alone.”
“That’s not much of a story.”
“It’s the end of the story,” Lowell said. “But it’s the answer to your question. The beginning…. I pulled a trigger. Dropped an atomic bomb that ended the lives of how many innocent bastards? And I was wrong.”
Jonas spent a while considering him, measuring, and Lowell answered with a little laugh. “No, I ain’t that old. Technically, it was a conventional weapon. Not even a bomb, actually — a wing-mounted missile. We’ve come a long way from what used to be called ‘conventional,’ though.” He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “We had video footage of it all. Intelligence came back a week later. None of our targets were there.”
Jonas’s hand twitched, a tiny motion toward the cowboy’s shoulder, but it quickly fell still. This wasn’t the time for that. Instead he nodded somberly, and turned to face forward again. “It’s a tough job.”
“I walked away,” Lowell said. “Left behind a rank that used to define me, and a star on the table. I spent a long time on my own, and I came to understand a thing or two.” He sighed. “Understanding ain’t a happy process.”
Jonas nodded at that, and toasted with an invisible glass. Lowell ordered another.
Sometime later the cowboy sucked a big breath through his teeth, put on an expression more suitable to friendly conversation, and asked his own question. “Who’s the girl?”
Jonas smiled. His hands twitched on the bar, but he forced them still. He closed his eyes, and said, “She’s a memory. She’s…she’s a mistake I made. She used to be a friend.”
Behind them, the door whispered open, the sound of it once again lost within the noise of the bar. But Jonas didn’t need to hear it. He didn’t need to catch the mixed scent of summer rain and fresh jasmine, or even glance into the mirror. He could feel it, like an itch between his shoulder blades.
“And she’s here, albeit a little late.”
Damn! Another dialog cliffhanger masterpiece. Never thought I’d read dialog that did that. Outstanding. Continue on.
Wow, Shane. You know just what to say….
I’ve just committed to taking this story seriously. I’m mapping out act breaks and plot arcs and character development like a madman. Larry would be proud.
goody! I didn’t want to be done reading …
You got Larry’s book? Cool. It’s simple stuff, yet he put things co clearly, in such a way, that it was quite eye opening for me, as I’ve not written a full manuscript yet.
I haven’t actually bought the book (I learned all that stuff in college), but I’m a regular reader of his site, so I know exactly what’s in it.
I definitely do recommend it to anyone who wants to write, but missed out on an advanced education dedicated to the topic….
Wow is right and Shane’s right about the masterpiece. Outstanding writing!
Oof! Math error.
Shane, could you change “how many thousands” to “how many innocent bastards”? I didn’t really intend for this to be sci-fi….
done.
The idea might seem fantastic, like something from sci-fi
But we best be very careful ’bout sending missiles through the sky
It’s not a pretty picture what atomic power can do
The very thought of nuclear rain turns my mind into a zoo.
It’s a quite complex triangle, the planet, them and us
but if we make a snap decision , it’s like jumping ‘neath a bus.
We can’t reverse things out of order, you cannot change your mind.
and pushing that red button will just leave this life behind.
So we best be very careful , not have to say “what have I done”?
elect those thinking with their hearts, not always ready with a gun.
We’ve only got one chance at this, so please let’s do it right.
We all want many years of watching day turn into night.
That was great. I didn’t even realize it rhymed until the last two lines. Was drawn into it that much.
thanks, Shane…I got used to rhyming back and forth with Sean and now it’s just kind of second nature.
Margaret,
I LOVE the last line. What a fresh way to phrase that idea! Well done.
Fantastic – made even more so by the rhyme. Loved it, Margaret.
thanks, Kelly and Cathy. I got used to playing with rhymes with my son, sean (writerdad.com…….syllable soup). I guess that’s the kid in me.
Great job, Ma!
“I could kill you right now.”
What made you change your mind that day? I’ve always wondered. When I’m a hundred I’ll still be able to picture it. The harvest gold carpeting I tried to stare at as I walked up and you walked down. The baby crying from her crib. My heart racing when you began to speak in that low, throaty, possessed voice that told me you’d made up some other rule and I’d already broken it. Oh, God, what could it be? What have I done?
We stood on the staircase, your hand on mine gripping so tightly while I begged. When I felt the bone break in my little finger, I thought you might stop, but atomic anger swirled all around us and you barely paused, raining down epithets upon me.
