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).
- One thing leads to another
- Ruffian
- Extrovert
- Tranquility
- Unlimited Access
- Lantern
- Dishwasher
- Coffin
- Barrier
- Between the lines
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{ 102 comments… read them below or add one }
Total fail. Slow as molasses today. 5 minutes, 10 seconds. Ugh.
“One thing leads to another…” I sang softly to the car’s radio, enjoying the blare of music over the usual tranquility of the hum of tires on road. Yeah, that felt right. Unlimited access to rockin’ music, perfect for an extrovert like me, and the high beams of my lights shining like a lantern in the darkness.
Then I slowed the car. There it was. The hit – and a bad one, too. Just over the barrier to the graveyard and between the lines of men, there was my hit. Unmistakable. Impossible.
It was a coffin. “Mom always said being a dishwasher was better than being a ruffian,” I groaned. And she was right. Hit man for a dead man?
Despite your lag time, that was super cool. In 3 short paragraphs you were able to take me away from my job, and into the tundra of your story. I love these challenges. Thank you.
This one took me the longest so far as well. Something about the group of words was just a tad more difficult. Like you, James, I try to get in and out in about two minutes. I might’ve spent ten on this one though.
All shy wingmen crave unlimited access to an extrovert ruffian pointman.
You know the type. A pointman all the girls want to be with, and all the guys want to be.
A pointman who swaggers into a bar, displays his patented half-grin, strikes up conversations with the hottest of women with ease, reads between the lines of any woman’s skepticism, and washes those doubts from their faces like a dishwasher washing away stubborm grit.
A pointman who ignites these women’s smiles and pulses like a lantern.
A pointman who knows one thing leads to another. Knows he’ll wake up the next morning with a soft arm wrapped about his waistline. Knows the tranquility of shyness is a barrier to studliness and a self-inflicted coffin of wingmen.
Yeah, a pointman like the one whose fake ID I’m using right now as I walk past the fake-muscled, steroid-freak bouncer on my way to that hot girl over there with the fake smile and fake tits.
ah yes!
LOL, Shane!
I think your pointman must have bought the e-course I wrote an ad for in #5.
I forgot about that. I wonder if that was in my subconscious at all?
Ha, thanks for making me laugh with that one Shane.
Happy Friday!
Glad you liked it dude. Happy Friday back.
Here is my try at challenge #8. (This is fun!):
One thing leads to another..
A ruffian is usually an extrovert, but that is no barrier to tranquility.
A dishwasher who has unlimited access to a lantern and a coffin does not need to read between the lines to achieve tranquility.
The moral is: No matter who you are, or what your situation is, tranquility is always possible.
That was cool Steve. I actually had to reread it to make sure you used all the word, but you did indeed sneak all the words in. And that’s what’s cool about these things. When you can weave them into the challenge like nothing, that’s the magic.
Darn… I’m not even close in length… and considering how short I actually am. sigh
Anne,
I don’t try for the shortest. This is only my second attempt.
I just look at the words for approximately a minute, and then power up my text editor and let it flow. To my mind that is what the exercise is all about. Well, that and having fun.
You’ve got the point perfectly Steve!
Great job.
Granny called me a ruffian.
The folks said I was just an extrovert.
Now, I’m a gainfully employed dishwasher, thanks to the state.
One thing leads to another, right?
Yeah, and it ends with a mincemeat girl in a coffin.
I don’t know a lot about tranquility. The shrinks say I thrive on chaos. Not that I ever said such a thing, of course. They read between the lines. They shine a lantern on your psyche. They try to figure out what makes it all happen and what makes it better. Or at least good enough to have life cut down to twenty-five.
That’s where I am. My P.O. has unlimited access to my life, but I’m out again. And I don‘t think she‘s much of a barrier. Chop, chop, chop.
Carson. Awesome.
“Or at least good enough to have life cut down to twenty-five.”
Now that’s what I like. Subtle references that man a person think. Much better than saying, “Hey, I’m in prison.”
Write on!
That was excellent.
I kicked the broken dishwasher while dialing to break the barrier between me and a plumber. I wanted to give voice mail trees to an extrovert ruffian who’d put the things in a coffin. Knowing that one thing leads to another and reading between the lines of my emotions I breathed for unlimited access to tranquility and the lantern of calm and wisdom.
