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.)
- Flesh
- Cry
- Love
- Face
- Idol
- Bullet
- Loud and clear
- Destroy
- Kink
- Bedbugs
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.
{ 100 comments… read them below or add one }
The woman’s flesh was dead white and cold as ice. Even in death, there was love on her face. He could see it clearly, crouched as he was down by her body. The bullet he’d shot into her, taking her life, didn’t destroy that beauty.
Love. Even in death. Loud and clear, unmistakable.
Sometimes he hated his job.
He rose swiftly, tucking his gun away and pushing guilty thoughts out of his mind. They were like bedbugs, crawling around, and if he let one of them skitter too much into the light, then he’d be useless at his job. A killer who couldn’t destroy. No, he couldn’t let himself fall into that trap.
So casually, coolly, he cricked his neck as if it had a kink, and rolled his head once to relax his tight muscles. The plastic idol he’d been given, the one he was to leave behind as a mark, got dropped onto the woman’s body. It made a soft, thunking sound as it hit her chest.
He wouldn’t cry over it. James simply left, strides swift as he walked away from the scene of the crime.
You’re suck a bad-ass, James. Write that book or I’m sending someone after you.
James,
Oooh. I like the guilty bedbug-thoughts. Nice.
I think this is one of the best of your CCC hits. Had me from word 1 to the end.
I second that! Oh-oh, does James actually have a conscience?! Great job – as usual!
Her neck flesh is lovely.
Shea butter I believe.
Ass is yummy-warm up against Mr. Bullet’s thrusts, too.
Four of us, lying on the bed like naked bedbugs, from left to right in order, my girl and I joined like two outward-facing sideways doggies, her girlfriend with warm butt touching mine, my eager-weinered buddy facing the ceiling, excited but idol in hesitation.
How soft is her girlfriend’s warm ass?
Find out, the reptilian brain demands between thrusts.
Ohh, she’s into it, shifting her position, offering something even warmer, making it loud and clear that I was to proceed with my inquiry despite her girlfriend.
Multitasking is tough.
Doable and extremely fun, though.
Time flies when you’re having double the fun.
See you tomorrow girls.
“Man, she wouldn’t even let me put my hand down there,” he cries.
“Here’s the kink. My hand was already down there. Sorry buddy.”
Destroyed.
Win some you lose some.
Whoa.
That’s it, just…
whoa.
*runs off to a cold shower*
Yeah, it appeared those four had a good time.
This is a Public Service Announcement – remove the children from in front of the computer.
We return to our regularly scheduled programming.
Typo alert…typo alert…
We RETURN to our regularly scheduled programming.
First of all, let me say that I love to cook! Paula Deen is my idol! That woman could take a piece of possum flesh, slather it in butter and give you a dish so rich it would make you cry! She could take bedbugs, some maple sugar and a flaky crust made with the finest lard and you could swear it was real pecan pie!
But let’s face it…I’ve got to say loud and clear that while tasty, that kind of cooking puts a real kink in your diet. It will destroy any fitness plan you have in mind and be a bullet to your heart! So as much as I adore butter, sugar and anything rich and creamy, I will have to be satisfied to steam my veggies , look the other way when her show comes on and aim towards healthier cuisine. sob!!
Ma, reading your posts always makes me hungry. Nicely done.
Grinning here.
Now that takes real creativity to take those 10 words and come up with food! Love it, Margaret. Well done!
Bedbugs bite my flesh and face
I cry loud and clear
It’s not a kink
I want to destroy
No more love for me
I’m no longer an idol
A bullet may solve it
Wow. That was great, Anne. Very powerful and a great short-form submission.
I was impressed when it started to flow out of my fingers… no clue where it came from. When your email arrived my first thought was ‘oh no! I don’t have it in me at the moment.’
And then…
This is such an interesting and valuable thing you’re doing!
Thanks Anne. I feel the same way. Each time, I post a challenge I wonder how in the hell anything interesting is going to come out. Yet, each time it does, and there is the magic of the CCC I guess.
I think you need a hug, Anne!
Here’s one Anne: (hope this works):
Sorry, ascii hug graphic import didn’t work.
I tried Anne.
Anne,
My skin is crawling now! Yuck, but, y’know, wonderfully done yuck. :)
Shane,
The hug looked gorgeous in my email.
It’s the thought that counts, Shane.
Superbly creepy & well done, Anne! When did you ever think you would hear those two phrases in the same sentence?
Dearest Christina,
I can’t fight the bedbugs anymore and I’ll have $1.02 to my name after I buy the stamp for this letter. I’ve received the message loud and clear. All of this is his fault. Not yours. His.
I’ve been thinking and I’ve worked out the last kink in my plan—not wanting to hurt you.