“The baby’s crying,” I pleaded. “Let me go.” Wimpy words, as I think back now, but it was all I had. What an pitiable triangle we made: beaten mother, souless father, and that innocent child. The blood was rushing to my head now, as I got dizzy from the fear and pain; I could hear it pounding in my head, almost drowning you out. Protect yourself for her, I thought I heard every cell shouting. Stay strong. Don’t let him see you flinch.
If you stay strong, you win.
“I could kill you right now,” you repeated. “You were shaky. In a rush to reach the baby. I reached out—crushed your hand trying to keep you from falling—but it was too late.”
I’d been counting the threadbare spots in that fools-gold carpeting, willing myself to focus somewhere else, but still I heard your cold voice strategizing—and dared to look up. With my last bit of self respect, I whispered hoarsely, “Someone would figure it out.”
Your eyes flashed pure disgust. Your nostrils flared and your mouth drew tighter. There was no way in the world to make you angrier than to speak during one of your rages… and to contradict, most foolish of all. To anyone else it might have seemed fatal.
I knew I was out of order, talking back, but even after years of abuse, thinking my husband would really kill me on our staircase was too fantastic. I guess you could say I didn’t think you had it in you, that I was sure you were as impotent at murder as you were at everything else.
Maybe the baby’s cries penetrated your rage. Maybe you were sick of me. One minute, the missile was pointed straight at me, and in the next, you’d taken your hand, put it on my face, given the barest shove…
Then walked down the stairs without a word. It may have been a whole minute before I realized I was alone, and that I needed to put one foot in front of the other.
I willed myself to go those last two steps, stared at the hand and wondered if it would heal without seeing the doctor, put my head up high, and entered the baby’s room, smiling and gurgling the words of reassurance that she needed to hear.
Two steps! If I’d gone a little faster maybe I could have saved you from your rage!
I never took those stairs so slowly again.
I’ve said it before, but THIS was your best yet. Damn!
S’okay, I never get tired of hearing it, Shane.
Thanks!
Great story, Kelly…scary to think how often these are true slices of life. Did you ever see the series “snapped”? one of my favorite guilty pleasures.
Margaret,
This is the only nonfiction I’ve written here.
(Yes, too often… Nooooo, I don’t think I could watch Snapped.)
That makes what you wrote that much more powerful.
I wondered whether it added or took away, actually. Tx.
P.S. It’s part fiction. The carpet was teal.
Kelly,
Wow… this one really calls for whiskey. The tension was palpable.
Thanks, Jesse. Shane has a way of choosing words that send us to unexpected places.
CCC rocks.
Chilling, Kelly, and that shows the awesome talent you have by creating strong emotions through your words. Well done-again!
Thanks, Cathy. “Chilling” is a really great compliment. Much appreciated.
Great work Kelly
Some work is always harder to read (and write) but so therapeutic when it hits close to home and it always amazes me where we find these little treasures (like in CCC).
Kudos.
Thanks, Lisa. Every time I tell any part of that particular story I’m always hoping that it will be therapeutic for someone. You never know when somebody who’s listening might need to hear it.
I don’t usually have ten words handed to me to start me off, though.
sigh, a true story.
What have I done? My blog is down! Something is out of order Did an atomic missile hit the heart of my isp? A fantastic idea you ask? Look at the picture. Do you see the triangle through the rain? Maybe that will change your mind.
Anne, that really sucks. Hope your site comes back soon. Did you call the ISP?
yes, “we’re working on it.” sigh and yes, it sucks and I’m angry, as if that would do any good.
Great way to make a “hit” out of a lousy tune, Anne! Glad you’re back up and contributing!
Oh crap! What have I done?
The last thing I remember I was having a fantastic time with two hookers playing a triangle drinking game when one of the girls said, “You can’t change your mind now. Drink up.”
“Change my mind hell,” I slobbery boasted, as I downed a strawberry, Atomic Missile. With that, the lights went out.
Now, here I am in a dark alley, soaked by rain, my heart pounding out of order, I’m stripped of my coat, my shoes my wallet and my car keys.
Not a pretty picture.
Fun while it lasted huh, A! Funny, and fun read.
But a vivid picture indeed
Well done!
PROGRAMMING NOTE!