Loving these! – That’s 62 words for those who are counting
I’m counting the times you make me laugh Anne. Good work and thanks.
I’m paying penance for my many years of treating solitude with frivolity. It seems these days my tranquility is beaten like a torturous prisoner. Sometimes I pine for the quiet of a closed coffin, but gladly settle for the whir of a dishwasher in an empty house.
Most days, searching for silence is like looking for light amid the gloaming of a pitch black forest, without a lantern. I bang my bloody knuckles against the stolid barrier of peace, yet the raging ruffian of din and racket is a tireless extrovert who is not easily silenced.
I start each day the same; a quest for quiet, but one thing leads to another and I find myself again breathing between the lines of my day and hoping for a break from the tireless barrage.
I’ve no idea why I ever agreed to become head counselor at the National Marching Band Amplification Association For The Clinically Deaf and Hard of Hearing. Now I have unlimited access to an unending headache.
“I find myself again breathing between the lines of my day”
Sean “mataphor-melding-master” Platt does it again.
Hey, I like my new nickname. Can I keep it?
Yeah. Master Platt for short works, too.
Your story made me laugh, especially since I live with someone very hard of hearing!
Well, as the saying goes, one thing usually leads to another and that certainly applied to today’s events. Being an extrovert, a bit of a ruffian and having unlimited access to a local funeral nearby, I read between the lines about a man, Wilbur Accidental, who died due to a barrier that he didn’t see as he was walking along an old roadside path. After finishing my freelance writing and unloading my old dishwaster, I stopped by the funeral home to pay my respects and to see if anything suspicious happened to the poor old guy. As I walked into the room, a woman by the name of Miss Tranquility approached me and said, “May I help You?”
I replied, “Yes I would like to pay my respects to Mr. Wilbur Accidental. I heard that he died a tragic death. ”
As she led me to his coffin she replied in a somewhat malicious tone, “Yes, poor old man. He didn’t see it coming. He was old and somewhat careless, you see. If only he would have bought a “Find Your Way Lantern” from us. Why he might still be alive! Poor, dear man…”
I nodded in agreement, but with some dismay and then proceeded to leave. But, I’m glad I turned around before I left, because Miss Tranquility was lunging toward me with a very large vase and eyes that reminded me fearfully of the late Joan Crawford!
Toni, don’t turn around now, but Miss Tranquility is behind you!
Good write
Sure thing! Here goes…
Toni, I edited the original. Thanks
Thanks, Shane! Miss Tranquility is a real trip…
Toni
I have Always been an extrovert. Being good with people has given me unlimited access to many social opportunities. This is how I find myself in this old Victorian mansion, house sitting for the strange , old man once the town ruffian but now just quiet and mysterious and surly. The town folk avoided him like the plague, but I decided to be kind and invite him to coffee. Before I know it, one thing leads to another and he entrusts me with his home for the weekend. There is a stillness…no, a tranquility about this place. But I can read between the lines. This place has eerie history. I feel it in my bones. The funishings are antiquities, but in the kitchen is a huge anachronism……a 1950’s dishwasher. I go over to inspect it, curious and probing. The door seems to be jammed, so I wiggle it , wondering what the barrier could be. No luck. Now I see it, there seems to be a quaint lever sticking out from underneath, but it’s too dark. I can’t see. I reach over for the ancient lantern on the counter and notice that it is battery -operated! Perfect. I flick it on, push the lever and the dishwasher shudders, groans and a long box begins to slide out. Suddenly I realize this is a coffin. The lid flips open and a bizzarre man in a grey uniform pops up and grins a fangy grin! “Goood Eeeevning, ma’m I’m your Maytag repair man!
Ok. Margaret. Seriously. I just laughed out loud. Awesome ending.
I’m having my wife read this as backup evidence that my fear of doing dishes is legitimate and thus rightly avoidable.
hee hee hee!!
Funniest ever?
Well, Sonia’s Winnie-the-Pooh way, way back when was pretty funny, but a coffin-dishwasher has to be a very close second.
