Category: Weekly Challenge

Weekly Challenge #907 – Mustard Yellow

The next topic is Basic

LISA

A Mustard Yellow Hoodie in the Charity Shop

He was just an ordinary man dropping a bag of clothes off at the Charity Shop. Sally, the student volunteer on the till, sniffed the air trying to identify a familiar smell. Realisation made her retch before she opened the bag. It was tied tight. Her fingers frantically worked the double knot loose.

She recognised the clothes with a plummeting heart, felt about in the pockets, then shrieked as she pulled out her pal’s student ID. One trembling hand still clutched the hoodie as she called the police.

“…Yeah! It’s definitely the one she was wearing the night she disappeared…”

RICHARD

Off-Colour

“Which do you prefer,” she asked “the mustard yellow, saffron, corn cob or honey?”

“It’s just yellow,” I protested “not a restaurant menu! Look, I’ve told you before, men only understand a windows 3.1 palette – 256 colours! It’s all yellow to me! You choose what you like, and I’ll do the painting. Deal?”

She gave me one of ‘those’ looks, but she knew I was talking sense.

In the end, she chose the mustard yellow.

Three days of hard work later, the kitchen was resplendent in its new colour.

“I don’t like the shade” she complained “it’s far too brown”.

LIZZIE

#FFDB58
That was it. A color reduced to a strange combination of letters and numbers.
The universe is made of numbers, his Math teacher told him, that’s the universal language.
And he hated that because he wanted the universe to be made of words. He wanted the universe to be made of stories. He loved stories!
When a fellow student asked the teacher how we could communicate with aliens, the teacher said “With numbers”.
He yelled and said “No, no! They’ll want to know our stories!”
The Math teacher looked at him and said “But we already know your stories”.

SERENDIPIDY

I love the pretty colours and how they change and blossom over time.

The first flush of pink, becoming mottled, angry crimson, then gradually darkening to dark indigo, fringed with dull violets.

Then, glorious hues of mustard yellow, blooming like flowers, petals fringed with black.

Bruising is so beautiful.

I am the artist. Your body: my canvas. My fists: the tools of my artistry.

But that colourful expression is so transient, and passes all too soon.

And it is but a short time before you lie unblemished before me again: A fresh blank canvas.

Pain becomes painted, all over again.

TOM

My first Car

In days of old one could after much search come upon a vehicle which was yours for a mere $100. This auto was long in the tooth and often had structural imperfections or at the least cosmetic ones. The Ford I found had turn over its odometer but on inspection no signs of Bondo or countersunk pry hole. It has been will maintained by a navy guy. The reason it was still on lot was our navy guy’s choice of colors. It wasn’t so much confection yellow as mustard yellow. Actually, it was French’s mustard on a hot dog yellow.

NORVAL JOE

The three hulking teenagers with the mustard yellow teeth appeared frozen in place, confusion drawn across their collective faces.
Mr. Withybothom joined his daughter to point. “Aren’t you going to arrest them?”
The cop stammered, “I can’t…”
The teenageres turned and lumbered into the trees.
Linoliamanda turned her empty stare on Billbert. “Aren’t you going to do something?”
“Me?” Billbert asked.
“Him?” Mr. Withybothom and the cop asked.
Throwing caution to the wind, Billbert grabbed the cop by the shoulders and flew him over the trees. The officer screamed until Billbert landed him next to the van by the highway.

PLANET Z

There’s all kinds of mustards out there.
I really like stone ground mustard, but dijon is pretty good too.
The plain yellow mustard, the kind you get in stadiums and packets, that stuff is kinda boring.
Some people go for the honey mustard, especially with chicken nuggets, but I find it way too sweet.
I suppose there is no real favorite kind of mustard, it just depends on what you’re eating with it.
Because nobody in their right mind eats a hot dog with dijon mustard.
Every food has its mustard, my grandmother said.
Ketchup, you say?
You heathen dog.

Weekly Challenge #906 – Mass

The next topic is Mustard Yellow

LISA

It’s a small unassuming word by itself.