YEAH, 3000 comments! Being just over three months old, that’s some serious community involvement. Thanks everyone for such a great place to hang out.
We’re still waiting for that 100th submitter though.
Dang, I’ve blogged about y’all and personally harassed everyone I can think of! I think I’ll have to make up a t-shirt and wear it around town to bring in Mr. or Ms. 100.
P.S. 3,000 and only 99 commenters, you know what that means?
We talk too much. So I’ll shut up now.
Shhhhhhh! Don’t remind people.
ps. Yeah, I’m all for a CCC shirt. When David isn’t so slammed with work, perhaps we can wrangle one out of him.
That would be very cool! Kelly–I choose to think of those 3,000 comments as “feeling the love.” Of course, they did name a doll after me – Chatty Cathy.
LOL, LOL—and they wonder whether naming can influence children’s lives… there goes culture changing what your parents had in mind when they named you!
(My name means “warrior” in Gaelic. Living up to that has always helped me to be such a tough nut, even though these days, it seems culture has pretty much changed the meaning of “Kelly” to “bimbo.” *sigh*)
I saw the picture hanging on the fridge. An atomic blast in the early 1950′s. It was fantastic. I’m not kidding. There it was, just as the missile blew apart. I seem to remember a tv show years ago that had that video clip as part of the montage that started the show. Anyway, there it was on her fridge. It made me wonder what she really was like. Was she the person she portrayed? Or was she so much like others who play a part, and hide who they really are? Is she real? Or is she one of those whose heart is out of order? Will she, can she, make you change your mind? Are you caught in one of those love triangle‘s? Oh, what have I done? I mean, really. I introduced you. And I’m not sure if I should have. I have no clue. And I’m afraid that neither do you. I just don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t want her to rain on your parade. I want you to be happy. Just be happy.
(reverse order)
This reminds me of the one you did where someone flew a girl on a plane. Does this tie into that?
I love the little challenges we put on ourselves. I’ve been writing the last few in order & now you have reverse order-great challenge, great fun, great result! Aren’t we just great?
It’s raining again. “What have I done?”
It’s starting to wash the blood from the road. The yellow triangle of the Yield sign is hanging askew. The wind makes it swing.
“Why didn’t you change your mind and get in the cab?”
I need to call 911, my cell phone is somewhere in the wreck. There was a pay phone across the street. But the other car sheared it off. It’s obviously out of order.
My head is bleeding. I look at the twisted body in the other car. She wasn’t wearing a seatbelt. My heart hurts.
My own car, a missile, came to rest in the middle of a car dealership. Fantastic luck that none of the new vehicles were hit. Though the dealer will probably still make an insurance claim.
Through the buzz in my head, I hear a siren, louder. Not police or ambulance. But different.
In the distance I see the flash of atomic fire. The picture is set. Could my day get any better?
Hey James! I’m glad you stopped by my friend. You are the 100th submitter to the CCC. Welcome to the addiction. Everyone, you know what to do. Welcome James to the AwesomeSauce. James, I’m adding you to the CCC links page now.
ps. Sorry for the moderation delay. I’ve had one hell of a day.
James:
Welcome to the CCC community! Like the welcomed relief of rain to desert heat, you will never regret the journey. You will never moan, “What have I done,” whenever you visit the triangle-C. You’ll change your mind whenever you doubt your creative genius just by dropping by. And whether you use those 10 words in a row or take them out of order, your heart will soar like a missile with fantastic, atomic speed when you paint the picture of creativity that lies in your soul.
And even more special for helping us hit the 100 mark!
Hey Shane–
Please fix my typo in missile. Thanks–don’t want anyone to think I can’t type-ha!
Fixed.
Thanks for the fix & the kudos
As always, Cathy. Excellent.
James,
Chilling story. Looking forward to more from you (and off to check out your website right now!). Welcome to CCC!