Now an ashen-faced Maytag repairman is going to haunt me all afternoon. Love it!
Sonia’s Winnie-the-Pooh was definitely the funniest so far, methinks.
I told you I liked this last night. But I also told you that I would publicly acknowledge it as well.
Awesome job, Mom.
Stay dry. It’s gonna be murder today.
Reading between the lines, this Creative Copy Challenge is about sharing your unlimited access to the annals of history.
For instance, do I need to rehash the elementary school story of every colonialist who hung a lantern along Paul Revere’s ride?
Moving forward in the time line, I am reminded of Adolph Hitler, the charismatic Aryan leader who was both an extrovert and a ruffian.
One thing leads to another and from Hitler I turn to Mahatma Gandhi, who I presume everyone would agree led a life of tranquility. Surely his coffin’s epitaph reads something similar?
But what do I know. Maybe these people and descriptions are nonsensical and I should clean my brain in the library’s dishwasher — if I can squeeze between the prefabricated barrier erected for cups and plates.
Hey Ari. Good to see you here.
Man, you made me laugh with “I should clean my brain in the library’s dishwasher”
Some days I feel like doing just that.
How’s you find the challenges? Just curious.
Regards,
Shane
Your co-ruffian Sean.
He is a bit ruffian isn’t he? He’s a copy-ruffian.
You know. I have not asked anybody yet, but what’s it like to do one of these things when you do your first one? For me it’s a perfect mix of left-brain, right-brain activity. My logical brains comes up with several “overview” plots and sees if there are any methods where I can tackle several words at a time. After that process is done and I’ve laid out a logical path, I switch to creative copy mode and add the flavor.
I just write it.
Thus, the Ari “WRITES” part!
Awesome. I need to just let it loose, too.
For me, it’s like a great crossword puzzle. I stare until I see the connections, then boom.
Which is why I was addicted from the first one I tried. Takes way less time than a Sunday Times crossword, lol!
I guess the process can be on a subconscious level for some people. Crossword puzzle is a great way to visualize the process, Kelly. Thanks.
Yeah, my wife refers to these as “Copy Sodoku.”
Excellent, Ari!
My favorite part about your entry was how wonderfully natural it was. Awesome flow. Probably because you “just write” without over thinking it.
Keep up the awesome.
Holding the lantern in one hand and a cigarette in the other, he mused on the twists a life can take. Tranquility came much more easily to the former ruffian these days. Working as a dishwasher in a screamingly busy restaurant, one thing leads to another—a thoughtless word becomes the basis for a quick fight or a stomach-churning grudge in the rinse of a pot. The hard-driving workplace made things worse, but Mike was his own barrier to peace.
An orange glow lit his face as he took a drag. He set the lantern down to clap his arms around his chest a few times, willing the cold away. No reading between the lines to look for trouble now. The former extrovert was learning to love this job, odd hours, odd assignment, and all. Preventing medical students from coffin-robbing in 1870s New York was serious business for the relatives of the rich.
For Mike, it was holding a lantern in a graveyard for eight hours a night, yelling “boo” once in a while, and unlimited access to his inner demons.
From dishwasher to graveyard guard. What a journey. I would never have imagined this scenario you took me through. Thanks.
If we go back and look at each submission so far we have:
Hitmen, bar pickup scenarios, bits of wisdom on the zen of tranquility, x-cons contemplating reoffending, handyman drama, marching band councelors, psychotic funeral parlor people, Maytag repair vampires, and grave guards. What a mixture of creativity.
I’m honored to be part of all this fun. Thank you all.
With unlimited access to barrier-less tranquility between the lines, the ruffian extrovert set down his lantern and converted the empty dishwasher into a makeshift coffin. Because, you know, what the hell. One thing leads to another.
WE HAVE A NEW SHORT AND SWEET CHAMP! You’re a badass Jaced.
Thanks buddy.
Sweet! I love the dishwasher to coffin idea. What the hell. lol
Raise your hands in the air, my man. You totally deserve it!
