((flash fiction, 200 words, set in a letter game Mary and I are playing. I'm hoping to get more writing practice.))
"You did WHAT!"
The roar of the dragon. Her name was Pepia, and she was the housekeeper. Ethellia sighed, turned, and shrugged.
"It's a wonder your head isn't cut off this second!" Pepia roared. "A heathen artifact! For a prince! As an engagement gift!!"
"It's supposed to bring good -- "
"Neveryoumind good fortune! A servant of Ozbyrt doesn't need it! He has divinity! Don't you think he'll want no reminder that he's failed to convert the Jujuwattas?! Don't you think--" here the dragon swiped with her claws-- "you've just aligned yourself with an enemy of the Kingdom--" another swipe -- "and possibly gotten the entire clan exiled?!"
Ethellia gasped. "I only--"
Pepia grunted, and a small issue of smoke fanned out from her nostril. "You only were thinking about the pretty crown you were going to wear on your stupid head," Pepia said.
Ethellia nodded meekly.
"One more thing," Pepia added, somewhat more softly. "You forgot to clean out the Gungletoad from your saddlebags."
Ethellia groaned, and looked suddenly a good deal more sorry than she had before. "Cut off my head any day," she grumbled. "It would be more pleasant than spoiled Gungletoad."
Pepia wordlessly handed her the alkali.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Too stupid to say
Never ever make, I say
Never make an assumption
It's easy to do, hey
Got a lot of gumption
When you make a presumption
Never ever make, I say
Never make an assumption
Cause when you do that, hey
You make an ass of "U" and "Mption."
When you make a presumption!
Never make an assumption
It's easy to do, hey
Got a lot of gumption
When you make a presumption
Never ever make, I say
Never make an assumption
Cause when you do that, hey
You make an ass of "U" and "Mption."
When you make a presumption!
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
I woke up when
I woke up when Jesus came
I was witness to his fame
Once was war without cease;
Now a brand of death called peace.
Silence ever was his food
As he ate he soured the mood.
He was friends with one called Pain
I woke up when Jesus came.
I was witness to his fame
Once was war without cease;
Now a brand of death called peace.
Silence ever was his food
As he ate he soured the mood.
He was friends with one called Pain
I woke up when Jesus came.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Cold Winter
Her long-sleeve shirt clung to her like a second skin on that unusually warm November day. I found Susanna barefoot and bent unnaturally over the Adirondack chair in her mom's backyard, with her face a few inches above the grass. Her glasses lay broken beside her.
"Suze!" I cried, and raced over, but she was long dead; the bullet had left a bloody trail through her body, now contorted and draped across the lawn chair.
"So, you didn't think I'd do it, and now that it's too late you believe me," Donny said from behind me.
I clenched a fist without turning around. "You think Vinny's men will protect you? They can't stand up to Virginia courts."
Donny laughed. "Peter! We killed the D.A. this morning. What, don't you watch TV, you snot-nosed beggar?" As he spoke he punctuated his words with his palm, for all the world like some benevolent class lecturer. "Lucky for you it ain't too late. Lucky for you the old man's got a soft spot for you. Lucky for you, he's still got a spot on his payroll." He chuckled grotesquely. "Looky. He even got you a welcome-home gift."
I turned reluctantly from Susanna's warm body. Donny tossed me a box of socks. I stared at him.
"Nothing quite as comforting as a warm pair of socks when you're having a cold winter," Donny said gleefully. "Now look inside the sock."
I did. There was a key.
Donny nodded, not smiling for the first time since I'd seen him. "That safe has a cool forty mill in it. Peter. You know what to do."
"Yeah, I do," I said, and punched Donny in his fat gut.
Later they'd find my prints on the gun that killed both him and Suze. That's okay though. Even if I hadn't left prints, Vinny's men would make sure I got blamed for both murders.
I threw the key to the safe down on the lawn by Susanna's feet. I wasn't going to take their money. Not after what they did to Suze.
But those woolen socks were great. I know. I wore a pair of them that cold night on the blind baggage of the overland, and that overland went west.
"Suze!" I cried, and raced over, but she was long dead; the bullet had left a bloody trail through her body, now contorted and draped across the lawn chair."So, you didn't think I'd do it, and now that it's too late you believe me," Donny said from behind me.
I clenched a fist without turning around. "You think Vinny's men will protect you? They can't stand up to Virginia courts."
Donny laughed. "Peter! We killed the D.A. this morning. What, don't you watch TV, you snot-nosed beggar?" As he spoke he punctuated his words with his palm, for all the world like some benevolent class lecturer. "Lucky for you it ain't too late. Lucky for you the old man's got a soft spot for you. Lucky for you, he's still got a spot on his payroll." He chuckled grotesquely. "Looky. He even got you a welcome-home gift."
I turned reluctantly from Susanna's warm body. Donny tossed me a box of socks. I stared at him.
"Nothing quite as comforting as a warm pair of socks when you're having a cold winter," Donny said gleefully. "Now look inside the sock."