The Homecoming
“Get out of me you wretched spirit,” said Genevieve. Her body began to convulse, twist, and turn. She looked like a contortionist. Katherine wanted to get the picture of her head. This whole experience was getting creepier by the minute. She didn’t have the heart to just get up and leave, but that’s what she wanted to do. It’s too late to change your mind Katherine. Fantastic, is that rain? Of course it is. Now all that’s needed is atomic thunder and the mood will be perfect, Katherine thought. The entire night seemed out of order like a bad B-movie. “Katherine, are you all right?” asked Genevieve. “Yes, I am. How are you?” asked Katherine. “Just peachy. Lover boy is no match for me. He shot out of my body like a missile and is lingering around here. Be very still my dear. He’s a little perturbed that he’s no longer occupying my body,” said Genevieve. “How did that happen? Why did that happen?” asked Katherine. “It’s true that the gift of channeling is within me. There was no use in bringing it up since nothing happened at Divine Journey when he first made his presence known. Armand must have sensed my power and took advantage of the situation. My power is controlled by me and no other. He will not take over my body again,” said Genevieve. “What have I done to deserve this?” said Katherine. “My dear it is destiny and sometimes it can’t be changed,” said Genevieve. “Be quiet, he’s approaching,” said Genevieve. Just then a golden triangle appeared on the wall. A whirling buzzing sound filled the old Victorian home. All of a sudden an image appeared on the wall where the golden triangle was. It was getting stronger as the whirling buzzing sound got louder. Katherine thought it was more like an apparition and it looked like a man. A blinding white light filled the room. Katherine and Genevieve covered their eyes with their hands. Whoosh! Katherine and Genevieve uncovered their eyes. Standing before them was a man who was not of this world. His eyes looked like two black onyxes. Long dark locks framed his face. Full lips and bold chin would make any woman melt. His clothing hugged his body. He wore a burgundy tail coat with gold buttons which seemed molded to his upper body. Underneath the tailcoat was a crisp white shirt and black vest. A gold pocket watch hung from his vest. His black pin striped trousers and black leather lace up boots completed his look. He turned towards Genevieve. “Well played, woman. This new found energy is quite refreshing,” said Armand. He fixed his eyes on Katherine. “Hello, my love; it’s been too long. So lovely to see you again,” said Armand. He walked over to Katherine took her hand and kissed it and then the world around her seeped into darkness.
He shot out of my body like a missile - Great line-LOL!! Well done, Rebecca.
That’s a great development in this story, Rebecca. It appears he tricked Genevieve and now is on the loose. I’ll see Armand in #31.
With rain tracking down the window like damning tears from his soul, he wondered, “What have I done?” His thoughts could not silence the constant pinging of his triangle of doubt. “Would you change your mind, if you had a second chance?”
His life as a homicide detective brought many gut-wrenching decisions into his life – none more difficult than this one. With the out-of-order kaleidoscope of events tumbling before the back screen of his mind, the scenes went straight to the heart like a heat-seeking missile. The pain was an almost fantastic relief to the atomic pressure he felt from a picture playing over and over and over.
Cathy, that’s a great image. The first phrase made the whole thing go black-and-white film-noir for me. Lovely.
I like your use of the word “kaleidoscope” coupled with events….the topsy-turvyness of all the shapes and colors tumbling with no controls! great image, Cathy.
Thank you, Margaret! Isn’t this just so much fun?
Give us more of this detective Cathy. Nice!
Oh, like that image of black-and-white film-noir. I’m going to have to steal..er..use it with full disclosing credit.
Thanks, Kelly.
Thanks Cathy!
I loved With rain tracking down the window like damning tears from his soul, he wondered, “What have I done?” His thoughts could not silence the constant pinging of his triangle of doubt. I agree that it provides great imagery. If someone could take the line and bring it to life on canvas, you’d have a magnificent art piece.
Thanks, Rebecca. I’ve always envied those who can create beauty in great artwork.
Like a mantra, every night before falling asleep Cecily would ask herself , “What have I done?”
In her nightmares Joe sounded like a psychotic preacher. ”Do you want to change your mind? May the ravages of your sins rain down on your head.”
She woke up again and again with that awful picture of Joe in his casket seared in her memory. Some days it was the only image of him that she could remember.
“My heart is out of order.” She prayed that an atomic missile would blast her into the Bermuda Triangle. That would be fucking fantastic.
stellar, Loran!
Thanks Cathy!
Cicily is quite a character. I love her. More please!
