View Full Version : Flesh out a simple sentence!

03-16-2008, 05:09 PM
Okay, the game should be very simple: I'll start with a sentence, and you can flesh it out by changing or adding to it without altering its original meaning. You can even slowly expand it into a paragraph if you wanted to.

Example: He walked --> He ambled down the street, his feet dragging --> It was a hot day. He ambled down the street, his feet dragging, stirring up clouds of dust. He didn't want to go and buy stuff for his mom, but he had to.

None of the expansions contradicted the previous one.
Okay, so I'll start:

He ran.

03-16-2008, 06:10 PM
He dashed toward the woods, his knees rubbery, his lungs on fire. How odd, that he was about to die because he blew off going to the gym.

Next: She waits.

03-16-2008, 06:17 PM
Sitting on her haunches, poised, alert, motionless, she smells, then spots her prey, springs, pounces, and instantly buries her fangs in its throat.

Next: They laughed.

03-16-2008, 11:26 PM
They laughed at the aliens until their comical ship destroyed Tombaugh Station.

She blinked.

03-16-2008, 11:59 PM
She blinked away the sand and grit, trying desperately to keep from rubbing her eyes with her muddied fingers.

The dog yelped.

Appalachian Writer
03-17-2008, 02:43 AM
The wounded dog yelped in pain, blood flowing from the deep gash on his shoulder, but the boy lying beneath his faithful rescuer never moved.

Next: She wept.

03-17-2008, 07:16 PM
The words were simple, just three of them, all short and to the point, yet Claudia could not at first fathom the depth of their meaning, at least not when her mother uttered them, and she fell onto the bed, tears welling behind her eyes, her hands forming ineffective fists, her body shaking, those three words ringing in her ears like some thunderous voice from beyond the grave--"Your cat died."


He lied.

03-17-2008, 07:37 PM
Sitting in the principal's office, yet again, ten-year-old Tommy pounded his fists against his forehead. He knew he should have come with something better. He had plenty of time, but still, for the third week in a row, he'd told the same lie. He didn't even own a dog, and for the first week, using the neighbor's dog as an excuse for not having his homework just got him an evil stare from his teacher. The second week, he got a stern warning. Cooking was for girls, not boys. There was no way he was going to ask his mom for help with a cookie recipe, at least not until his twelve-year-old brother left home for good. What was worse, lying to his teacher or getting the wedgy from his brother?
"Tommy," came the the deep, angry voice of his father.
Tommy forgot to add in the third category for 'what was worse.'

They ate.

03-17-2008, 08:40 PM
Much was consumed of those tasty apples, until the kids noticed half a worm still wiggling out of the half eaten apple Margaret was holding.

The waterfall stopped.

03-17-2008, 10:07 PM
Niagara Falls had just been reduced to plain old Niagara. Angie looked up at the motionless cresent cascade, not just frozen, but having ceased all logical response to gravity. Gazillions of droplettes held in midair like distracted bumblebees. She looked down at the small gadget in her hand. Estatic and doomed. It worked, but her mom was really going to be P. O!

He slept.

03-17-2008, 10:28 PM
It was almost a century ago when Mr. Van Winkle had lain down for a short nap, forgetting to set his alarm clock. And now, long past the time when his wife and three children had all passed away, still he slept.

She shot him.

03-17-2008, 10:48 PM
She looked down at the crumpled figure, her eyes taking in the small hole near the heart, her mind a blank. He'd threatened her just one time too many and in some faraway part of her brain she knew she was now free of his denigrating sarcasm and belittling smirks. But it still felt unreal.

He smiled.

03-17-2008, 11:18 PM
"Duck." Tiffany patted one kid on the head.
"Duck." She patted another.
"Goose!" She took off running with Tommy fast on her heels.
Tommy tagged Tiffany on the shoulder, passed her and sat back in his spot.
He smiled.
Tiffany saw red and kicked him as hard as she could in the middle of his back.
He cried.
Tiffany had anger management issues.

She laughed.

03-18-2008, 12:29 AM
The glee and joy bubbled up from her toes, bent her knees, loosened her spine and erupted from her lips in octaves and decibles heard in 7 counties.

Titus groaned.

03-18-2008, 01:35 AM
Titus groaned while having to sit through another of Flay's lectures.

She danced.

03-18-2008, 01:41 AM
Gyrating hips and flailing arms were nothing compared to the immense pleasure seen in her lopsided smile as she grooved her way through her favorite song.

The book was blank.

03-18-2008, 03:59 AM
Page after page of nothing, nada, zip, zilch. Licking his finger, the Duke peeled the empty sheets apart finding nothing but whiteness. His tongue grew numb, so did that finger. The room melted with the poison, becoming as white as the leaves between the covers. The mage's words came back to the Duke before he had the old man beheaded, 'The book shall be bare, wisdom comes with time, so shall my revenge.'

The rain fell.

03-18-2008, 04:32 AM
Rain pelted down and the creeks began rising, pouring onto formerly dry Lake Lloyd.

the ship cruised

03-18-2008, 06:15 PM
Islands behind them, more to come and the slow drone of the Queen Mary's engines framed the experience. Tessa gripped the rail, refusing to pinch herself as she had every morning to make sure her dream vacation of traveling the oceans was real. Scents from breakfast came from the forward dining room, seagulls wove and bobbed in their wake, and the seas cradled the ship like a leaf.

The plane flew.

03-18-2008, 06:45 PM
Zigzagging all over the place, the sturdy little Hurricane flashed in and out of the patches of sunlight, round and through the blotches of cloud high above the English Channel.

the wolf howled

03-18-2008, 08:32 PM
At first Zeb thought it was the wind. Then, as the shutters banged to and fro--for there really was a high wind tonight--he realized it was something else, something far more dangerous for him and the boy. Here, so far from civilization, the two of them were trapped as a wolf drew closer, howling in the night, hungry and on the hunt, scenting a fine prey inside the ramshackle little mountain cabin.


The bridge collapsed.

03-18-2008, 10:42 PM
The slats shuddered under her feet and there was no wind. Kara looked ahead and saw the rope guy lines secure, behind her wasn't as reassuring. The demon rats were chewed through the woven hemp. Kara stuffed the tiny idol into her vest and hurried over the shaking boards. Her balance precarious, she felt the world dropout from under her feet.

The ship sank.

03-19-2008, 01:40 AM
The salty air grew damp as water flowed in through the cracks of the hull. Being trapped inside the ship's jail cell, he knew the rest of his life could be counted in minutes, no seconds, before it came to an abrupt end.

The computer smelled like cheese.

03-19-2008, 02:56 AM
Swiss or was it chedder wafted from the fan vent on the harddrive. Other fumes came of overrripe Stilton and Camembert. Reynold laughed and rubbed his hands together, the next rat to chew his power cord was going to be surprised. He'd just built a better mousetrap and Bill Gates would beat a path to his door.