“I am breaking up with you” Angela said
I sat there dumbfound, trying to read between the lines. Our relationship seemed to start as abruptly as it seems to be ending. I Mr. Extrovert met her, Mrs. Tranquility at a bar. She had a group of friends. I went alone. There was no barrier at all between us, we just clicked and started to talk. I felt like I met an angel, her eyes lit like lanterns illuminating the way home. We talked for hours, one thing leads to another, and we end up in bed together.
That was a month ago.
“You are a scoundrel and a cheat. My mom says you are a ruffian, that you cheated with other women” She continued.
I felt like my brain just took a spin in the dishwasher, I was dizzy with disbelief.
“Look honey, I have not cheated on you” I said.
“Oh no, you have unlimited access to women with your bar-tending gig.” She screamed at me “Don’t you even try to deny it.”
I had nothing to say; my heart was broken. All I wanted to do was fall in a coffin and die.
Then, next week, I met Jasmine.
Welcome aboard Dallas.
Jasmine? Oh bleep! Can’t wait to meet her.
not my best work by far but fun nonetheless.
I used to hold a job as a dishwasher at the local drinking establishment, where I was known as a bit of a ruffian, and even an extrovert of the alcoholic variety but my life is much simpler now. Working amongst the dead permits a new level of zen. You just have to learn to see things differently, or read between the lines as they say.
Since beginning as a janitor at the local funeral parlor, “The Lantern’s End”, I have become quite an expert in the comfort of a large variety of coffin choices. Having unlimited access to the facility in the wee hours of the night, I have overcome the barrier of social awkwardness. For some strange reason, folks don’t care to have their loved ones dumped out so the local janitor can test-drive the newest coffin models. If only they knew the utter tranquility that comes from closing the lid on all of life’s problems, if only for a short while.
They say that “ one thing leads to another”, maybe I could convince my boyfriend to get a box built for two.
Lisa. I thought that was great.
The Lantern’s End and and extrovert of the alcoholic variety were my favorite parts.
More than one hundred years before the American Industrial Revolution leading to the technologies we know today, with computers running everything from dishwashers to satellites, this ruffian had the blessings of the Queen to plunder. He had unlimited access to vast areas. He slipped between the lines of acceptable and unacceptable navigation at the end of the War of the Spanish Succession, and there seemed to be no barrier along an American Coast to his trade. This extrovert was a formidable figure, striking terror in the hearts of all of his victims. In 1718, after a few years of unbridled plundering, he sought the tranquility of his home base. In a hideaway off Ocracoke Island, he hosted a big bash for his cohorts. News of this gathering reached a staunch adversary in Virginia. One thing leads to another and, after a brief but bloody battle on November 18, 1718, he was sent to his coffin. There is no lantern to honor his grave, but his legend lives on, and people still hope to find some of his treasures.
Awesome Mae. Welcome to the fun. I’m a bit rusty on my pirate history. Was it Black Beard?
I took care of the bolding for you. You did everything right, except when you type the second bold tag at the end of your words you need to add a / before the b.
Thanks, Shane. Aunt Mae
My wife and I are currently sitting in the administrative “lobby” I guess you call it of my son’s high school. We have this “meeting” with the principal. We weren’t really told what was going on, but my wife and I have differing opinions.
KC is worried that something had happened. Upon becoming a teenager, the boy had started building this barrier between us and him. He had stopped talking to us as much as he used too, and even went a few months without telling us he was dating this chick. We did not support him dating until he was sixteen. In high school you have unlimited access to any boy or girl wanting to hook up. Then one thing leads to another and you become another teen statistic.
“Don’t worry about it, Sweetheart” I tell her, “Everything is going to be fine.”
I shouldn’t blow off her feelings, but I just got this new iTouch and I am watching Green Lantern: First Flight and using a blue tooth earpiece to listen.
She is saying something else, but I can’t really make out what it is. I’m distracted by wondering who is providing the voice to Sinestro.
Our son is an honor student. He’s gotten straight “A’s” all semester. He’s in theater and quickly becoming an extrovert.
Maybe that is why KC is concerned. A cute kid that can put on the actor’s charm.
Why didn’t I go into Theater Arts when I was in school. I was just a comic book geek.
I guess not much has changed.
The tranquility that filled my head is now clouded. Maybe KC is right.
Where have I heard that voice before? This is getting frustrating.