I won’t kill him. That might be too much for you. I won’t put a bullet in his heart. Instead, I’ll destroy his matinee idol face with a hammer claw. Fair compromise?
Don’t cry. If you love him, you’ll get used to the gnarled flesh. If you don’t, I’m still available. But you know that already.
XXXOOOXXX,
Steve
Holy Bleep, Carson. That was twisted-awesomness! Well done.
Carson, I love it!
Love it, love it, love it, Carson. We are such a sick bunch.
Abruptly, the light went out. American Idol was replaced by a blank screen, then total darkness.
“Love? Is that you?” she whispered, unable to see his face.
“In the flesh,” he murmured. Though soft, his voice was loud and clear enough to reveal that a stranger, not her husband, was in the darkness.
With a sharp cry, she swung around to kick him in the face–and missed.
His smiling, mesh-masked face was now in front of hers. “Hope you don’t have bedbugs,” he grinned.
She sought to destroy his control, but he was simply bigger than she was. A kink in her neck, she reached for the gun kept in her husband’s nightstand–
And a single bullet stopped her from being attacked.
It didn’t stop her, however, from screaming, and the sirens approaching did little to ease her horror.
That was intense! Well done, Sara.
Thank you, Shane!
Terrifying! Nice tight writing too.
Thank you, Karetha!
Sounds like a bad night, but a good story!
Definitely, Loran. Thank you!
Outstanding – it really painted a scene- a quite scary one but she triumphs! You go, Girl!
Thank you Cathy!
Restless, longing, raging,
sighing,
aching beauty
I have the answers you’re searching for. Keep ‘em
Locked up in a cell beneath my left breast. Feel? That beating
Flesh hides the charge you lost when you let the world overtake you. I’ll share.
Love, maybe;
maybe too bold a statement. Skin crawls as with bedbugs to think of it.
You know nothing puts a kink in a good thing like giving it a name.
May be
most of my belief
in that sodden bullet to the heart went long ago.
Time and lies destroy such idols of youth.
Warm bed
deep trust
smiles that crinkle up at the corner of your eyes
and bubble over, loud and clear, trumpeting
that you’ve found your peace at last.
Reborn.
Face the world like you have a secret hard-on.
I got that. I’ll share.
And you
maybe, maybe you
Have the answers I cry for, hidden
In the debris of your blue and gold life.
Mmmm, mmmm, good! I loved this write. I read it three times in a row. Well done, indeed.
Thank you, Shane. Glad you liked it.
(One word almost threatened to be the death of me on this one. Thought I couldn’t do it! Then I remembered the name of the game is Challenge… Thanks, thanks, for always challenging me. Did I ever mention that this place rocks?)
Indeed you have, and thanks, thanks to you and everyone else for bringing some of the most talented writing on the net to our little party.
Yes, most excellent contribution!
Funny how some of the words truly are a challenge to use.
Thanks, Loran!
Couldn’t agree more, Kelly. It’s a challenge that keeps on giving.
I think this one is one of your all-time best. Simply loved it!
Holy damn, I lost a twelve hundred word submission because I wasn’t paying attention.
I’d like to cry a little, but I don’t have time. I have to rewrite the damn thing. Commiserate with me, my people. It happens to us all.
Dude! How did that happen? Was it on your local computer unsaved, or did something happen in the comment form here?
It was one of those problems that exist between the keyboard and chair. I wrote the whole thing out, went back through to bold, and then almost hit Submit, but I figured I should review it first.
And then I got distracted, when the wife showed up to ask me about lunch plans, and my little girl wanted me to help her type “aeronautical,” and I clicked over to check my mail, and then (this being Firefox, which has a fantastic session restore feature), I closed my browser and went to lunch.
And I got back, reopened Firefox, and it loaded all my old tabs back up (as it always does), including the CCC page, with a big empty Comment box.
As a writer, when everything’s clicking, sometimes I feel like a super genius. I design worlds and orchestrate lives. But there’s always little things like this to keep me grounded.
Man, that’s messed up, but damn if you didn’t recover with some awesomesauce anyway.
AAAARRRGGGGGGHHHHHH! I hate when that happens.
We definitely feel your pain, Aaron!
The Girl Who Stayed the Same (continued)
There was a Starbucks right across from the park, but that hardly served Kelly’s purposes. She jerked her head the other way, an imperative motion, and he followed it with his whole body. He fell into step beside her, and they walked away across the lush green grass, going parallel to the busy Main Street.
He was tall — taller than Kelly, and she topped five-ten — thin and pale, so he looked like a used up rock star. His face was worn, his blue eyes tired, but he couldn’t have been more than thirty. Maybe thirty-five. Kelly narrowed her eyes. Maybe forty….
She was really noticing him now for the first time, as they walked side by side in silence. He wore a nice white shirt, short sleeved but thick cotton and spotless. His slacks were white, too, and perfectly pressed, decorated with expensive leather shoes and a silver-buckled belt, both jet black to match his long hair. He was all contrast.