The door shut.

03-19-2008, 07:41 PM
The cage door shut on the small Siamese. He yowled his displeasure at the two strange humans but they ignored him. They put the cage in a big metal box and fastened a strap through the cage's top. He tried to get out of the cage and couldn't. The metal box began moving and he yowled desperately.
The dog barked.

03-19-2008, 10:17 PM
The mastiff draw a breath the could have sucked all the air out of a 747's coach section, tensed his vocal muscles and let fly with a cannon-blast of a bark that would have sent a male lion in his prime whining to his mama.

The rabbit didn't flinch.

03-20-2008, 01:53 AM
No nose twitch, no ear flick, no tail wiggle, no butt jiggle, no tightening of the claws or shifting of the paws, the bunny didn't move a hair. :}

The dog barked.

03-20-2008, 09:57 PM
Beyond the depths of the abyss, forgotten by its earstwhile masters, alone in all the cosmos, the dog barked.

I'm dead.

03-21-2008, 03:41 AM
The oblong box holds me, most of me that is, except for the parts taken out by those damned organ thieves, and the bits eaten by worms, and my sould the devil has, and did I mention no one wants a ghost with the leastest?

She flew.

03-21-2008, 04:05 AM
She sped through the air, but unfortunately the brick building in front of her would eventually break her momentum. It is a shame these new super-power capes don't come with steering wheels.

The flea barked back.

03-21-2008, 04:36 PM
The flea barked back, much to the astonishment of its host dog.

She smiled.

03-21-2008, 07:00 PM
Her mouth moved, just a little, then curled up at the ends. She licked her lower lip and let it drop just a little as her cheeks filled spreading the joy.

He hit the ball.

03-22-2008, 09:48 AM
The baseball slammed into the MVP Gary Prattchet's bat, shooting out towards the bleachers at a merciless speed until it was interrupted by a poor fan's face.

She catched the train.

03-23-2008, 05:12 AM
It wasn't easy for Julia to build a giant mousetrap that could do the job, but when the 5:15 roared past, breaking the electric eye, the steel girder snapped down, stopping the locomotive in its tracks.

The gun fired.

04-02-2008, 07:00 AM
The time traveller drew a bead on the slow-moving limousine. She squeezed the trigger and then returned to her proper time before the police could reach the grassy knoll.

The cat sprang.

04-02-2008, 09:11 AM
Barking dogs and crying babies! Pat had enough. He took off to the corner bar. Truth is he'd gone if the house was quiet.

He sung.

Karen Duvall
04-02-2008, 09:26 AM
The notes trailed on thin air, his breath vibrating one long, falsetto note that lifted every spirit in the cathedral's eager audience.

04-02-2008, 11:08 AM
We need a verb and maybe an article and a noun. Perhaps a pronoun? Give us something here. We're dyin'!

04-02-2008, 02:54 PM
Our breath rattled in our throats as the oxygen was slowly replaced by carbon monoxide. We fought frantically with the iron door but it refused to budge. Our last thoughts were of chocolate cake.

The horse jumped.

04-02-2008, 04:34 PM
It managed to clear the mountain peak in spite of having an injured wing.

It was a case of mistaken identity.

04-08-2008, 08:22 AM
It was a case of mistaken identity.

Danny saw a flash of red hair, a certain movement – unmistakable. Now one else walked that way. He turned and grabbed Kelly by the neck and was rewarded by a sharp bite on his hand. It wasn't Kelly after all. It was some other Irish setter.

No one could eat the way he did.

Jenan Mac
04-08-2008, 07:53 PM
No one could eat the way he did.

The Germans have a distinction: essen vs. fressen, eating like a human or like an animal. But even the Germans don't have a word for the way he could eat. "Snarf" doesn't begin to describe it-- not the sounds, not the expressions, and certainly not the sheer quantity of food involved.


You're grounded.

04-08-2008, 09:26 PM
"You're grounded, and I don't want to hear any bitching about it! You deserve it, coming home at 4 in the morning, and drunk at that."

She was ranting.

04-08-2008, 11:18 PM
Spittle flew from her mouth, and David grimaced, forced to stand in place for the unwanted shower. If she said one word worth listening to, David didn't hear it, not amongst the rest of the wild ranting. He was too distracted by the deathly motion of her arms as she gestured in erratic motions.

Dawn is the best time.

04-11-2008, 10:56 PM
Dawn is the best time to scale the wall, when the sun has just barely begun to peek over the horizon and the palace guards are nearing the end of their shift.

The hum was annoying.

04-24-2008, 01:10 PM
Stretching to the tips of her full 10" height--including ears, the Chihuahua vociferously demanded her morning treat of salami. Her staccato contralto barks drowned out the newscaster on the TV.

The wind blew.

04-25-2008, 06:00 AM
The air changed, becoming eerie and floating. The change in air pressure made people's ears fill uncomfortably. Ten seconds later the tornado, sounding like a very large, very angry animal with a very deep, deep growl, passed over the neighborhood.

The cat played.

04-25-2008, 06:03 AM
The cat played with her best friend, tossing her head back and forth, until the little friend stopped playing back. The cat didn't know the the little field mouse had rabies.

The driver stopped.

05-01-2008, 04:27 AM
The car's brakes squealed when the Sasquatch jumped on the car. Frantically the driver reversed but the Sasquatch hung on. Her mate joined her and together they beat on the car until the driver released their infant.
The wolf stared.

05-27-2008, 06:01 AM
Betty felt the hair on the back of her neck rise. It was a feeling as if she was being observed and this time, she knew who was watching her. A mere 10 feet a way sat a gray wolf, dark yellow unblinking eyes watching her. She didn't move. She didn't breathe. Maybe it would just go away. Then it stood up, flattened it's front legs against the ground with it's rump in the air, and it wagged it's tail. It wanted to play.

The woman made soup.

05-27-2008, 07:14 AM
It was steaming, hot and she was impatient as a virgin to taste the soup she just made.

Shut the TV off.

05-27-2008, 08:02 AM
It was all over the news. He furiously flipped through channels, secretly hoping that another politician would be found soliciting sex so the talking heads would move on. No such luck. The entire world was watching the never ending loop of him falling onto the red carpet and accidently pulling down the precariously fastened dress of the world's premiere starlet. He shut the TV off and poured himself another drink.

It was blooming.

05-27-2008, 08:05 AM
Shut the TV off.The glow of the TV pierced the darkness yet, oddly enough, did nothing to cast it from the room. If anything it enhanced the shadows surrounding him, enveloping him, swallowing him.

The light from the television created a wall around him, diminishing everything outside its own reality, keeping the world at bay.

He sat, in his self-imposed prison, and each sound striking him was like a repeated hammer to the brain:

“He said...”

“She said…”

“Today the price of…”

“The candidate apologized…”

“The President demanded…”

The words blurred together, an endless chant of doom and destruction, sadness and despair, worry and fear. They were a monotone mantra designed to keep him glued to the screen, to make him dependent on fear, to ensure he remained captive.