The door opens and KC turns her head quickly. The principal motions her to come in. She pats my leg, I get up and follow them in.
Its the big battle right now. Sinestro is beating the crap out of the Green Lantern Corps.
We sit down and exchange pleasantries. He starts to talk and I can start to make out the owner of the voice in my head.
Principal is talking about something, but I have no clue. I’m concentrating on the voice.
Oh its that guy from Legally Blonde. Of course.
I rule. I didn’t even have to IMDB it. I start to pay attention to the conversation.
“Your son has the highest grape up his ass.” The principal says.
“WHAT?!?!” I stand pissed off.
My wife jerks her head in my direction and the principal leans back in his chair.
“I don’t know what gives you the right. But you can’t just sit there with a straight face and insult us by insulting our son. I do not know how you became a principal with that kind of uncouth tact. You’re a retarded ruffian who is better equipped to be a dishwasher than a principal. I hope you die, sir. I hope you die. But I won’t be rude and not go to your funeral. Oh, I will be there. I will be there to piss on your coffin and crap on your grave. We are out of here. We’re taking our kid to private school. You! You have a grape up YOUR ass!!!”
I hold up three fingers.
“Read between the lines, fat head. read between the lines. Let’s go sweetie!”
I start to walk towards the door. I turn to see KC embarrassed and pissed.
“Eric, he said that he has the highest grade in the class!”
Hmmm.
That certainly does change things.
Eric,
That is just totally, completely awesome. Man, did you target my funny bone and hit it precisely! LMAO.
Until later,
Kelly
Very, very funny Eric. Thanks for making me laugh on a Friday morning.
Thank you both. I was not sure if I was going to be able to come up with something.
Eric. Dare I say, although you thought you wouldn’t come up with something, you pulled a diamond out of your ass. Great comedy man!
This sounds so real–do you have a teenage son and an iTouch??
Yes to the son. No to the iTouch. Yes to trying to figure out who the voice was.
and yes to my wife being embarrassed at things I do.
A touch of reality and a pinch of imagination–it worked!
Sorry, looks like I didn’t get the hang of bolding!!
Named you again in Friday Fun For Freelance Writers – http://www.aboutfreelancewriting.com/2010/01/friday-fun-for-freelance-writers-2/
but not exclusively
Anne, Once again, thanks for supporting the site. We appreciate that. And thank you for that Orisinal link too. I’ll check into that.
As always, one thing leads to another and so there they were standing next to the coffin. Julie held the lantern up high as she whispered, “Are you sure this is the right one?” Davis slowly nodded his head.
Davis and Julie met just a few weeks ago in the little kitchenette of their coed dorm. It has unlimited access for the residents and she was loading a few of her dishes in the dishwasher. She had glanced up at him standing in the doorway and immediately saw past the ruffian image he tried to convey. The poor thing was trying to balance dishes and a microwavable bowl in his hands.
“Would you like to run those with mine?” she asked. Julie was a long-time extrovert and had no problem talking to people for the first time. “Sure,” he mumbled, fumbling over to the machine.
That was just a few short weeks ago.
Now they stood together, the only barrier between them and the coffin was an old stone wall and a pane of glass with vinyl lettering. “Canterbury Coffins” flickered in the glow of the lantern.
The night tranquility was shattered with nearby peals of laughter from children racing by, dragging overstuffed bags of candy behind them.
“See, there’s the note,” Davis pointed, fingers shaking from excitement. He read aloud, “If you are here, then you are near. Read between the lines, and head to the pines.”
“That’s it!” Julie shouted. “Let’s go! I don’t want us to be the last ones there.” Davis and Julie raced off into the dark night, their lantern’s glow fading quickly behind them.
Cool Aid, that was good.
Are they on a scavenger hunt during Halloween or on a real quest for treasure? Can’t wait to find out.
I have to say that I absolutely loved this collection of words! This is so much fun ~ thanks, Sean, for posting about it over at WD or else I would never have known about it
My pleasure!
I’m never quite sure where to cross promote, you know? I want to let everyone know what I’m doing, without punching them in the teeth. Most of the time I just say it once and hope people are paying attention. I’m glad you always are. : )
“I shall need unlimited access to the crime scene.”