She noticed something else about him, too. He kept hitching his shoulders as they walked, unconsciously twitching against an imaginary itch. Maybe he was a junkie after all. The thought formed in her mind, but it couldn’t quite take root. Instead of disgust, she felt sympathy.
No, it was more than that. She felt compassion, and it bothered her. She didn’t like this man, didn’t want to like him, but as he walked beside her, tortured by a twitch he didn’t seem aware of, all she could feel was concern. She had an urge, almost overwhelming, to reach up and scratch his back for him, right between the shoulder blades. She could imagine the relief it would give him, could imagine his response, and it just seemed so right….
Except that she didn’t want to help him. She didn’t want to like him. She certainly didn’t want to touch him. Some part of her mind wasn’t getting the message, though, and she kept having to fight the impulse to reach out to him.
It grated, and after a moment she growled (more angry with herself than with him), “What’s with you?” She heard the snarl and tried to tone it down, added playfully, “Bedbugs gnawing at your flesh?”
His brows came together in a thoughtful frown. “No, it’s not that,” he said. “Just…just a kink….”
He stopped walking, right in the middle of the park, and while Kelly turned to watch him he threw his shoulders back, spread both arms wide, and gave an extraordinary stretch. It was the sort of thing a man might do right after waking from a long, deep sleep, in the privacy of his own home. He rose up onto the balls of his feet, until he looked like he was hanging in the air, and let out a deep bass moan, loud and clear, oblivious to all the people around them.
It was a personal sound, a private and almost intimate moment, so out of place in the busy park. But no one noticed. Still, no one so much as glanced their way. Kelly stared, fascinated. Stretched out like that he looked like a statue — a strange blend of Christ on the cross and an idol to Jupiter, suspended somewhere between binding sacrifice and thunderous power.
And then his heels thudded back to earth, and his breath escaped him in a quiet, contented sigh. He smacked his lips — again like a man waking from a long sleep — and met Kelly’s fascinated gaze with heavy eyes.
“All better?” she asked, but the sarcasm she’d hoped for came out more like friendly teasing, and he nodded with a happy smile.
“Much better.” He nodded past her, back the direction they’d been walking. “Your coffee shop is this way?”
“Umm. Yeah.” She turned, and began to lead him again. “There’s one just off Pine that I really like. It’s got sidewalk seating, and with the sun as pretty as it is today….”
“Yeah, should be nice.” He left it at that, apparently content with the silence, and Kelly took the time to watch him again. The stretch, weird as it was, seemed to have worked. He walked upright now, untroubled, his eyes touching lightly on the faces of everyone they passed.
Kelly was troubled, though. Everything about this man bothered her, in one way or another. She led him over to the road, and then they darted through a gap in traffic and started making their way up Pine.
“So, what do you do?” she asked, and he looked down into her eyes for a moment before he answered.
“I’m a biographer,” he said. “I study lives.”
She frowned. “Anyone I would know?”
He laughed at that, a short, surprised sound, and not at all extraordinary. But somehow that caught the attention of the passing crowd. Others on the sidewalk turned to stare, but he ignored it completely and after a moment they all did the same.
“I like that,” he said. “Maybe someone you would know, yeah.” He thought for a moment, then nodded. “Well, Raphael. Not the turtle. And a little bit of Monet, when he was younger.”
“Ah, artists!” she said, feeling suddenly completely at ease with him. “That explains so much about you.”
He chuckled at that. “All of them in their own ways, ” he said. “There was also Keats — a wonderful kid — and Taliesin. Virgil….”
“Wow,” she said, “you really love the old dudes.”
“A biographer studies lives, and people have been having lives for as long as there’ve been people.” She smiled uncertainly, picking her way through his sentence, and he smiled back. “Besides, it’s unwise for a historian to offer up an opinion on the recent past. It’s far too easy to end up looking like a fool.”
She jabbed a finger in his direction. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”
He raised his hand in a theatrical pose, like an orator addressing a crowd, and said, “I know no thing in all the world — not bullets slung or axes hurled — more dangerous than hasty words.”
“More lyrics,” she said. “Are you in a band?”
“No,” he said with a sad smile. “But I’ve known an awful lot of guitarists.” As he said it, the smile slipped — slipped away completely for the first time since she’d confronted him — replaced with an ancient pain. The transformation was frightening, and she felt sure he was about to cry. The last words escaped him harshly, barely more than ragged breath, and Kelly could not imagine how to respond. She walked in silence, bewildered, fighting an urge to comfort him somehow.