He stood, slowly, mesmerized yet repulsed by the moving lips of the faces that were different yet the same.

He approached the television. He grabbed it. Firmly and without regret. It felt smooth as sin and warm to the touch, and he could smell the power coursing through it. It smelled of dust and heat and electricity. It smelled of fear and control.

He took a breath and lifted it. One jerk and it was up. He noticed there was no dust where it had sat and marveled at its heaviness. Then he twisted and heaved it, with a crash, through the window. His back spasmed with a stab of pain and he knew it would hurt later.

But the television hitting the ground below sounded like the scream of demons thwarted.

And the sun shone upon him.

Next: Get off your feet.

05-27-2008, 08:42 AM
Oops. I see Melenka posted right before I did so I'll do hers also:

It was blooming.
Bryan wasn’t good at this game. He hated it and all he could think of was going home. Yes, that was it. Home and a mug of hot chai tea. No, dammit - a shot, he needed a shot. He thought he still might have some of that whiskey left. Yes, a shot and then bed.

“Timmy’s band played really good tonight.” Heather lounged on the park bench, in the way that young women who are drunk are apt to do, and the moon made her look a goddess.

She was just a normal, average girl – nothing special about her that Bryan could pinpoint if asked, but he felt that pull, that attraction that spoke of things greater than looks, things more powerful than what style of clothing a person wears or the way a person wears their hair or anything.

He’d never felt this before and didn’t know how to express it.

“Uh, yeah. They’re getting, uh, better, I guess.” Bryan picked up a twig and threw it as hard as he could. What an idiot he sounded. He hated himself.

“How come you don’t play with them? Don’t you play guitar?”

Here it came. She’d realize he was a loser and he wasn’t worth a fuck and she had wasted her night hanging with him and – he was relieved. He was relieved that the sham was over and he could stop worrying and just forget it and forget her and put it all behind him.

He wasn’t worth it and the stress of putting up a front all night had finally begun to wear on him.

“No. I used to think I could play guitar, but the truth is, I can’t. I stopped about a year back and just never…” He let his words trail off.

There. He’d said it. He felt better. But somehow, he felt dead too. Oh well. Better to get it out of the way now. Fuck it.

Heather got up like she’d had a renewed burst of energy. “Ahhh, good. I could never date a musician. God, my sister dated one and I swore I never would.”

She sat closer to him.

Bryan smiled. Then tried not to smile. Then wound up looking even sillier as his face contorted back and forth between sternness and happiness.

Heather laughed.

Bryan looked up at the moon. “Would you like to come by my place and have a mug of hot chai tea? Or-or-or some more drinks if you want.”

Heather grabbed his hand. “I love chai tea.”

Next: Get off your feet.

05-27-2008, 11:20 PM
It was nourishing and filled with good things from fish scales, bats ears and, spiders toes to the leftover toadstool gruel from breakfast. All the things a growing Thing needed.

05-28-2008, 12:44 AM
Get off your feet:

Why are you just sitting there? Get up and move! What, do you think those sirens are the ice cream truck coming?

Next: I think he's crazy.

05-28-2008, 03:23 AM
Nancy tapped her pen against the cover of the 3-in thick file before opening it. She began at the bottom sheet of paper – the first admittance. It gave only name, address, age, date but nothing that was telling her the why of it. Maybe someone had noted why. A diagnosis was just an opinion, she thought. But as a psychiatrist, that was her job. Maybe she'd write schizophrenic or bi-polar in a manic stage. "It doesn't matter what I write down here," she thought. "It's obvious that the kid's not right in the head."

He learned to dance.

05-29-2008, 06:52 AM
"Make something out of yourself. Go to college. Get a job. Find a nice girl whose father owns a business."

Josh had heard it all before. This time he decided to make his mother sorry she had goaded him. Picking her car keys off the coffee table, he took off in her Lincoln.

"The Army Wants You." He wasn't a violent man.

"Cook Wanted - Night Shift." He had allergies.

"Frieda's Feisty Feet." He showed her.

He learned to dance.

I need cucumbers for the salad.

05-29-2008, 09:52 PM
One nice thing about the farm is that I don't live here. It's big and beautiful and full of family history. But it's also in Nebraska, which makes it hell in winter. I'm not cut out for cold that deep. So I visit in the summer when everything is green and the air is heavy, waiting, a perpetual countdown to harvest, slaughter, and the onset of the cold months.

"You planning on standing there all afternoon?" My sister hands me a glass of iced tea, no sugar, just the way I like it.

"I might. It's a nice view." My hands are on the railing of the deck.

Her whole family helped build the deck. The kids still bring friends home from college to show it off. Every one of them says he or she built it with some help from the others.

"Come on," my sister says, walking down the stairs. She knows I'll follow her. I've been doing it all my life.

"What are we doing now?"

"Picking dinner. I'll check the peppers and tomatoes. See if you can find a couple of good sized cukes. Lonny repaired a truck that was stalled out near Seward and the guy gave him a whole salami and some cheeses. We're going to make an antipasto."

Maybe the terrible cold is the price you pay for living in a place where you can trade eggs for a good massage and cold cuts for car repair. I wonder again if it would be worth it.

Next: She could not focus.

06-02-2008, 08:25 AM
"You let her go! How could you; I hired her and I thought she was working out quite well."

"You would have fired her if you'd been here. I gave her that urgent project; told her I need it finished in twenty minutes."

"The O'hara file? A seasoned agent couldn't have finished that in twenty minutes."

"Well, she actually did pretty well on that. She had a rough draft by five after when I asked her to go get me a doughnut and a large cup of coffee."

"Did she spill the coffee?"

"No, no, no. She brought me back the coffee, but the doughnuts were stale. I sent her back to get some fresher ones."

"You blamed HER for the stale doughnuts? Surely you didn't fire her for bringing back stale dougnuts?"

"No, she brought a dozen from the bakery that had just been iced. The doughnuts were great, but there were so many varieties that I couldn't decide which one to eat first."

"Okay, let's get back to Sheila. Why did you fire her?"

"Well, I asked Sheila which doughnut I should eat first. It must have taken her 60 seconds to decide. While she was deciding, my wife called and she almost forgot which lie she's supposed to tell on Tuesday's. Then she started typing on the paper without advising me on the doughnuts."

"Well, now I understand, Marshall. You had to let her go."

"I really didn't have any choice. She could not focus."

Next: He towered above the other sixth graders.

06-03-2008, 06:20 AM
There were only two left and he had to choose one of them. He stole a quick glance at his friend hoping to gauge his opinion, "What do you think?" he whispered, receiving a shrug for an answer.

Kyle sniffed and rubbed a hand over his dirt smeared face. He really wasn't thinking about anything at the moment either. He found the less thought put into recess the more that he enjoyed it. "I Dunno" he mumbled as he weighed the two choices.