I did. There was a key.
Donny nodded, not smiling for the first time since I'd seen him. "That safe has a cool forty mill in it. Peter. You know what to do."
"Yeah, I do," I said, and punched Donny in his fat gut.
Later they'd find my prints on the gun that killed both him and Suze. That's okay though. Even if I hadn't left prints, Vinny's men would make sure I got blamed for both murders.
I threw the key to the safe down on the lawn by Susanna's feet. I wasn't going to take their money. Not after what they did to Suze.
But those woolen socks were great. I know. I wore a pair of them that cold night on the blind baggage of the overland, and that overland went west.
- A response to Prompt 8
Prompt 8
I'll give you two paragraphs from different stories - one to start your piece and one to end it. Write the connectors in the middle!
Feel free to change the paragraphs too for names or third person/first person or... anything!
1. "Her long-sleeve shirt clung to her like a second skin on that unusually warm November day. Peter found Susanna barefoot and bent over in the Adirondack chair in her mom's backyard, with her face a few inches above the grass." -Cara Haycak, When Things Change.
2. "But those woolen socks were great. I know. I wore a pair of them that night on the blind baggage of the overland, and that overland went west." -Jack London, My Life in the Underworld.
Hey Russ, do you want to give us a prompt? If so, you're tagged!!
Lacey
Feel free to change the paragraphs too for names or third person/first person or... anything!
1. "Her long-sleeve shirt clung to her like a second skin on that unusually warm November day. Peter found Susanna barefoot and bent over in the Adirondack chair in her mom's backyard, with her face a few inches above the grass." -Cara Haycak, When Things Change.
2. "But those woolen socks were great. I know. I wore a pair of them that night on the blind baggage of the overland, and that overland went west." -Jack London, My Life in the Underworld.
Hey Russ, do you want to give us a prompt? If so, you're tagged!!
Lacey
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Den of Thieves
Jack Dawkins looked across the table. The buxom blond was chewing gum, rolling it about with her tongue and working her jaw rapidly.
"So, miss... Nancy, is it?" he said. "I see you've got quite an unusual list of references."
She chewed her gum faster. "Yeah, well. Just ask any of 'em, I'm the best at what I do."
"And you don't get caught?" he prompted, glancing at her hands. "You have light fingers."
She laughed, a little taken off guard, but never stopped chewing gum. "Light Fingers. Aint never been called that before. But sure! Light enough for the work," she insisted, and gave a nod of her head. "Never had any trouble with the law, neither, leastwise none I couldn't wiggle my way out of." She demonstrated her wiggle.
Dawkins stared. "...Yes, well." He looked away, then back again. "I need people on the streets who can handle themselves. I'm sure you wouldn't have any problems artfully dodging any trouble--MISS NANCY!"
Grinning, she paused, her hand hovering delicately at the buttons on her blouse. "What? This is an interview, ain't it? Want to see as I can handle myself, don'tcha?"
Turning red, Dawkins said grimly, "I'm afraid you've misunderstood my particular need for this job. We're a pick-pocket gang, Miss Nancy."
The blond straightened, her gum momentarily forgotten. "Streetwalkers, your ad said," she snapped.
"An ad that shall need to be clarified, I'm afraid," Dawkins told her. "Good day, and - do check to see your purse is in order before you go. Some of the new recruits like to practice."
Nancy snapped open her purse with a furious gasp.
"And, er, should you ever decide to reconsider your career, Miss Nancy - come back and see old Jack Dawkins."
"So, miss... Nancy, is it?" he said. "I see you've got quite an unusual list of references."
She chewed her gum faster. "Yeah, well. Just ask any of 'em, I'm the best at what I do."
"And you don't get caught?" he prompted, glancing at her hands. "You have light fingers."
She laughed, a little taken off guard, but never stopped chewing gum. "Light Fingers. Aint never been called that before. But sure! Light enough for the work," she insisted, and gave a nod of her head. "Never had any trouble with the law, neither, leastwise none I couldn't wiggle my way out of." She demonstrated her wiggle.
Dawkins stared. "...Yes, well." He looked away, then back again. "I need people on the streets who can handle themselves. I'm sure you wouldn't have any problems artfully dodging any trouble--MISS NANCY!"
Grinning, she paused, her hand hovering delicately at the buttons on her blouse. "What? This is an interview, ain't it? Want to see as I can handle myself, don'tcha?"
Turning red, Dawkins said grimly, "I'm afraid you've misunderstood my particular need for this job. We're a pick-pocket gang, Miss Nancy."
The blond straightened, her gum momentarily forgotten. "Streetwalkers, your ad said," she snapped.
"An ad that shall need to be clarified, I'm afraid," Dawkins told her. "Good day, and - do check to see your purse is in order before you go. Some of the new recruits like to practice."
Nancy snapped open her purse with a furious gasp.
"And, er, should you ever decide to reconsider your career, Miss Nancy - come back and see old Jack Dawkins."
- A response to Prompt 7
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