Writing Duels

Saturday was an informal Ink & Blood event.  At this one, the group was given a prompt, ten minutes, coffee, and access to a near endless supply of yellow legal pads.  You had to bring your own pen.

I wrote 5 stories, which I'm sharing here in all their raw glory.  Enjoy!


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Showroom

She spun on the lazy-susan, waving and smiling as people oooed and clapped. She flipped her mermaid tail of sequins and polyester, Styrofoam and pantyhose. Her green bra—seashells made of vinyl and clear plastic straps—bit into her armpits, and she could feel sweat accumulate on her forehead under her blond wig and on the back of her neck, threatening to roll down her spine and take her attention with it.

Still she waved, a slow, lazy wave as if she were underwater, as if the shining boat on which she lounged was a sunken weak, the mast fallen and the decking rotten wood instead of laminate. The crowd vanished as her imagination replaced them with dark, waving coral and seaweed, with little fish and stingrays. The taste of brine against her lips and the current swept away the burning smell of the spotlights against her face.

Volcano

Ben got in line early, getting up at 4 that morning to pick flip-flops. The ones with pineapples, he decided. They looked sophisticated.

He drank the traditional greenish juice, made from protien powder and green algie. He'd get bonus points for making it himself, and further bonus points for drinking it all out of his frosted tmbler in five, steady gulps without pausing or choking (figuratively or literally), and still further bonus points for later admitting that it was awful.

He sang the island prayer under his green smelling breath as he marched up the mountain as the sun rose. He'd practiced the hike so he wouldn't show up out of breath, so he wouldn't have to stop and take a break, sitting on one of the black rocks to get the stitch in his side and the burn in his lungs under control. Most people drove up the the peak, but Ben—Ben would get bonus points.

He was third in the line of volunteers. A skinny old man with a hunched back and a Hawaiian shirt several sizes too big was first. A scrawny girl, with thick glasses, an unfortunate haircut, and a nervousness that was slowly building through her thin limbs, was second.

Ben kept his envy of them to a minimum and reassured himself. He'd be today's sacrifice.

He had bonus points.

I found the Walrus

“I FOUND IT!” Rodger screamed, his little voice cutting through his mother's eardrums like a knife. She didn't flinch. “I FOUND IT! THE WALRUS!”

He climbed up onto the short, stone barrier and grabbed at the fencing, hopping up and down. His sister, Heather, trotted after him, not quite able to make it onto the barrier, but trying valiantly anyway.

“I WANT TO SEE,” she screamed.

“I CAN SEE IT,” Roger said.

“I CAN'T SEE.” She gave up trying to climb the barrier and stared up at her brother. Her lip started to tremble.

Oh, good lord.

“HE'S SO FAT,” Rodger reported.

Heather's breaths came shorter and shorter, her little belly rising and falling under her monkey shirt. Her eyes swam with fat tears.

“I WANT TO SEE. I WANT TO SEE. I WANT TO SEE THE WALRUS. WALRUSES ARE MY FAVORITE.”

Lies. She'd said every animal so far was her favorite. Even the snow leapord, who wouldn't wake up from his nap, and had thus spurred the last round of tears.

Always the helper, Rodger said, “THIS IS THE BEST WALRUS EVER,” with a nod of his head.

Heather's wails grew even louder.

The walrus was unconcerned.

Highroad

“This is not the way adults handle their problems,” Lani said, leaning against the hood of the car, with her arms crossed under her chest.

Donny grunted and heaved another shovelful of dirt out of the hole.

“Seriously.” Backlit by the headlights, she looked up at the stars. “You could just talk to him. Reasonably. Tell him you're mad and why. See if he can explain himself. Maybe he doesn't even know you're mad.”

Yeah right. Donny wiped sweat from his forehead, leaving behind a smear of dirt. His hole smelled like the damp recesses of the earth, like crumbling limestone, like victory.

Turkey

“Now, does everyone have their turkey headdresses? Everyone? Yours is crooked, honey. Just a little to the right. There you go. You're beautiful. Okay. And everyone has their beaks? Yes? Good.

“Now. Just how we practiced. Flap flap flap. Flap flap flap. And all together...gobble gobble gobble gobble. Be the turkey. Feel the turkey.

“And...run around. Yes. In circles. No, not like that, not...okay. Well. You do that then, and all my other turkeys—hey, keep your headdress on. And your normal dress. Turkeys wear clothes today, Claire. And turkeys do not pick their noses, Daniel.

“What happened to our running in circles? Run, turkeys, run run. And flap and gobble.

“Good! Everyone in a line now. A line for dinner. Happy smiles, everyone. Happy turkeys. Happy happy. No hitting. Happy turkeys don't hit.

“And for the big finish...Everybody... Die on the floor! On the floor. Big turkey deaths! Wails of pain. Wails of pain. Ooo! Twitching. Nice touch there.

“And...Scene!”