One I’d not thought much about before.

Now it’s all I can think about. It’s taken over my life. It’s taken over my family’s life. I no longer have a work life. My son’s future potentially no longer features me.

I’m getting letters again, all from the hospital, all about this bloody mass: the arrival of the post man doesn’t thrill me like it used to. A short walk in the woods does. Coffee. Family. The sound of laughter- everyone’s very thoughtful around me but I wish they’d laugh more.

I miss normal.

RICHARD

Science Lesson

Science… I’ve no time for that nonsense.

I suffered through school science lessons. Forced to listen to rubbish about mass, atoms and chemicals, all of which went way over my head and left me completely baffled.

Although, it was fun blowing up the classroom, having failed to follow any of the teacher’s instructions.

Needless to say, I wasn’t required to attend science classes after that.

And I’m no worse off for it.

All you need to know is that the earth is flat, birds aren’t real, vapour trails spread cancer and the government is spying on you.

Who needs science?

TOM

Mass Not Weight

It takes some sideways thinking to move from weight to mass. It most like due to a limited view of reality. Basically, we are all stuck on the same rock. We don’t get to go to other rocks. And rarely do we travel between the rocks. Heavy does shift to the point we done function well. Further our scope in limited to size and how a really really large mass will cause a change in gravitation pull. If stuff orbited about us, that mass thing would be front and center. I guess density would have move friend sound to it.

SERENDIPIDY

Plague pits they call them. Vast communal graves filled to the brim with the dead. Unfortunate victims of the Black Death, laid to rest, hidden from sight, and often completely forgotten.

But that’s not all that was dumped in the ground. Festering within the mass of bodies, bacteria feasted and flourished, seeping into the soil from rotting corpses, thriving and mutating over the years.

And now, they’re digging up the roads, laying tunnels, burying pipes, disturbing the bones of the dead, and setting the ancient bacteria free.

Just a matter of time now, before they start digging new plague pits.

TURA

L’Homme Armé

———

The king has sounded his drum

And raised the armed man,

Shown him the enemy

That he is to kill.

Let all fear the armed man!

Soft as water

And hard as steel,

There is not the smallest chink in his armour.

All flee from his path

Praying he does not turn to follow.

Priests sing the Missa L’Homme Armé

That he may pass them by.

None can withstand him

Nor long outrun him.

None can reason with him

Nor sway his purpose.

The armed man will not stop

Until his enemy is dead.

Let all fear the armed man!

LIZZIE

He scribbled on a small piece of paper.
The church was dark and empty. But he didn’t feel lonely. He never felt lonely. The automatic on his back was more than enough.
He scribbled some more on the paper.
Then he placed it in his pocket. They’ll find it.
A few people started to arrive. He had 10 minutes to change his mind.
The church was dark and the voices became vaguely irritating.
One bullet was all he needed.
But the voices of joy… This annoying cheerfulness…
He did have more than one bullet.
That’s when he changed his mind.

NORVAL JOE

Linoliamanda opened her mouth to respond to her father when he suddenly looked away, across the lawn.
Billbert followed the man’s line of sight to see that a mass of bulky, yellow-toothed, teenagers had burst from the treeline and stood gawking toward them.
Linoliamanda blinked myopically and pointed. “Look Daddy. Those people kidnapped me and held me ransom until Billbert came and saved me.”
The policeman scoffed. “That’s a wild tale. I suppose next you’ll tell us you grew wings and flew away.”
Mr. Withybotham poked a massive, meaty finger at the cop. “Don’t you call my daughter a liar.”

PLANET Z

Danny took a break from college to work the independent wrestling circuit, Long Island and Pennsylvania.
Folding chairs on fire and barbed wire.
An ambulance crew waiting, one crew wasn’t enough most nights.
Atlanta saw his tapes, and Danny went to the big time.
Masks and bimbos with big racks.
When he wasn’t in the ring, Danny helped the video crew write and film promos.
Bringing out the characters, building a relationship with the audience.
Ratings went up. Toy sales skyrocketed.
The company offered him a marketing job.
Danny graduated early, and wrestled only with those bimbos in hotel rooms.