“Very well, inspector. I have erected a barrier, and if any ruffian should appear, I will dispatch him without delay.”
“Excellent. Would you be so kind as to fetch me that lantern? I require additional light to examine the contents of this coffin.”
“Of course, sir. By jove! I do believe that is Baroness Von Schmidt’s dishwasher!”
“Indeed? Well, what can you tell me about the poor chap?”
“I did not know him well, sir, but he was somewhat odd. One minute he seemed every bit an extrovert, and the next, he was seeking the tranquility of the arboretum.”
“Look here. A lace handkerchief with the initials ‘LVS’ in his pocket. If I read between the lines, I should say there was–if you will forgive the expression–some hanky panky in the manor.”
“Oh, my, sir. You don’t mean–”
“Yes, I’m afraid I do. The humble servant woos his mistress, one thing leads to another, and alas, her husband discovers the indiscretion and sends the poor fellow to an untimely end.”
“Should I alert the Baroness? She may be in grave danger.”
“I highly doubt it, my good man. I found the Baron dead in the library not an hour ago.”
Stacey, that was just super, super writing. Loved the setting and words you used to bring me into this world. Really great. And the ending! Loved it.
awesome Stacey!
Thanks, guys. There’s some crazy good writing here, I’m loving it!
True that, Stacey!
Thanks for being here and playing along.
Jocelyn was a bright and enthusiastic freshman at Temple University in Philadelphia. She had a full ride scholarship because of all her hard work in high school. When she chose the Underground Railroad for the theme of her research paper, she was clueless about how one thing leads to another. For years she never liked the statue of the black lawn jockey holding a lantern in her aunt’s Mississippi garden until her grandmother explained how they were used in the past. Slaves who wanted to escape knew how to read between the lines. If there was a green ribbon tied to the statue, it was safe; a red ribbon meant to keep going. She was astonished to see a 5 foot tall black groomsman statue in the lobby of Sullivan Hall but unlike most people she understood the historical significance of it.
Aware of the ongoing barriers that still exist between black and white in the south, she never considered that her old school used to be segregated. Always an extrovert, she spoke her mind, was even considered a bit of a ruffian as a child. She used her persuasive skills to gain unlimited access to the library’s materials on the Underground. They were rare and precious documents stored carefully, not usually available to undergrads.
Jocelyn worked as a dishwasher to make ends meet. It was a vegan restaurant called Tranquility. She was upset when the manager, Deena, died. Deena’s great-grandfather escaped slavery in the South. Jocelyn had planned to interview Deena for her research paper. As she stared morosely at the coffin she was filled with despair.
OR
George pulled out the last remains from his baggie and stuffed it into the bong. Holding his breath he wondered how the hell things had gone so wrong. “It just seems that one thing leads to another.” He had unlimited access to his grandmother’s bank account and figured he could get rich by betting it all on Ruffian to win the race. Who knew she would come up lame? The dishwasher was making grinding noises that distracted him for a moment. Reading between the lines was not one of his strong points. He stared at the Chinese lantern swinging in the soft breeze. Tranquility was not a strong suit either. “I am too extroverted to stay here and take care of that old lady.” They had already picked out her coffin, when was she going to use it? She was his biggest barrier to moving on, or so he thought.
Loran, that was great. A two-fer-one, and a cliffhanger, too.
Great stuff.
PS EVERYONE, This is the 470th comment since the challenges started. I hope you realize how bleepin’ cool that is. Some sites toil away for years and don’t come close to this. You all are awesome.
#8 was a true challenge! I appreciate your positive feedback.
Are you feeling better? And definitely, wow, instant success on the challenges. Whooooooo!!
Went to doc. Got some X-rays. Still need to get blood work, stress test, and see pulmonary specialist. Doc has a sneaking suspicion I could have lime disease, but that’s just a guess until blood work comes back. If that’s negative, don’t know what it could be.
Thanks for asking. Yeah, 8 was the toughest, but I’m guessing the more of these we do, the better we will become at it.
Hi Loran, I thought #8 was the most challenging as well.