His melancholy trailed them for two blocks, its shadow muting the noise of the busy street, the glare of the brilliant sun, but just as suddenly as it had come, it lifted. She led him around a corner, and half a block down was her sidewalk cafe, its old-fashioned shingle jutting out from the storefront. The sign read “Arthur’s Cup,” faded gold lettering above a hand-painted chalice, all on weathered wood.
The stranger’s eyes fell on the sign, and instantly his face lit up. “Is that your coffee shop?” he asked, his voice rich with delight.
She slowed, and her eyes narrowed as she watched him. “Yes,” she said. “Why?”
“I know this place!”
She nodded. “Good. They make a mean mocha.”
“No,” he shook his head, laughter in his voice. “No, I mean, I know…I’ve never been here. But I know that sign!” He jabbed a hand out to point at it. “I know the guy who owns this place. Ran into him in Paris, and he destroyed me in a game of cards.”
“What are you talking about?” she said, but he barely responded.
“I always wondered what had become of him. Great guy. Great, great guy. Never thought I’d find him here–”
“How do you know it’s him?” she said, unreasonably irritated by his sudden good mood. “It’s just a name. I mean, there’s got to be how many coffee shop owners in the world named Arthur?”
He smiled, amused and knowing, and pulled from his pocket a small notebook — leather-bound and black, of course, so it looked something like a little Bible. He flipped it open, and she saw that its pages were full of illegible scribbles, but tucked between many of them were other scraps of paper.
He flipped through it, to a spot near the back, and pulled out a paper napkin with the name of a French bar stamped in the bottom corner. Above it, stained with wine and scrawled in a jagged blue pen, she could clearly see a sketch of the sign above the door.
“He drew this for you?” she said. “Why not just tell you where–”
“It didn’t exist yet,” Jonas said, with a satisfied smile. “He had the idea while we were talking over drinks. He thought it would be more fun than what he was doing, and I told him he’d be great at it. Never saw him again after that night.”
“But you kept his napkin,” she said. She frowned, and felt an inexplicable anger bubbling inside her. “Who are you?” He just shook his head, face blank, and that only made it worse.
“What’s the matter with you?” she demanded. “What the hell are you? You meet a stranger in Paris, and then stumble across his coffee shop in northern Delaware by complete coincidence? How does that happen? You sit and stare at innocent children playing like they’re…like they’re morsels. You make me feel….” She shook her head, her stomach cramping at the poisonous mix of her confusion and rage. “You talk about dead men like they’re your best friends, and you get all weepy when the topic of…of guitars comes up? What is your deal?”
People were finally staring, now, and all eyes were on Kelly. Jonas stood two paces away, frozen by her tirade, and for a long time he didn’t respond at all. All over again he seemed like he could have been carved from stone, and while Kelly waited for some reaction she felt the heat of her anger drain away, replaced by embarrassment and regret.
And then his eyes tore away from hers, and he dropped his gaze to the hot concrete. His shoulders slumped and he hung his head, the picture of dejection. “I just like people,” he said. “I’ve always…. I’m sorry, Kelly. I shouldn’t have…I know you already told me I bothered you. I just thought….”
In that moment, everything about him reminded Kelly of the boy she’d had to break up with in High School. He’d been quiet, and desperate, and too much work for a Sophomore with big plans. This mysterious creature, this predator, this statue of a god looked now like nothing more than a boy, broken and — in all likelihood — quite mad.
She shouldn’t have even been there with him. She should have been back at the park, planning her angles, or even back at home making phone calls and sending emails to get everything set up. She should have been enjoying the prettiest day of the year so far, but instead she stood here surrounded by people she knew, people she worked with or ran into at the grocery store, making a fool of herself for some strange madman.
She couldn’t walk away, though. He heaved a heavy sigh, brushed a hand through his hair without raising his head, and said, “I’m sorry. I hoped you’d find it interesting. I can go….”
And she felt real sympathy for him. Not the strange compulsion to care for him she’d experienced earlier, not even the heroic determination to sacrifice herself for someone else’s good. Maybe a little of it was guilt, and memory, for something she couldn’t really have handled any better when she was just a girl. But mostly it was sympathy for another human being, so completely crushed, right before her eyes.
She stepped closer, then reached out a hand to catch his attention. He looked up again, met her eyes, and she filled them with what warmth she could. “Let’s get something to drink, and you can try to explain.”
He smiled, hesitant at first, and then nodded seriously. “I can at least try,” he said. “At least a bit.”
Fantastic write once again, Aaron.
Thank you, Shane. I admire your dedication and perseverance, for making it all the way through.
It was prettier (and shorter) the first time ’round.
Couldn’t have been prettier, Aaron. This one’s just right.
I’m on pins and needles to see where this is going. You really know how to create a mood!
You kept my attention…very intriguing!
Yes, I’m all questions and curiosity about this story!
That sucking sound you hear is the CCC community getting sucked into this story. Great job, Aaron!