He knew that one of the two was a good athlete. A cross country runner and basketball player, although his lithe build suggested something other than a durable sort. Giving him the ball would score a point or two, but could he take a hit? Debatable. This was rugby, and something like that would be infinitely important in deciding the contest.

He squinted as the sun's rays gave his eyes a poke, snapping him out of his analysis. Turning to observe the other prospect, he witnessed an eclipse... well not quite, but the other young fellow's head appeared to blot out the sun casting a long shadow with his body that split through the two groups of newly formed teams.

Where had he come from? Kyle wondered. Eying the massively built child that towered over him and all the other players. "You sure you're a sixth grader?" he asked.

The man child nodded revealing a shy grin and Kyle knew that his choice was clear.


He adjusted his hat.

06-04-2008, 06:59 AM
"Has anyone seen my minature Scottish tismajunge?" asked Mari Lynne.

Mother looked up from her knitting, and mouthed "No." Father kept looking at the TV but firmly shook his head back and forth. Glenn giggled.

"What did you do with him?" screamed Mari Lynne.

"Leave him alone," said Grandpa as he buttoned his overcoat and wrapped his scarf tightly around his neck. "He's afraid of that little devil. He never goes near him."

Suddenly, Mary Lynne heard a muffled yelp. "That's him," she yelled.

Rushing over to the coat rack, she shouldered Grandpa out of the way as she began searching through every coat pocket.

She didn't notice her father's now-smiling face or the twinkle in her mother's eyes. She did hear the yelp again near the door as her grandfather started to leave.

"Wait, Grandpa," she said. "Take off you over coat. I think my little tismajunge has crawled into one of your pockets."

Grandpa obliged. Turning, he adjusted his hat then spun around to reveal the wierd little animal in the palm of his hand.

Mari Lynne cried out with joy and scooped up the little animal. She hugged him to her cheek and then inspected him.

"This isn't my tismajunge," she shouted as she flung the critter down to the floor. "Where is mine?"

No one knew what to say for only Mari Lynne could see the strange creature. However, Grandpa's head began to sting where he had just pretended to hide the 'imaginary' animal. Before the end of summer, Grandpa died of a severe brain tumor.


Osgood Jenkins held out three fingers

06-05-2008, 06:11 AM
It seemed natural again, pulling the stalks of corn jamming the equipment that had harvested it. It was this very machine that had taken all the fingers from his left hand, but Osgood Jenkins felt lucky that a genius surgeon from Tulane med school had decided to set up practice in the nearby small town. The doctor had sewed all five back on; the thumb and pinky didn't take, but the others did. Turning off the corn picker had been too much trouble. The corn-eating monster was still running now. Osgood reached out to grab the errant corn stalks. "Lightning won't strike twice," he said aloud.

The garage was on fire.

06-06-2008, 07:09 AM
"'9-1-1' is only for emergencies, Mr. Leavengood."

I stared boldly at him. "Don't you consider a fire raging through a building to be an emergency."

"What fire?" asked the chief.

"It went out after the building burned to the ground."

"What building?" he asked.

I knew he wouldn't believe me. I had stored grass seed and ammonium nitrate and potting soil in the garage. It took him three weeks to respond to my 9-1-1 call.

"We're standing where the building used to be. It was my garage."


"The garage was on fire," I shouted.


He didn't see the elm tree.

06-08-2008, 12:38 AM
It was hot. Not your ordinary kind of hot either. I'm talking about the kind of hot that would inspire a mischievous imp to steal an egg from his mom's kitchen just because he'd heard tell you could fry one on the sidewalk when it got to be like this.

Our hero was not concerned about eggs though, rather the man that had been following him. He'd spotted the fellow easily enough, in the throng of folks that flooded the market streets this time of day. They had sent him, and it wasn't hard to tell. There was the eye patch and the scar that would mark him from any distance. They had sent him, without a doubt. He'd been warned what would happen if he disobeyed, yet he couldn't overcome the feeling of dread that always conjured itself in situations akin to this. They had sent him, and the message could not be any clearer.

He had to get away. Ducking off the crowded streets he wound his way through a narrow alley that snaked its way between the busy market thoroughfares. He paused for a moment. Panting in the oppressive heat that seemed to pound the energy out of his body. This is madness, he thought, his mind conjuring images of the cruel scar that ran from the top of the arch-villain's head to the underside of his chin, leaving his face warped in a mocking, grimace. Hearing a cough behind him, our crusader cocked his head and was faced with the reality of that horrible visage as it stood, attached to the body of the pursuer leering at him from the far end of the alley.

"We must have words," the scarred man said, reaching into his suit pocket and producing a pair of leather gloves. Sneering, he put them on one by one, slowly, methodically. Task complete, he lunged forward, his one good eye revealing the disdain he felt for our protagonist.

Mustering his last bit of reserves, our hero turned and shot through the alley cutting straight across the busy four lane arterial that transited the district and separated the city park from the bustling market district. He dodged and weaved through cars that neither slowed nor attempted to evade him, seeking the safety and cover of the trees just on the other side of the roadway! With a desperate last gasp, he finally heaved himself onto the sidewalk, evading the front end of a Honda Civic hatchback, the driver of which could be seen casually sucking on the end of a soda straw.

He'd made it! If he could get to the other side of the park, he'd be in the clear! His car was parked in the usual spot that he'd leave it when he came to browse the markets. He knew it was only a matter of picking his way through the dense urban oasis to reach the safety of his vehicle and egress. Time was on his side. He cast a glance over his shoulder to gage his pursuer's whereabouts and he could see the slower bulkier man tentatively picking his way across the busy road, pausing to shake his fist at the aggressive drivers that possessed no inclination to yield for any person. Maybe, he had him now!

Our hero chuckled victoriously, turning and placing his back to the edge of the tree line to scorn the villain with his full attention. He waved a vulgar gesture as he backed into the little forest and with a quick jump, he spun and sprung forward, running face first into the trunk of an ancient, foreboding elm that stood a watchful sentry on the park's fringes.

He fell, feet thrown out from him with the shock, sprawling awkwardly onto his back and hitting his head hard again as he went down at the base of the massive tree. Laying there, slipping into unconsciousness, he wondered, and hoped that the stories he'd heard about the scarred villain were not true . . .

You've made a mistake.

06-11-2008, 05:57 AM
I'd seen the bully chase frightened boys and girls into the alley a hundred times. Eric Smelling wasn't that big, but he was big enough and his reputation was unquestioned by the Bartley Middle School student body.

Since it was only a matter of time before I became his victim, I spent Wednesday and Thursday afternoons scouting out the alley. Of course, there was a dumpster, but I was looking for something special--a place to hide a weapon.

Not finding anything appropriate, I brought my own--a large square metal plate and a strong magnet attached to a handle. I practiced my routine. Grabbing up the magnet with the handle as I ran past the the dumpster--I knew just how to twist it so that the magnet came loose with the handle and didn't stay attached to the dumpster.