A lantern swings from the crooked wooden barrier separating the sleepy town of Hamlet from the deep woods. The boy known as “Ruffian,” or Ruff for short, leans against the wrong side of the barrier. Next to the coffin of his late father. Somewhere out there, the sea of tranquility awaits those brave enough to cross and find a way between the lines. His father didn’t make it. The goblins brought back the body as they always do and deposited it by the dishwasher’s house on the river. “One thing leads to another,” Ruff says out loud. And he steps away from the coffin and into the woods. A week passes, and people whisper to each other in the streets. Ruff is gone, and his body hasn’t turned up, either. “He always was an extrovert,” they say. “Shouldn’t we reinforce the barrier? Unlimited access to those woods leads only to bad things! Soon all the kids will wander across!” But one woman is silent. She smiles to herself. Although her husband has recently passed, her son is out there somewhere, and she knows that he will reach the sea and return. She is prepared to wait as long as it takes.
Kathryn that was really, really good. I can tell by your words (and your cool website) you’ve done this type of creative writing before. Welcome to our challenges and I hope to see more from you. (ps. sorry it took me so long to approve your comment. I’ve been under the weather as of late.)
Regards,
Shane
Confessions of a Kitchen Witch
They hired him as a dishwasher, imagine hiring Zulu for that. We did pose him as a ruffian of sorts, but still, you would have thought such a high class establishment would be more careful. They could have hired me. They had a choice. But dishwashing gave Zulu unlimited access to the kitchen and that’s all we needed for now. We just had to be patient and play our cards right hoping, soon, as one thing leads to another we could get in without being caught. Of course it’s never that easy. There is always some snafu. This time it was the chef. But I knew that. Lucoor, my nemesis: he was an EXTREME extrovert and more than a little paranoid. He loudly told everyone who would listen and many who tried not to that experienced chefs, unscrupulous restaurateurs, and fame crazed reporters were after his very own, very special, very unique recipes from his very secret book. Ahh! If only he knew what was about to befall.
Kitchens are always a zoo, never a vision of pastoral bliss. But this one lacked even the most basic workaday harmony. There was no tranquility in Chef Lucoor’s kitchen. None. And since he loved to talk he was there long after the establishment closed, bending the ear of any unfortunate with work as yet unfinished. Even Zulu. Especially Zulu. Every pan, pot, dish and utensil had to be washed, sterilized, polished and stored before Zulu could leave and Lucoor would stay and wail about his fate until it was all done. So…Zulu was never alone in the kitchen.
But we had to make our move and so tonight I wait out back, hiding between the lines of discarded packaging and the pallets of unloaded produce. I watch the light over the back door waiting for Zulu to flash the lantern signal: one if Lucoor was going out front and two if he was coming out the back. Finally a single flash. Zulu is leaving out the front with Lucoor. Excellent! Keeping the delivery truck as a barrier between me the main street I head further down the back alley and then in through the carefully unlocked kitchen door. I go straight to Lucoor’s station and leave it on his table; the little coffin. Lucoor will know what it means.
Zulu pulls up as I come back on to the street. He is pleased to be my driver again. I smile at him as I settle into my seat. I was back. Back from my travels. Back with strange, wild enchanting recipes of savory delight with exotic names that would haunt the halls of the culinary arts forever. I was back and Lucoor and his very special book were dead.
Mary Ann, that…was…fantastic. I’m so glad you dropped that gem in our laps.
I hope you do the current challenge too so that everyone can meet you.
Thanks much.
ps. the link you provided for your name is weird. Could you let us know if you have a website link? Thanks.
Sorry about the website thing. I don’t have one. Just found you guys so will get to the current challenge soon. Thanks for your comments!
I haven’t decided how to write this, so maybe I should just let it tell itself. I mean, after all, that one thing leads to another. I am by nature an extrovert, and love to be in the limelight. A ham, if you will, with unlimited access to the political leaders of our day. Even the President had me over one day. Of course, I should probably tell you that it was just to fix his dishwasher, but that would spoil all the fun! Seriously, the barrier between the Cabinet and a ruffian on a street corner is so much less than you might think. The tranquility of sitting in a room lit by lantern light and filled with coffins is the same for us all. Why, if you could read between the lines, you would know that rich or poor, left or right, young or old, we are all more similar than different. Let’s celebrate the similarities and quit fighting over the differences!