“Wow. Is it really you, in the flesh? Seeing you makes me want to cry joyful tears. I’ve loved you for so long. I finally see your face, and now I realize you’ve been my idol all this time. Your words fly like a bullet, straight into my heart. Your message is loud and clear…you’re telling me you’re here to stay. Please tell me that you mean those words you just said. Don’t destroy my dreams of happiness. Your voice sends goosebumps across my skin, like bedbugs dancing across the floor. Please stay with me forever. I know you’re new at this. We’ll work out the kinks together. Always remember that I love you. You’re finally here.”
–Cue romantic music. The credits begin running, the lights go up, and everyone gathers their belongings to leave the theater.
That’s a great scene you painted, Karetha.
And it’s all in slow motion, right?
A new soap is born.
Love the scene, Karetha.
Scotty answered the telephone with a depressed, “Hello,” caused by the thought of just turning seventy-two years old. On the other end was the choked-up voice of Willy, his flesh and blood partner in crime – so to speak.
“Scotty, can you come over right away,” he sobbed. “I think Bullet is dead.”
Bullet was Willy’s Yorkshire Terrier, the love of his life and soul companion.
Scotty begrudgingly agreed to console Willy, but drove all the way to his house mumbling, “That worthless piece of shit dog would have died long ago if it were up to me. He continued to mumble as he drove into Willy’s drive way, “I’d rather have a bag of bedbugs for pets than that yapping, worthless piece of shit.”
Willy met Scotty outside. He was carrying a very stiff Bullet in one hand and a shovel in the other. “Scotty, will you please help me bury Bullet?” He started to cry.
“Yah, okay Willy, now calm down.” Scotty grabbed the shovel from Willy’s hand. “Where do you want to bury him?”
“Over there,“ Willy’s pointed toward a small bush, his face tight with pain, “Scotty, shouldn’t we make sure he’s dead before we burry him?”
It started to rain as Scotty began digging. His depression and patience was on the brink of eruption.
“For Christ’s sake Willy, the little bastard is as stiff as a board.” It was clear that neither Willy or Bullet were idols to Scotty. “You haven’t heard him bark in the last five minutes, have you?”
“Wait just a minute.” Willy wept, as he went into the house and returned with a blanket, printed with happy little puppy faces. “I can‘t bury him in that cold ground,” He wrapped Bullet in the blanket.
“Oh for Christ’s sake, you kinky fuck, he’s just a fuckin dog and he’s dead,” Scotty blurted as he continued to dig.
At this point, the grieving Willy could not hear a word Scotty was saying. “Wait another minute,” He ran back into the house and returned with a small mirror and placed it in front of Bullet‘s mouth. “If it fogs up than he is still alive.”
Overwhelmed with frustration, Scotty screamed, “God damn it Willy, let me say this loud and clear,” he raised the shovel high above his head and slammed it down on Bullet, “The mother fucker is dead.” He slammed it again and again until the puppy blanket was partially destroyed and Bullet was flattened like furry road kill.
At last sight, the two elderly gentlemen were rolling around in the mud biting and kicking each other in the pouring down rain.
What a story, A! I can picture in in my head very clearly.
Nasty old fart!
A.—Poor Willy! I think Scotty is gonna owe him a stiff drink after they get their wounds stitched up. How mean!
I thnk that was their problem – they drank too much
Aw, poor dead puppy!
“BEDBUGS!” he yelled out as the kink in his neck threatened to destroy what semblance of sanity he had left. As he jumped out of the bed, he heard the shot loud and clear as the bullet crashed into the American Idol calendar above his head. His face was covered in drywall dust. Bullet nothing, it seemed more like a shotgun blast. Who was shooting at him? Where was it coming from? “Think!” he cried out. “Bedbugs biting, bullets flying…” “Ok, maybe this isn’t the best time for a rhyme…” His love was dead, the victim of a hit and run two weeks before. He wanted to cry, but then his flesh began to crawl…….
(reverse order)
Cleve, that replaces your previous best! Excellent.
Now that sounds like a really bad day & you can’t even crawl back into bed because your bed is crawling – I hate that!
The radio was playing loud and clear.
Billy Idol‘s Eyes Without a Face,
“I’m all out of hope.
One more bad dream could bring a fall.”
The guitar solo made Christina cry.
“Now it makes me sad.
It makes me mad at truth.
It makes me mad for loving you.”
What good was love? She took the sharp blade and, pressing it into her flesh, watched the blood trickle down her arm. No bullet to bite. Just another day destroyed, a kink in her plans to get her act together. What did it matter? Don’t let the bedbugs bite? Who gives a shit what happens next.
Wow! Very powerful write, Loran. More please!
Loran,
That was a whole lot of backstory packed into a very few words. Nicely done!
Excellent-one of your best!