Weekly Challenge #905 – PICK TWO Why should I?, Rhymes with…, Grasp, Heinz 57, Loop, Unleashed

The next topic is Mass

RICHARD

How many?

Call me pedantic, but all I ask is for some sort of consistency in life.

It’s not much to ask, and sometimes we do in fact get it right – take traffic lights, for example: We all know, wherever we are in the world, that red means ‘stop’ and green means ‘go’. Can you imagine the mayhem if everyone adopted their own colour scheme?

It’s a simple concept to grasp.

Nevertheless, we have Heinz 57, which I’m told, refers to 57 varieties…

So, that’s 40 varieties of WD40, then?

What about 7Up?

And don’t get me started on 100 word stories!

LIZZIE

Why should I worry about that?
Because it rhymes with grasp.
What?
Heinz 57 on a loop, unleashed.
What are you talking about?
I can’t see. These glasses…
Why should I worry about that?
Because it rhymes with clasp and a clasp is always useful.
What?
Heinz 57 on a loop.
What are you talking about?
I can not hear. The voices are too loud.
Why should I worry about them?
Because they rhyme with gasp.
What?!
Heinz 57 on a…
Are we doing this 54 more times?
Silence.
They are gone.
Did I forget to take my pills again?

SERENDIPIDY

I exercise my dogs exercise in the park unleashed.

The signs tell me I should keep them on a leash, but why should I?

After all, it’s not as if they’re doing any harm. It’s always at the dead of night, and only during a full moon; they’re hardly likely to run into anyone innocently going about their business in the park at that time of night, are they?

Besides, it’s cruel to chain them up, they should enjoy their freedom in those brief moments.

And just imagine, waking up as humans next day, wearing collars… People might get the wrong idea!

NORVAL JOE

Linoliamanda’s father was shouting at the police officer, “Why should I have to wait twenty-four hours to report my daughter missing? It’s not like she’s an unleashed dog that slipped through the fence. Can’t you grasp the severity of the situation? This is a child who didn’t come home from school yesterday.”
Before the cop could respond, Linoliamanda was running across the loop in the driveway. “Daddy! Don’t worry. I’m home.”
The look of relief on his face was qickly wiped away. “You’ve got some explaining to do, young lady. Can you think of a word that ryhmes with ‘grounded’?”

TOM

In the Name of the Catsup

“Unleashed the power of the red, we are the children of Heinz 57” intone the Priest of the Yellow Kitchen. Upon the altar of chrome rested the holy bottle. The paper wrapper around the jar had fade over the centuries, but the words could still be read out during the feast of Captain-Crunch. Each of the devotees held high their plastic spoons. Why catsup and breakfast food got connected has been lost to the mists of time. It’s not as bad an idea as you may think because this generation misidentified strawberries for tomatoes. The French’s mustard, that’s another story.

PLANET Z

There were three movie theaters in the suburb where I grew up.
The multiplex in the indoor mall.
The discount screen in the rundown strip mall.
And, across the county line, a drive-in theatre.
It was across the county line because the suburb banned alcohol sales.
The drive-in sold a lot of beer. And, because it showed X and triple-X films, a lot of tickets.
Ohio’s pretty flat, but there’s a few hills and ravines here and there.
And the hill above the theatre got plenty of people with binoculars and telescopes.
I was there too, selling popcorn and sodas.

Weekly Challenge #904 – Overhead

The next topic is PICK TWO Why should I?, Rhymes with…, Grasp, Heinz 57, Loop, Unleashed.

TOM

Escape From SF

In 2030 Primer Trump declared the San Fransisco Commune enemies of the state. A fleet of drones hoovered overhead on the south end of the peninsula raining down a sheet of flame. Over the next three years the regent was placed under the Federal Bureau of Prisons. Maximum Security Facility. Trump got his wall. Behind it went everyone who ICE rounded up. If they weren’t bad hombres before, they are now. I’m held up in the Mount Sutro tower. Me and Jack are working on a plan. If it works, we’re all leaving, Codeword: Overhead. We’re coming after you old man.