Moving quickly to the square plate, I used the handle to lift one end and gain access to my father's crowbar hidden in a dugout place in the pavement. Turning to face my 'pretend' attacker, I let him 'see' the crowbar' and then laughed as he ran away.

I was ready.

I can see now that I actually antagonized Eric Smelling on Friday during lunch. He warned that he would get me after school. I tried hard not to smile--fearing that he would suspect that I had something up my sleeve. I practiced our 'fight' in my mind all afternoon.

After school, I headed home. At first, I thought Eric had forgotten about me, but I spotted him standiing under the elm tree on the west side of the street. I speeded up and charged into the alley.

Everything went as planned. I picked the handle from the side of the dumpster and soon had the crowbar in my right hand. When Eric appeared, I held up the crowbar and said, "You've made a mistake."

I started to wave the crowbar but noticed that it didn't move. Looking back over my shoulder I saw a big hand holding onto it.

"I didn't know you had a big brother, Eric." As Eric raced up to pound me with his fists, I held on to the crowbar. I was too desparate to cry.

I may not have impressed Eric, but the way I held on to the crowbar must have impressed Cecil Smelling. He finally let go of the crowbar and Eric had to run away.

'You've made a mistake," Cecil kept repeating over and over--when he wasn't laughing.


The piece of paper drifted down the canyon wall.

06-18-2008, 09:56 PM
The trip to the Southwest was supposed to help Cindy get over Andrew. Married 24 years, she had supposed that he was as loyal as she was, but she'd been wrong. Not just wrong – she'd been blind. She's found out about her first affair by accident, but when she started looking at Andrew's life a little closer she realized that he'd been unfaithful since their honeymoon.

Camping by herself in one of the so-called lost canyons would be theraputic, she'd hoped, and it had been, at least a little. What she needed, as the sun set quickly behind the mountains around her, was a little ritual. She needed something final.

Slowly, she pulled the marriage certificate out of her backpack and walked away from her tent and the warmth of the campfire. The wind was picking up.

She raised her arms, holding up the legal paper that she and he had signed so long ago.

"Good-bye," she said. "It's been nice knowing you," and she let go.

The wind caught it immediately. It was lifted up, then down, then up again, following the wall of the canyon and disappeared into the darkness. "Good-bye," she said again.

When she returned to the campfire, she poured herself a glass of wine and sat down. She felt better already.

The fish tank needed cleaning.

06-19-2008, 01:08 AM
He held her hand--the one that used to have Earl's ring on the ring finger. She didn't like the look in his eyes as he lifted her hand--adding his right hand to make sure she didn't pull free.

"What are you doing, Earl? Let my hand go."

"Have you ever heard of the witch trials, Emily?"

She ignored the question and started slapping at his face.

He laughed, letting her right hand hit him as many times as she wanted. The cold water surrounded her left hand as he forced it down into the fish tank. She gasped in horror as the little fish inside the tank quickly gathered around the three hands now in their territory.

Earl knew something was wrong even before her mock look of terror turned to an evil grin. He looked vainly at the bottle of lotion on the counter.

Emily explained. "I'm sorry, Earl. I used all of your green lotion. It felt so good that I just kept rubbing it in."

"But . ." Earl cried, obviously in pain.

"Oil of Olay with green food coloring, Earl. The fish seem to love the stuff."

Easily extracting her own hand from between the bloody ones Earl had hastily pulled from the tank, she couldn't help thinking that the fish tank needed cleaning.

The frying pan was no longer on the floor by the bed.

06-24-2008, 07:51 AM
She dreamt of boxes. They went from wall to wall. She had to climb over the footboard to get off the bed. The narrowest of paths led to the door - so far away that she thought she would never get there. She tried standing still in hopes that the door would come to her, then trudged on, not even sure what was on the other side. When she reached the end of the box tunnel, she found the door blocked by more boxes.

"None of this stuff is even MINE!" she screamed. It bounced off the tunnel walls, making her wonder if there was such a thing as a cardboard avalanche.

She woke up, shaking, sweating. And surrounded by boxes. For eight days, she had been moving furniture, unpacking books, discovering pieces of paper full of details she wished she could forget. Her house had been so reflective of who she was. Now it was filled with her father's stuff. No matter where she turned, something of his caught her eye. And there were more boxes to go. It felt like the house was bulging at the seams, ready to spill her childhood on to the sidewalk along with all the sorrow and anger she had over the entire family abandoning her to tend to him while he died.

When the movers had unloaded, she hadn't been there to supervise. Her best friend stayed on the phone with her and directed things as best she could. Upon arriving home, she found boxes, clearly labeled with the room where they should have been, shoved randomly against every wall. Bathroom stuff was in the study, kitchen boxes in the guest room. There was so much furniture that it was impossible to find a place to sit down. The irony did not escape her.

Two days later, there were no more boxes in her room. Only the dressers were his. She had needed dressers. She slept that night, and dreamed of sitting on the deck with her husband, drinking coffee and listening to the fog horn. She woke up missing him, wondering when he might be able to join her, wishing for another set of hands to unpack boxes.

Rolling off the bed, she looked down and smiled. At least the frying pan was no longer on the floor by the bed. Somewhere in the middle of her unhinged rant on day six, her friend had removed it. She wondered where it had gone.

Joseph thought you should have this.

06-24-2008, 08:52 PM
Simeon watched through the open window as his nine brothers left in a caravan loaded with the finest that Egypt had to offer.

"They'll never come back for me," she said aloud. He said it again and again, letting his words bounce off the walls of the room. Returning to the window, he whispered the words again.

When the caravan had disappeared in the distance, he plomped himself down on the bed. It felt great. Not like a prison bed at all.

The servant brought his meal just before sunset. He didn't want their food. Coming to get food from these Egyptians had put him in this spot in the first place

"Maybe, it was the second place," he said aloud again. We should never have sold our brother into slavery. That's why we're suffering now. At least I am

As soon as the servant left, Simeon tossed his food tray out the window. He watched the round tray crash on the stones down below. Then he settled back on the bed and tried to convince himself that he wasn't hungry.

After several hours, the servant returned with yet another tray of food. It was even more delectable and appetizing than the previous offering.

"How did you know that I would be hungry?" He knew that the servant wouldn't understand Hebrew, but he was surprised when he heard the response in his native language.

"Eat, please." The servant waited until he finished the sumptuous meal. Then he produced an elegant silk garment.

"Joseph thought you should have this."


Except for the letter "T" the page was blank

06-25-2008, 11:53 PM
Oren Whittaker picked up the newspaper at the hotel desk, folded it under his arm, and filled his coffee cup one final time before leaving.

The cab driver seemed impatient, but Oren wasn't worried about that. All he could do was charge extra. He hadn't left; Oren still had the ride he needed to the airport.