(odd in order and then even)
Cleve, you are like a super computer with your patterns, man. I think you are pushing this pattern form further than anybody else here. Very cool to see you doing this.
It’s a sickness I have… Something about being an overachiever…
Shoot, I haven’t even mentioned some of the patterns as I did them, I just figured I’d see if somebody caught them as we went along… 
If memory serves, I started right off doing them in patterns before anyone ever mentioned that they were doing that… I just thought it would be fun. I was the kid in Chemistry that figured out how the atomic order worked so well that I made a chart of what all the elements would be out to number 200, electrons, protons, neutrons, valance shells, the whole thing… I told you it was a sickness… My chem prof actually tried to get me to become a physicist. Instead I became a photographer.
Cleve—Good photographers see patterns everywhere. Sounds like an excellent choice of profession!
That’s an awesome story, Cleve. Hell, you should try to weave that story into a challenge.
One thing leads to another, I suppose. In my case, what had started as an innocent search of the Interweb had led to character assassination? Next on my list was a very thin extrovert, a ruffian and a dishwasher.
Perhaps I was beginning to read too much between the lines, but I began to image these characters might have more to them than the Listmaker had imagined for them.
Back in the corner of my mind, beyond the knobby barrier of my frontal lobe, I sat next to the coffin holding the residue of my victims. I lit a lantern and peered into it. Was it any wonder that my unlimited access to power in Shan Earth Ur had brought me no tranquility?
Fantastic. If you can carry this thing all the way through to the current challenge that would be unbelievably awesome.
“Ruffian!” she gasped, the lantern above her head swaying as he loomed over her. Smiling, she granted him unlimited access to her neck. Her dishwasher hands didn’t tremble a bit as her extrovert fingers starting to unlace the bodice barrier between them.
“One thing leads to another, certainly,” the pale gentleman said soothingly, “but no need to rush.”
As his red-eyed gaze drew her in, a sudden tranquility overcame her. Before she could even begin to read between the lines, her body was in his coffin.
That’s very hot! Hot for sure.
Thanks Shane!
One thing leads to another and suddenly you have a new job. Not entirely sure if that was a good thing, Brett Connors returned to the only thing he really knew – being a cop. Once more, Brett held the shield for a homicide detective.
Shedding the ruffian look he’d worn for the last six months, his return was like an old pair of jeans – worn around the edges but more comfortable than anything else.
He spent 25 years as a detective in San Francisco, a city always controversial, like the extrovert sibling caught between tranquility and chaos.
Too much isolation with unlimited access to the ugly side of life was the perfect recipe for collapse. That had been Brett’s life. It all came crashing around him with the death of an innocent child.
He left San Francisco. He left the force, and he nearly left his life. He moved back to the place of his childhood home, back to Encinitas, California. He regretted the changes, especially the loss of his grandmother, Nana Connors. He really could use the comfort of one who always loved him.
Nana had been his lantern in the dark feelings of an abandoned child. He never knew his father. His mother’s drug-filled world barely slowed to give him birth and she paid the ultimate price of abuse.
“God, get over yourself,” Brett grumbled.
His slide down the dark corridors of despair had kicked Brett into action. He made the call back to his life. The Encinitas homicide division was glad to have him and Brett hoped it was the right thing to do. So far, he skirted any suggestions of a meeting with the precinct’s shrink.
Placing his beer mug in the top rack, Brett pressed the “On” button, releasing the soft, and strangely comforting sound of the dishwasher. Peering out the kitchen window, he watched the stealthy movement of a slinking cat. Crouching, waiting, the cat pounced. With a wild flap of wings, the bird barely escaped the coffin trap of the feline felon.
“Another win for the good guys,” Brett reflected.
Maybe it was a sign. God had removed the barrier, as if to say, “Read between the lines.” Life goes on.
@Cathy: “Life goes on,” and so too should this story. Continue!
@Shane–thanks-I’m plowing through-hopefully, I’ll catch up soon! I noticed a typo-should be Shedding the ruffian look he’d worn…
@Cathy: fixed.