I awoke to the sound of rain beating thousands of little wet fists against the window. God, my head is ready to implode from the atomic bomb of last night’s drinking fiasco. I should know better than to start my night consuming some flaming purple drink called a “Love Missile”. I do believe at some point through the night, a cat crawled into my mouth and maybe died there while I was passed out. I lie silently, trying to piece together the overall picture of last night before I have to open my eyes and face the day. Since Joey so ungraciously dumped me and mutilated my heart, I have spent every weekend on the bar circuit trying to find Mr. Fantastic. This was of course in between daily calls of pleading and begging for him to take me back. Thousands of messages on his machine of “please, please change your mind.” God, I am so pathetic. I should just put a sign around my neck saying “Screw me. My brain is out of order.”
Ok, here’s what I remember. First of the night, I arrive at the “Devil’s Triangle” and meet up with Jen. We both try the flaming drink giggling like schoolgirls when they arrive in dildo shaped glasses. Then I quickly consumed two more martinis. Hmm… the memory starts getting a little hazy here. Oh yes, then the sleeziest guys arrive at the table. Two guys, mid-twenties, lots of bling, shirts unbuttoned to try to show off the one or two sprigs of chest hair that they may have pasted on. Chat, chat, chat, giggle, giggle, laugh. Three more martinis consumed. Sleazy guys don’t seem so nasty anymore. A few slow dances. Oh god, what have I done? I recall the sex over the sink in the ladies room. More drinks. Now the memory goes from really fuzzy to practically blurry. Please god, please tell me when I open my eyes that that guy will not be here. I painfully open my right eye just a slit and try to scan the room without moving my head. A snort and movement from my right confirms that I indeed have sunk to an all-time new low. Sleazy boy is definitely in my bed and I don’t even know his name. How am I going to get him out of here before my grand-kids arrive? My other eye flies open in sheer horror as an arm drapes itself across my chest… a woman’s arm from the left side of the bed.
Holy Zip-Zow Hubba Hubba!!!!! The CCC just went up 20 Degrees! Thanks Lisa.
Sleazeball sandwich with pickled meat trio….you don’t find those at Subway!! Good write, Lisa.
LOL, thanks guys. It’s nice to finally have work slow down enough to get back to some writing. I missed the CCC.
Lisa,
That ending was unbelievable—funny, shocking, and ay-yi!
*ahem* It might not have ended ex-actly how she wanted, but she must be one hot grandma to have 20-somethings walking up to her in a bar. Just sayin’.
OMG!!! LOL! Very funny–
Holy threesooome!!!
nice write
The Saga of Bayou Billy….
So I’m sitting on the front porch, in the pourin’ rain at that, and I’m looking at an empty bowl a gumbo and they ain’t nuttin’ I can do ’bout it cuz that damn army dude has me tied up tighter than a teenage girl on prom night. The metal triangle that my wife, my sweet Yvonne, rings to tell the youngins that its feedin time reminded me that I ain’t had no good food in three or two days. It breaks my heart to think that if I really did get bit by a zombie then my last meal, before I start chawin’ on people, was hospital food and not gumbo. That just ain’t right.
I ain’t done nuttin’ to nobody and the way these army folks be actin t’wards me you’d swear I threaten’d to shoot a missile at the White House or sumthin. Now y’all mighten be thinkin’ the army is doin’ a fantastic job tryin to fix the zombie problem but all I did was take a few pictures of a naked zombie wit big boobs.
“What have I done?” I tried to ask that there army feller as he was hog tyin’ me but he weren’t having no part of talkin’ to me. He just throw’d me in the back of the truck like all the rest of the folk who ain’t done nuttin either. Well, except maybe for that one feller lyin’ on the floor. I don’t know’d if he’s a zombie but he sure does look dead. Comes to learnt he was just dead drunk. You know’d you had too much to drink when you have to hold on to the floor.
Anyways, the army droved to my house in Gator Crossing to round up the rest of the kin and all I can say is good luck wit that! Ain’t no ways they gettin my youngins to come home unless they ring that damn triangle. Damn I’m gettin’ hungry. First I had to eat that healthy food crap, then hospital food, and now they stuck’d me on the porch in front of my gumbo bowl. That’s just cruel and unusual punishment.