"A man just offered me a thousand dollars for my newspaper," offered the cab driver.

Oren briefly glanced his way, but chose to ignore the fellow.

"Open yours up to page 47," said the driver. "If it has anything on the page at all, it's worth a lot of money. It's like winning the lottery only you didn't have to spend any of your own money."

"Stop the cab," ordered Oren.

As he left the cab which had not yet left the hotel parking lot, Oren glared at the man. He had barely paid attention to the man's ranting and raving, but he wasn't about to suffer through it all the way to the airport.

"Can I have the newspaper?" the man asked.

"No," Oren said calmly.

It wasn't until the next day when Oren left another hotel in Cleveland that he thought about the newspaper he had taken with him from the cab. After seeing the headline that described the three 'misprints' and how much had been paid for them by collectors, Oren couldn't help himself; he had to look.

One newspaper had "U" emblazoned on page 47. It had been sold seven times in the last 24 hours--finally earning $23,000. The other two had other letters and had been purchased for similar amounts.

Oren thought about the newspaper he had tossed in the trash in New York. The face holding up one of the newspapers in the story looked vaguely familiar to Oren. He could see the hotel in the background behind the smiling maid holding up a newspaper page. Except for the letter "T" the page was blank.


Leave them laughing, Willy.

07-02-2008, 08:27 AM
"I don't know how you do it, Cal." Willy shook his head, watching Celia Lewis sashay down the street.

She had walked right up to Cal and kissed him on the lips, then turned around and left again. For three years, Willy had done everything he could, short of begging, to get her to go out with him. And instead she had chosen to make out with Calvin Novacek. In his car. With her bra off and everything. It didn't make sense.

"Do what? She's the one that kissed me," Cal said.

"Yeah. She kissed you. Laurie Jenkins kissed you. Yesterday, Anna Tavares kissed you and she don't hardly kiss no one."

"Anyone," Cal corrected automatically.

Cal could do stuff like that without Willy wanting to hit him in the head. No one else in his life cared how he talked. They only cared how good he threw a football.

"So how do you get all them girls to kiss you?" Willy looked over to his friend. He was skinny, with a nose that was too big for his face and curly hair that never stayed in place. He didn't dress nice or play sports. Hell, he wasn't even in the marching band. It didn't make any sense.

"I'm nice to them." Cal shrugged.

"I'm nice," Willy protested.

"Sure you are, but not everyone knows you like I do. Some people find you intimidating."

"It's just because I'm big. I can't do anything about that. And anyway, being nice don't get other guys kissed. Them girls don't even get mad when they see you with another girl. There has to be a trick to it, something you aren't telling me."

"You want to know the secret?" Cal asked. Willy nodded, leaning in for the words of wisdom that could change his life.

"Talk to them like they're real people," Cal whispered. "Listen to them. Don't push for what you want. Wait for them to tell you what they want instead."

"That's it?"

"That's it. The big secret." Cal jumped off the tailgate and turned to his friend.

"And if it turns out they aren't interested, turn it into a joke, like you weren't all that serious."

"That gets them to kiss you?" Willy was confused.

"Best advice I can give. Leave them laughing, Willy. They like that," Cal said, walking off in the direction of Celia Lewis' house.

You might want to reconsider.

07-02-2008, 09:01 AM
You might want to reconsider.

"You might," she said, turning to her husband, "very well wish to reconsider, darling. I hear the Hamptons are terrible this time of year."

He paced up and down the deck, the third board from the edge squeaking every time he passed over it.

"You may be right, dear, but I am afraid I am already committed".


Wow. That is different than writing a script, that's for sure. Flexing entirely different muscles... Kinda fun!


Honey, I'm home!

Robert Farley
07-02-2008, 04:50 PM
"Honey, I'm home."

That's what he always said, every evening, smelling of gin and smoke and some other woman. Or women.




Three prosaic words that rang fear into me every time I heard them, like a hand pressing on my throat, a finger digging into my chest till the cartilage broke, the skin ripped, and my heart ran screaming into my mouth.

"Honey, I'm home." He'd jangle his keys, making me choose with my mouth the one that would unlock the shackle from my foot. "What do you say, honey?"

If I didn't say it, he'd make the pain last longer.

"Welcome home, honey." If I didn't use the right inflection, that would make the pain last longer, too.

After the unspeakable happened, he would feed and clean me. Sterilized and numb, I'd sleep.

But today, today, today...one of the locks had broken, and I was free, and I waited behind the door.

We used to play baseball, before the accident, before his sickness. He blamed me for it, the accident, the loss. He blamed me, and now I waited for him, to welcome him.

The door knob turned slowly, the door opened, and he stood there, pulling his keys from the lock. Then he said those three detestable words: "Honey, I'm home."

I had never been much good at baseball. I didn't hate the ball enough, I guess. I'd remember that the next time I played.

In a pool of thick, sticky blood, he lay on the floor, his open, dead eyes taunting me, commanding me, belittling me. I knew what I had to do.

"Welcome home, honey," I said. With just the right inflection.



The apples should have been McIntosh.

07-17-2008, 09:07 PM
The apples should have been McIntosh.

He was a juggler--an accomplished juggler. Something in my brain had snapped when I saw him walking down the street keeping three small green apples in the air while the other two barely seemed to touch his fingers before bouncing into the air to follow the other three.

Go for the jugular. I couldn't shake those words.

Walking up beside him, I took five matching ivory-handled paring knives from my back pack and began flipping them. It took me a few minutes to get 'in-sync' with the apple guy. By that time we had drawn quite a following.

Two cars collided near us, but neither of us stopped. I could imagine that the driver's attention had been drawn away from the road by our juggling act.

GO FOR THE JUGULAR was even louder. I couldn't ignore those words.

As each of the knives hit my fingers, in turn, I flipped it his way. The first four made exactly two revolutions before piercing one of the small green apples. The fifth one headed in a different direction.

"Ow," he shouted as the last little knife slid neatly into a large, red apple being held by my sister, Irene.

She smiled at me and turned to the juggler whose eyes were bigger than the apple she held. I don't know why her words calmed him, but they did.

"The apples should have been McIntosh."

"I'll buy some," he said.


Want to hear something that isn't funny?

07-18-2008, 01:30 AM
Want to hear something that isn’t funny…..

“Want to hear something that isn’t funny, Jerome?” Callista plopped down beside him on the porch swing, her jade green eyes sparkling with hidden meaning.

“Why do I have a bad feeling about this?” Like no news is good news, but Jerry knew she’d be telling him any way. “Doesn’t have to do with another of your little intuitions, does it?”

“As a matter of fact, it does. But that doesn’t answer my question. Do you wanna hear now? Or, don’t ya?”

Did he really have a choice? Calli, when she was on a roll, was a woman who refused to be put off. They’d been married twenty-seven long years. Lord knows, he knew her well enough.