As for the reason for my Absence

It seems fitting to end this tale pretty much in the place I began my Podcasting career. In da wake of the Bush Administration, we thought it wise to have a bolt-hole in Canada. So collectively we bought the house I currently writing this. During the summer of 2005 I came up here, spent a week choosing just the right podcast name. What I settle on in this very room was Footnote. For three years Jim and I did 150 shows. With Jim’s death it has became impossible to keep the house here so this is the last four day before the new owner moves in. It has taken a year to close accounts and end business relationship. Much was lost and much needed to be fixed. What I am thankful for is our writing brotherhood. As for the reason for my presents: your support. My new goal: 20 years.

RICHARD

Death by…

I thrust at the fearsome beast as it advanced, jabbing my sword at its exposed throat repeatedly.

Suddenly, I stumbled, losing my footing and falling backwards.

Unable to recover, the monster was upon me, slashing at me ferociously with claws and teeth.

My end was near.

It drew back, ready to deliver the fatal blow; using the last of my strength, my sword flashed in my hand, separating the beast’s head from its body.

“Erm… Are you with us?”

Roused from my daydream by the presenter’s voice, I returned to reality.

“Now, let’s look at staff overhead. Next slide please”

SERENDIPIDY

Ignore the explosions overhead, you’re perfectly safe down here. I promise you.

The reinforced concrete is a metre thick, the airlock is hermetically sealed, and the air supply is hepa filtered through activated carbon.

Whatever they throw at us, we’re going to be just fine, nothing will get through to us, I can guarantee it.

Although, regrettably, there’s been one tiny oversight.

Somebody forgot to stock up before the attack started, and I’m afraid we only have food sufficient for two days.

But, that’s OK, I’m going to eat you instead.

I lied, when I said you were perfectly safe!

LIZZIE

“Who paid the rent?”
The studio was in full swing, over-booked even, and no one bothered to pay the rent for several months.
What could he do? He was just a sound technician.
One day, some goons wrecked the whole place. A fortune in high-end equipment smashed to pieces. Not to mention the broken arms and legs.
The studio was rebuilt soon after.
The mob was now managing it.
Things ran smoothly.
He was happy.
Good thing he had removed some of the expensive equipment ahead of time. The goons got there earlier. Something about a football game on TV.

NORVAL JOE

They ran through the forest as the last of the clouds dissipated overhead.
Billbert stopped. “Let’s join hands and fly off.”
Sabrina held out her hand, though Linoliamanda continued to run through the trees.
They called after her and she slowed just enough to shout over her shoulder, “My house is right here.”
They followed her through the trees onto a large manicured lawn, with a long gravel driveway leading up to a Victorian mansion.
At the drive’s turnaround, at the house, a police car sat with its doors open and an officer spoke to Linoliamanda’s father on the porch.

PLANET Z

There’s a lot of grocery stores around here.
Kroger, HEB, Randalls.
And some stores you wouldn’t think of when you think of grocery stores.
Target, Walmart.
Then there’s Whole Foods.
It’s a rip-off at any price.
Even with that Amazon card.
One of them had a set of charging stations for electric vehicles.
My car is a plug-in hybrid, so I’d go there to top off.
Probably got as much charge as it took to drive there and back.
The last time I went, they had removed the charging stations.
Too many goddamned Teslas parking overnight to mooch, I guess.

Weekly Challenge #903: Fine

The next topic is Overhead.

RICHARD

Fine

There was no way I was paying the fine.

I’d only popped into the store to grab some bread and milk, ten minutes, tops. Ten minutes – and I still got a ticket!

Where else was I supposed to park?

I decided to fight it on principal.

I reckoned it was worth a shot.

That was until I got the legal bills and had to lose two whole day’s wages for court dates, plus the cost of fuel and parking just to attend.

Nearly a grand and a half it cost me!

But, at least they let me off the fine!