Silently he crept away from the dank, dark hole with too much flesh and no cry of love – just the face of a different kind of humanity. He was no idol here. No one asked for his autograph. No one pleaded for a photographic memory. No one knew – but he knew.
It was always like this, every time he left this underside of too much money, too much fame and too little heart. How many times had he shoved the bullet in his gun and prayed for the sound – loud and clear – that would destroy the hurt, that would banish the pain.
Instead he used the kink-filled lust and rolled with the bedbugs in a different kind of punishment for all he had gained – all he had lost.
That’s probably your best yet, Cathy (besides the awesome welcome submissions). Well done, and let me wondering. And that’s awesome.
Rolling with the bedbugs? Not my idea of fun! Good write.
Aww shucks, thanks, Shane.
Loran – mine either. Must be because I got up in the middle of the night last night & came back & found a spider in my bed-not kidding….ewwww!!
Along came a spider and laid besider
I am not laughing-okay, yes I am-LOL!!! ;-D
The Homecoming
Armand looked at Katherine with love in his eyes. He drank in every feature on her face and looked into her eyes. The passion was evident. He took her hand and kissed it. Her flesh seared from his touch but she wasn’t going to let him know that. She was going to be loud and clear that the past is the past. It’s not that she wanted to destroy him but this is not the 17th century. Her rejection would put a kink in whatever plans he has for them.
“My love not being with you makes me want to cry but my strength will not allow it. Not being with you is like having a bullet rip through my chest, deep into my heart,” said Armand. Katherine thought he looked like an idol. Keep it together. She quickly brushed away the attraction like she was trying to rid herself of bedbugs!
That was awesome! Poor Armand. He doesn’t yet know about the woman’s movement does he!
Sigh…another hope dashed.
“It’s so exciting to finally meet you in the flesh,” gushed Morgan as she squeezed Taylor’s arm. “I’m so thrilled I feel like I may cry,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Isn’t love grand?” she asked as she looked squarely into her future son-in-law’s face. “And such a handsome young man,” she added.
“Mother, please, you don’t need to make him into some sort of idol, you know,” said Kelly, fighting back the annoyance she always felt around her mother. Morgan had a way of dismantling Kelly’s composure with the sureness of a bullet fired at close range. And with the same devastating results.
“Kelly, you always try to make me out as some kind of drama queen,” countered Morgan. “All right, my dear, I hear you loud and clear,” she said.
The women eyed each other warily. Kelly knew her mother could destroy this relationship in an instant, a chance she didn’t want to take.
Taylor seized that moment to try and defuse the tension building up between mother and daughter.
“Wow, I can hardly move my head today. I must have gotten a kink in my neck last night when I stayed at that cheap motel. Well, at least I didn’t encounter any bedbugs,” he said, eying Kelly.
“Yes, it’s a good thing, Taylor. Mother would have a hard time presenting you to her literary friends as my fiancé if you were covered in little red bites,” Kelly replied, noting with some pleasure her mother’s pained expression. Kelly smiled inwardly, knowing this was one battle her mother would not win.
Excellent conflict, Carolynn. I could feel the tension. Great submission.
“Don’t take shortcuts on strange roads, stupid.”
Stupid, that what she had been to take a small country road to avoid the bumper to bumper traffic on the I-10. Now Donna was in the middle of nowhere, low on gas and exhausted. She had thought it was a good idea at the time. Driving down the dark, single-lane road alone all kinds of idea about crazed ax murders came to her mind, but she dismissed them a foolish fantasy and continued driving.
Driving even further and getting more and more lost, Donna was so tired she wanted to cry and she had a kink in her neck. What I wouldn’t give for a Starbuck’s right about now. I could totally destroy a latte. What I love is a hot bath and some sleep. Foolish fantasies aside, the sight of the Perkins Bed & Breakfast was a welcome sight. A good night’s sleep in a comfy bed and she could get a fresh start in the morning. And maybe even beat the highway traffic.
The sleepy-eye clerk checked her into a room on the top floor. What a cute place. Antique furniture, old black & white family phones lining the walls…Is that a bullet hole in the window? Probably just a BB gun. Donna entered her room and searched for the light switch. The bulb must be out. No matter, the bathroom light is on. I just want to wash this make-up off my face and go to bed.
Ahhh! An nice clean bed and …. ‘With a rebel yell!’ Billy Idol music screamed through the paper-thin walls loud and clear. Donna beat on the wall furiously. “Hey, quiet down in there. I am trying to get some sleep”. The music died down. Great, now off to sleep. She had just drifted off to sleep when she felt an odd sensation of her flesh. Was something biting her. Darn it. Where is the light switch? She found the bedside switch. Flipped back the sheets. What the hell? The bed is infested with disgusting bedbugs. That does it, I am out of here!
Hey Clarabela. Nice to see you again. Great submission. That reminded me of a couple road trips I’ve taken. Yikes.