The glider creaked, as they rocked back and forth in unison. “Do I have to guess before you get dinner on the table?”

“Reckon I could save it till after dessert.”

Jerome resigned himself to the inevitable. “May as well just spit it out now, Woman, and let me have my peace.”

“Ain’t gonna be any peace for us for awhile, Jer. The stick turned pink. All three of ‘em did. From three different test kits. It’s my intuition what’s telling me it’s gonna be twins.”

The glider stopped rocking.

Was it only yesterday that they packed their youngest daughter off to college?

“Repeat that, please. Did I hear you say that you were his dominatrix?”

07-18-2008, 10:29 AM
Anna's confession hung in the still air. The couple in front of her stared at her, aghast and her words. The two turned to glance at each other before turning their attention back to her.
“Repeat that, please. Did I hear you say that you were his dominatrix?” Carl finally asked in a whisper. "I didn't know Larry was that kind of guy."
__________________________________________________ _______________

My day was awful.

07-18-2008, 11:08 PM
It started when I stubbed my toe getting out of bed. Not a little stub. Blood flowed. I showered anyway, but the water was cold, again. I'd have to talk to the landlord. My toe was throbbing. No pumps today. I dug out my clunky sandals. I could wear them with socks to shield against the December weather. I'd look dorky, but what else is new?

In the kitchen, the coffee was ready and I went to get a cup to steady my nerves. There was something warm between my injured toes. The dog had thrown up during the night. Poor baby. She couldn't help it. It was my fault for not giving her her midnight snack. I cleaned it up, gagging, then rebandaged the appendage. I'd stop by the grocery later for some ground beef and rice for the pup's upset stomach.

The ride to work is only three mile, but an accident was slowing traffic on the main drag. Unfortunately, the accident was between me and beer truck. I got to work late and in trouble. I'd been warned. No excuses. And, the boss didn't like my footwear. Asshole. He can bite me.

It was only 10:15 a.m. and bad things come not in threes, but in dozens. The day was just the beginning. I wasn't looking forward to what was to come.

Finally, there was a reason for Molly to cheer for someone.

07-20-2008, 09:02 AM
"Cheer up, Molly," said Melissa as she slapped Molly on the top of the head, dropped her pom-poms beside Molly's and sat down beside her.

"Cheer down, girl," replied Molly.

Melissa looked toward the basketball court, checked the scoreboard, and then used her left hand to lift Molly's chin so that their eyes met. "How many more games do we have to cheer?"

Molly wondered why Melissa had volunteered to help her cheer the JV basketball games. The new cheerleader sponsor had insisted that the varsity cheerleaders would be present--at least some of them--for all of the junior varisty games as well as the varsity games. The rest of the squad had pulled seniority on Molly and Heather Brennan, but at the last minute, Melissa, a senior, had taken Heather's place.

"If we lose this game, we're out of the tournament. We get to go home."

Melissa pointed to a tall blonde boy shooting the ball out on the court. As the ball ripped through the net, she turned to Molly with a big smile on her face. "That's my brother , Jed. He's really good, but he hasn't been getting to play much because he had a broken ankle last year."

As Molly watched, Jed raced down the court, pumping his fist in the air. As he passed the two cheerleaders, he gave them a big smile.

Molly smiled back although she knew that Jed's smile had surely been for his sister. He was cute, though.

"He likes you, Molly. Don't tell him I told you."

Finally, there was a reason for Molly to cheer.


Garbage trucks are a little scary.

07-22-2008, 05:49 AM
"Hurry, hon; take the garbage can out to the street."

I never expected the reaction that I got from Harry. He looked at me, looked at the window, and then looked at the basement door--for a long time.

That 's when it dawned on me that Harry had always insisted on taking the garbage can out to the street the night before the garbage truck rumbled down Sadie Page Parkway.

"I'll do it, hon," I said in my kindest, sweetest voice.

"No, no!" Harry cried. "It can wait until next week or I can take a sack a day down to the Chevron on the corner."

I was willing for Harry to be afraid of a garbage truck, but I was determined that I wouldn't let it's arrival change my way of life one iota. Before, I could reach the door with the garbage sack in my hand, Harry had me in his arms, pulling me back into the bedroom.

I struggled, but soon forgot what I had been intending to do. Harry had never been so much a lover.

I hope Harry never sees the petition I started to have the garbage picked up twice a week. I also hope he doesn't find the extra sack of trash that I hide in the kitchen so that I will always have to race to the street to beat the garbage truck to our can.

Well, garbage trucks can be rather scary--no doubt about that.


The potato chip was crushed into a hundred little pieces.

07-28-2008, 07:08 AM
"Nobody can eat just one," I proclaimed.

PudgeCabot looked at me and snarled.

A gust of wind lifted the chip from my open palm and sent it sailing down the street. Using amazing agility for one his poundage, Pudge raced after it.

An opening taxi door seemed to suck the chip inside the taxi. Without breaking stride, Pudge tossed the driver a twenty and followed the chip inside. I thought I caught a glimpse of a yellow pant suit inside. Before the door closed, the taxi was moving.

I hadn't left the spot where I had been standing; I'd simply turned around and had plotted a path back to Arnold's Hot Doggery. The taxi pulled up on the adjacent street and Pudge scampered out of the door. I wondered if it had ever closed.

"Here's your chip, Marge," he said, handing me a fancy, feminie handkerchief. Inside was the potato chip in a hundred pieces.

"Good by, Hillary," he yelled toward the open taxi door.

"She's nice," he said to me. "I never once thought about eating that chip. I wonder what she meant by the Clinton mystique?"

She was very tall for a police woman.

07-28-2008, 10:56 AM
She unfolded herself from her squadcar slowly, rising to her unusual height of 6'4". The thought flit through my mind that she must have to special order her uniform, or either rely on the men's supply. Her arms had to be at least as long as my own legs and almost as big around.

She noticed my astonished look and grinner, obviously used to such open awe.

"Before you ask," she said with a chuckled," I have never played basketball."


Her breathing was too fast.

07-29-2008, 08:34 AM
A man in a nurses uniform was smiling sheepishly at me as I awoke to see him holding a pillow over Ann's face. I had been sharing the hospital room with Ann for two weeks, and the man seemed familiar although I hadn't seen him dressed in white before. The skirt was way too short and the white stockings were wrinkled.

Before I could ask, he stammered out the explanation.


She rolled down the window and tossed something out.

07-31-2008, 08:12 AM
I am fifty two years old and I was riding in a taxi cab driven by a lady for the very first time. Her hair was short, and didn't give away her gender, except for the fact that its absence revealed her neckline which was most feminine--most feminine indeed.

I elbowed my husband of forty-three who was gazing at said neckline with utmost infatuation. "If you tip her excessively, you will regret it," I said.

He laughed nervously and she roared with a deep, deep laugh. Had I been asleep? Had I dozed? Did they know each other?