I wanted to call Yvonne and warn’d her that the army was comin but our phone has been out of order since the little whipper snapper took’d it apart to try and build an atomic bomb. He set it off and it blew’d him clean out of his wheelchair. He’s been doing a lot of stupid things lately. We tried puttin him in school but the teacher sent him back home the very first day. She was explaining to the class that humans are the only animals that stutter and the little whipper snapper told she was wrong cuz he had a kitten that stuttered. When the teacher asked him to explain it he told her that when he was out in the yard with the kitten a big ol gator came outta that bayou a’fer it and the kitten went, “Ffff Ffff Fffff,” and before it could say “Ffffuck!” the gator swaller’d it.
When he told me why he was sent home I said to myself, “Self,” and I recognized the voice right away cuz it sounded just like me. “Self,” I said, “maybe you oughten to think about home schoolin?” So I thought really hard bout it for three or two seconds and said, “Change your mind about that cuz then I gots to put up with the little bastard!” So I sent him back to school and told him not to talk like that no more. He don’t like that no less either but that’s anudder story.
Billy, that zombie juice hasn’t sunk in yet. Keep a close watch on yourself and get you some gumbo. That gumbo just may be the cure for zombie bites.
“Don’t wait, get it now! Your fantastic Atomic Missile will arrive straight to your doorstep from the Bermuda Triangle! Don’t change your mind, order in the next 10 minutes and we’ll throw in a bonus CD from the unknown group, “What Have I Done With Rain?” No, your TV isn’t out of order, you heard right! This is a picture of the group from 1972! If you order now, we’ll give you another free gift, the concert poster from their forgotten tour, “We’ve Had A Change of Heart.” This poster will look great on the wall of your man cave!”
I shook my head and chuckled to myself as I turned off the TV and headed to bed. Those 2 a.m. infomercials sure did sell crazy stuff!
Karetha,
LOL through the whole thing! I love it all, but especially the unknown group, “What Have I Done With Rain?” Super write!
Thanks…this list of words somehow just triggered my humor circuits. It was fun!
Here comes the rain again, falling on my head like a memory.
Oh, great. What have I done? That song’s gonna rattle around in my head all day now – one side of a neat triangle that includes Eminem’s Without Me and something from the Wiggles.
You know how it goes. Until you change your mind and pick a different song that’s just the way it is. So I’ll head to iTunes and hit play, out of order of course, and hope there’s no songs from Heart or Atomic Missile.
I’ll hope for something fantastic and picture myself bopping my head.
As long as it’s not to Barney.
Anything but Barney.
I hate those “won’t let go” songs in the head. Well done.
Rain. They begged me to make it rain. All day, every day, for weeks. “I’m not here to change the weather, that would be unnatural, out of order,” I explained. “I’m just here to study the anomalous cloud patterns, to see if they are caused by the new wind-farms on the mountains.” The satellite images showed a thin band of cumulo-nimbus clouds streaming from the top of the mountains. On the other side of the mountains, there were no clouds. I was concerned that the EcoGreen, Inc. wind-farm on top of the mountain was disturbing the weather patterns, and had contributed to the drought that beset this region a few months ago.
“Our land is becoming a desert. Our people and animals are starving. Children are dying. You must use your Science to help us,” they pleaded.
“But my work is not about weather control,” I said, repeatedly. “I’m only studying what is, not trying to change it.”
“I’m so thirsty, Dr. Noah, please change your mind,” a small child begged in broken English.
My heart was crushed by the iron triangle of dying children, emaciated animals, and desperate adults. I looked anew at my investigations and theories, and thought there might be a way to coax the water out of the stingy clouds that zipped by overhead. A small energetic nuge at the atomic level might precipitate the desired response, a slight atmospheric compression here, a minor gas change there… I worked feverishly, without sleeping or eating. In three days I had the answer.
The missile launch was picture-perfect, and the explosion fantastically beautiful, yet strangely quiet. The clouds lit from within for several seconds, providing an aurora never seen this close to the equator.
The rain started a few minutes later. Just a gentle shower, with little thunder or lightning. The people danced in the rain, and sang songs outside my laboratory all day and all night. And all day and all night of the next day. And the next day. And the next day, but with less people. Yet still it rained. I started to worry.
The satellite images looked as they always had, a thin river of fluffy white clouds streaming from the top of the mountains. But now there were massive clouds on the other side of the mountain, too.
It took my computers several hours to crunch through the data, to tell me that the rain was 97% likely to continue for 36 more days.
What have I done?
@Steven: That’s a great take on an age-old tale. Loved it.
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