My resentments demand a pound of flesh. In fact they cry for it in that loud pitiful wailing that drives me to my knees clutching my head in my hands.
The man was my idol, a false god in human form that promised me love in the face of all that was unholy. I didn’t know that even once I escaped his illusion, my life could still be destroyed by memories. I could forever be trapped in a prison of my own mind, self flagellating my soul with every shameful flashback . There came a day when even the drugs didn’t work to scourge his presence from my heart. And yes, even in the throes of withdrawal, his image resurfaced on the face of each bedbug that scurried across the walls and over my body; each kink and cramp was a revisit to the past beatings.
But my conundrum is this; even a bullet can not erase the eternity of one’s foul existence and their impact on my being. The only way to quell the resentments is to take away his power over me by taking back my own power. Yes, listen closely because the message is coming through loud and clear… I am woman, hear me ROAR!!!
Another wonderful write, Lisa. Not a word out of place. Nicely done.
I felt something crawl across my flesh; bedbugs of anxiety.
A slight cry in the distance could have been a plea for help, or maybe just an angry wind.
The roar of the bullet, though, that shattered the face of the evening’s silence and destroyed my once lovely calm.
Loud and clear and enough to send me hiding beneath this overhang, my back pushed against the cold brick, rain spattering the concrete and ricochetting off my skin.
I could see the doorway to the church in the distance, the steeple looking like an angry idol beneath the unforgiving black sky. I could hear footsteps approaching.
I rubbed the kink from my ankle and pounded my feet across the street as fast as they could carry me.
Great visual.
Run, Forrest, Run!
The Saga of Bayou Billy…
So I’m sittin’ on the front porch eating a big ol’ bowl a gumbo with a spoon in one hand and steak o’er my eye thinking, “For cryin’ out loud I gots to learn to either shut my mouth or duck cuz that woman is crazy.” Don’t get me wrong, I do love my wife, my sweet Yvonne, and I sure do idolize her for being so strong willed, but the side of my face is swolled up like a bee sting on a hemorrhoid.
That’s reminds me, the stuff they use for that particular problem is called Preparation H… how come is it we ain’t never heard of Preparation A through G? Better yet, who’s the idiot that bit the bullet and signed up for that job as they tried to get the kinks out of that formula?
“Well Mr. Test-subject, the flesh on your ass fell off, but the good news is Preparation G did destroy your hemorrhoids.”
Talk about nasty side effects.
I was listenin’ to one of them there tele-vision c’mercials the utter day and they talked for 30 seconds about the benefits of the product and 2 minutes listing the side effects. I don’t know ‘bout you folks but I got the message loud and clear – more times than not, the cure is worse then the problem ya’ll had in the first place!
And they don’t even have c’mercials for common, ev’ryday problems like bedbugs cuz your kids ain’t took a bath in 3 or 2 weeks, or getting jelly beans outta yer youngin’s nose, or when they use contact cement as tooth paste… it’s always stuff like not being able to get it up or menstrewal… menstrawal… womens problems.
That’s when I said to myself, “Self,” and I recognized the voice right away cuz it sounded just like me. “Self,” I said, “how come is it all the women’s problems have men in it? Menstrual cramps, menopause, mental breakdown and then they go see a guy-nachologist to get a his-terectomy. Geeze, maybe I’m being too hard on Yvonne af’er all?
Now I know why PMS stands for Plainly Men Suck.
I calls it Pissy Mood Sydrome. To Yvonne it stands for Pass My Shotgun.
<<<>>>
Note from Kenn: Sorry to everyone, especially to ‘The Kid’ who really looks forward to Bayou Billy, for being so far behind on the submissions. Life has a nasty habit of creeping up on you. I’ll try to get caught up as soon as I can.
Better late than never! I have been wondering where you were, even though my life has been too insane to keep up with CCC as well. Go figure. And, good question, what about Preparation A through G?
Excellent Billy. It’s like seeing an old friend.
Kenn,
Every. Darn. Day. The Kid asks me if I’ve seen Billy.
I keep sayin’ as long as the zombies ain’t got ‘im, he’ll be back soon. ‘Cuz we all know CCC is an addik… adickt…
it’s a beee-utiful disease that ain’t nobody kin get rid of.