"No charge, ma'am," explained the driver. "No charge at all. Evan and I were friends in high school"

We rode in silence to the airport. After she flipped the latch to the trunk, Evan gathered our bags and headed for the terminal. I watched the taxi sqeal out and was quite surprised to see her roll down the window and toss something out.

I found the crumpled up ball of paper near the curb--Shiny paper, like that used in high school yearbooks. Mr. and Mrs. Hoover High, 1985: Evan Kensey and Marla McClain.


The pencil had been cut in half.

08-02-2008, 10:11 PM
The Pencil Had Been Cut in Half

He examined the stub of the No. 2, yellow-barreled Ticonderoga, turning it slowly in his hand.

“This pencil’s been cut in half.” The Detective’s booted feet rested on his scarred desktop. “Any significance in that?”

“Snapped in half,” his soon-to-be client corrected. “Can’t you see the jagged edges?”

“What ever.” Tucking his growing cynicism aside, he took a long, slow belt from his bottle of bourbon. That’s what Noir detectives were supposed to do, wasn’t it? Drink cheap whiskey and wear fedoras. “Now tell me again, why the other half of that pencil is so important.”

She shifted in her seat and crossed her legs, the silk in her stocking creating a sexy whisper. “Because when I find the other half, I get title to the Suited Aces."

“That hole-in-the-water that you pour money into?”

Shrewd eyes met his. “I’ll be paying you for your skills, Detective, not for your opinion.”

“And what, exactly, do I have to do to get this other half for you?”

“Seduce my ex-husband.”

“Excuse me?”

“He thinks with his southerly latitudes, and you’re exactly his type.”

“What makes you think I’d be willing to accept a job like that?”

She pushed his own business card at him across the desk. “It says…Johnny Gayblade, Detective. At Your Service. No Job Too Big or Too Small.”

Oh, what the hell. He needed the money. The rent on this dump was already three months past due.

next promp: Blue water's better

08-06-2008, 06:45 AM
"We've been given the project, Orville," exclaimed Penny.

"Yay," deadpanned Orville. "It doesn't pay anything."

"Not so fast, my humpbacked brother. We get to make as many of the maps as we have paper to make. The university only wants 400 maps--we could have as many as 600 left over to sell."

"Hmm," said Orville.

"Here's the deal," explained Penny. "The maps are to be different--more realistic, more creative."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, take the color of the oceans, for example. They are always blue, but why?"

"Blue water's better," suggested Orville.

"I don't think so. For example, the Black Sea could be colored black. The Red Sea could be colored red."

"The Persian Gulf could look like a rug," offered Orville.

Penny just looked at him with a disgusted expression on her face.

"Blue water's better," he said. "Change the shade of blue--make it aqua if you want--but blue is definitely the color for water on a map."


I need to buy a two-foot length of rope

08-29-2008, 01:33 PM
I walked briskly into the hardware store, not really knowing where I was supposed to go. All I knew for sure was what I was supposed to get, not even why I was supposed to get it. I thought back to the note my husband had left on the nightstand on my side of our bed. It only requested that I get a piece of rope, about 2ft in length, no specific color. Do they even have ropes in different colors?

Approaching the very middle of the store, I looked around me, feeling kind of lost. A kind looking clerk headed my way, a broad smile taking shape on his face.

"Can I help you with something, Miss?" he said as he drew near enough.

I took another look around before turning to face the clerk.

"I need a piece of rope," I said and then held my hands out about 2ft apart. "About this long? Do you have any?"
__________________________________________________ ___________

The morning is beautiful.

10-12-2008, 02:37 AM
The morning is always beautiful. Sunlight filters through the leaves, making patterns on the thick humus. It smells like home, though I sure didn't come from a place like this. Every day, I head out to the meadow. Berry bushes provide breakfast, at least for now. I wonder when the season will end. The apple trees on the far side should take me into autumn, or whatever passes for it here. There's other food, but I've been hesitant to eat it. I figure it's best to be cautious, at least until someone tells me how I got here.

He waved the folder.

10-13-2008, 07:16 PM
"Oh my," Maddy said appreciatively. "That thing is huge!"

"Thanks." Jamie looked approprately proud. "So - now what do we do?"

"What you always do, I guess. I've just never had one this big before."

"Do you think it's going to fit in there?" Jamie sounded doubtful.

"We'll just have to put it in and see," she replied.

Maddy's husband Jimmy poked his head out the veranda door. "Damn, Jamie, it IS big! You need a hand with it?"

"We might," Jamie said.

"Okay, that's it." Cy excalmed, coming around the lobby desk with a manilla folder in one hand. "What is going on out - oh." He'd forgotten that Jamie had a green thumb to rival Maddy's.

"Remember that little dracena I bought last year?" Jamie looked around from trying to pull a reacacitrant tree from its pot.

"What do you have in your hand?" Maddy said, neatly cutting open a thirty-ound bag of potting mix.

"Oh." Cy said. "Remember those receipts I thought the Major threw away?" He waved the folder in the air. "I found them in the wrong drawer."


He answered the phone.

10-14-2008, 11:41 PM
I could hear the phone ringing through the door. Brrrrring! Brrrring! It's an old door and the lock is tricky. I'd been meaning to get the lock fixed, but the door, like all the other doors in this office building, was from the 1920s and I didn't want to ruin the architectural purity of the place and incur the wrath of the Bureau of Historic Places.

Brrrring! Brrring!

I got the door open, only to see my business partner sitting back in his chair, waiting for me to come in. He smiled, then, he answered the phone. There was a pause. I could hear somone's voice on the other end.

"Sorry", said my partner. "But I spell my name, Danger!"

He put the phone back on the cradle. "Goddamm," he said. "I've always wanted to do that."

It was all over but the shouting.

08-09-2009, 05:42 AM
He got away with it. The lawyers were expensive, he would be in debt for years, but he got away with it. He just knew it. They all knew it. With the evidence suppressed because of Jensen and the illegal search and seizure there was no way they could convict.
Jensen, he was the key. Paul knew that his good old boy, take charge mentality would hurt them in the court room. Before the week was out he would walk out of here a free man. He wouldn't have a lot of friends out there but he didn't really care about friends.
"Jury's in, lets go." Sooner than he thought. He walked down that pale green tiled hallway in the basement of the courthouse imagining the packed courtroom and the press outside. He could hear the foreman juror sigh out "Not Guilty." It made him smile. It was all over but the shouting.

What the hell is in this?

08-16-2009, 03:08 AM
"What the hell is in this?"

"You tell me," I said innocently, trying to stifle a grin.

"I swear you're trying to poison me," he muttered as he ate heartily - not even stopping to look up.

I walked to the sink, turned on the spigot, and glanced at the clock on the stove.

Then I started to count the seconds...

...five, four, three, two, one.

The bastard's face hit the edge of the glass and chrome dining room table.

"That's gonna leave a mark," I thought.


All the way from New York City