Nice to see you out and about again.
x1. Flesh –
x2. Cry – -
x3. Love – - -
x4. Face – - – -
x5. Idol – - – - –
x6. Bullet – - – - – -
x7. Loud and clear – - – - – - –
x8. Destroy – - – - – - – -
x9. Kink – - – - – - – - -
x10. Bedbugs – - – - – - – - – -
“Bedbugs, bedbugs, bedbugs!” Susan exclaimed as she protested the kinked haystack nest, as she saw it, her parents called a bed. “This will destroy me, I just can’t put this book down now” Susan continued, but her parent’s were coming through loud and clear “Susan we like that you read, but you must go to sleep.” This hit Susan like a bullet, she was in the middle of the newest release of the famous Idol Planet series, and tears began to run down her face. Her love and passion for reading doesn’t always bring about such lack of subordination, or bring her to the point of crying, but her flesh cries out to experience such a fantasy that this book offers. “I love my parents, but I also love this book” Susan contemplated “what a difficult decision I have come to face.” It was if hours had gone by in Susan’s world, but hardly any time had passed since the last time her parents said anything. “Face the facts Susan, you will go to bed right this instant, or you stand to face double duty chores for a week” her parents shouted as they spoke from the other room at her. “I’m reading Idol Planet guys, can’t I just stay up until I finish this ‘idol for king’ chapter” “Susan 3-7 Brantania NO MORE Idol Planet right now the bed is your idol.”
Susan made it to bed that night, she was too tired to fight any longer. Let the narrator invite you into the context of this story, so hop aboard this bullet ship as we zip to the future. Sarah 3-7 Brantania is the daughter of 2-4 Jaron Brantania and Manda 7-1 Brantania. The year is irrelevant, and has been for an undefined amount of time, all that can be said is that time ended in 2112, we no longer needed time to order things for our lives. Hear me loud and clear life is different here, disease has been destroyed. The bed that Susan was protesting with it’s kinks and the “bedbugs, bedbugs, bedbugs” has no relation to present reality but merely her ability to fantasize about history. Bedbugs to these people are more of a joke, they know what bugs were, and they know what beds are, but they do not imagine the two in the same place. There has been an answer to the bedbugs, bedbugs, bedbugs problem for quite some time now. Susan has read a book Kinks and kinked things, how kinks once were, but kinks now are no more. Kinks used to be a severe problem, in the organization of things, and in the construction of things. There was some nonsense about elements that contained kinkiness but that is of an unnecessary topic that need not be elaborated upon. We need not think any longer about the kink though. Something you won’t within your generation become aware of is the fact that all forms of time pieces were destroyed, destroyed in such a way that no reverse engineering would be possible. We did not like what clocks, and time had done to us so we destroyed time and we destroyed clocks. We couldn’t destroy history though, something about the nature of existence doesn’t allow for history. Do not worry this future society does not delude themselves that time doesn’t happen, they are just not going to let it rule them. Destroy is such an archaic term anyways, Susan just used it because of her fascination with old things. Loud and clear, yet another term from ancient times, such an embarrassing reference as it points to a time when communication was faint and fuzzy. To think that a person would have to waste the time to explain that they were receiving the others communication in a loud and clear manner is embarrassing. In fact I can hear them now, well then “‘I’ve got ya coming in loud and clear‘, ‘huh?’, ‘LOUD and CLEAR‘, ‘proud and beer?’, ‘no.. no.. no.. loud and clear, gosh.’”
Let me explain one more thing, the bullet you are familiar with is long forgotten among this society. The bullet they are referring to is like the concept of a kiss in the movie Hook, or the story Peter Pan. A bullet is something that can cause pain but in an invisible way, emotionally. The bullet is also something of a verb, to explain how fast an object goes, but these people do not see a metallic object in their mind’s eye as you do.
-DRJUMP
That was real, real neat, Devin. Love the pattern, too.
Ooh, the repetition was like a drumbeat. Fun pattern, Devin.
“I got no love for him; he’s a waste of flesh.” Smitty lounged on the stained, thin bed, flicking through the porn channels.
Dave lifted the edge of the window shade and glanced outside. “I hear ya loud and clear. Destroy the idol and the temple falls with it, is that it?”
“No good kink anywhere.” Smitty threw the remote against the wall in disgust. It shattered. “He has a face that could be vastly improved by a bullet.” He smiled.
Dave looked unimpressed. “Talking’s a far cry from doing. What’s the plan, before and after?”
“General Shane’s ready to take command when the walls come down.” Smitty smiled wider; his teeth all had points. “Tomorrow at the conference keynote. Snipers in the roof garden across the street take him out through the window. We detonate some suckers in the balcony for decoys. Stolen chopper for the getaway.” He shifted and scratched. “Damn bed’s making me itch. Cheap flop’s probably got bedbugs.”
Dave stepped back from the window. “I’m sure it does. They’re wireless.” He dropped to the floor, hands over his ears.
The SWAT team blew the door and the window simultaneously. They had Smitty in handcuffs before he could even blink.
Dave shook the glass off of his back while the SWAT commander helped him stand up. “Arrest General Shane at once.”
@Steven: Oh, that was gooooood, man! I could see that so clearly. Well done.
Thanks! But I forgot the robots (except maybe the bedbugs)
{ 2 trackbacks }