TOM

Do-lang-do-lang-do-lang

It was the gold age of rhyme and blues. A refined sound that spilled out of the Black Community and cross over into mainstream American pop music. Ten million transistor radios tuned to what arguable could be called, not parent’s music. Downtown music. Not only was the sound uptown so was the presentation of the group that sang those upbeat love songs. Groups like the Chiffons dressed to the nines elegantly crooning Do-lang-do-lang-do-lang. He’s so Fine is a long way from swing low. So fine, I haven’t heard the term used in years. Guess you would say He’s so Non-binary.

SERENDIPIDY

I’m fine, really, no matter what the shrinks might say, and despite all the expert opinions.

I’m taking it all in my stride; as far as I’m concerned, it’s no big deal, even though I know it should be.

People think it’s some sort of ‘survivor syndrome’ – not the one where you feel guilty about surviving, when none of the others lived, or the weird one where you feel invincible, almost immortal.

But it’s not.

The truth is far simpler.

I managed to survive, not because the killer spared me, or missed me.

I survived because I was the killer!

LIZZIE

“No trains?”
The man sitting outside the station shrugged.
“Fine.”
10am. What now?
She could walk, but her feet were killing her after 2 hours, walking from the nearest village.
A cab perhaps? Did they even have cabs here, in the middle of nowhere?
She could wait. What if there were no trains?
Then, she saw the policeman.
“No trains?”
He shrugged.
“Fine!”
Rude people.
“Lady, I saw you crossing the road over here.”
“So?”
“The zebra crossing is over there.”
“So? There are no cars.”
“Well, here.”
“What’s this?”
“A fine, of course. You do love fines, don’t you?”

SCRIBBLING WREN

John

The first thing I notice in the room next to him is Chrysanthemums. I didn’t want flowers but forgot to say. It’s hard to think of everything. Maybe someone asked me. Maybe I’m on autopilot just nodding and telling everyone I’m fine. I’m tired of having ‘sorry for your loss’ thrown at me, then that awkward bit where we stand in silence.

I leave half way through his funeral.

Those fucking Chrysanthemums.

I feel like I can smell them from outside.

I’ve had enough. I don’t want to be alone but I need to be by myself for a bit.

NORVAL JOE

The roiling black thunderhead rushed toward them, bolts of lightning striking tall pine trees as it approached.
One of the teenagers shouted to the driver of the van, “What do we do, Clarence?”
From behind the steering wheel, he waved them toward the van. “Get inside.”
As the wind roared toward them, they left Billbert and his friends and jumped for cover inside the van.
“Not without the prisoners!” Clarence screamed at the youths.
It was too late. Billbert, Linoliamnda, and Sabrina raced into the trees.
But without Sabrina focusing on it, the storm faded away to a fine mist.

PLANET Z

Some days, she’d open a drawer and smell his clothes.
Or set the table for two.
Using his soap in the shower.
Buying the 2% milk at the store because he didn’t like the skim milk she drank.
Only having to pour it out a week later.
How long had she been doing this?
Too long.
Eventually she sold his car, sold the house, gave all his stuff to goodwill.
A new beginning, she told herself.
She pulled out her phone and played the voicemail.
“I’ll be fine,” said John.
A slide of the finger, and then tap on Delete.

Weekly Challenge #902: It’s a dirty job

The next topic is Fine.

RICHARD

Dirty

“It’s a dirty job, but somebody’s got to do it.”

I looked at Toby cynically.

“What are you talking about, mate? How is being a talent scout for glamour magazines a dirty job? It’s not like you’re a sewage engineer!”

Toby gave me an exasperated look. “Why do you always have to take things so literally? It’s irony! It’s supposed to be amusing.”

“It’s not funny” I countered.

“Suit yourself” he replied, “you’re just jealous.”

“Not at all. I love being a sewage engineer… The smells, the filth, the rubber, hot babes.”

He smiled, “Is that irony?”

“Yeah. I’m learning!”

LIZZIE

He sat surrounded by orange and red and yellow pillows. All he could think of was to get rid of her. That’s where he was in life. “Let’s have a cocktail at the Sundown Lounge,” she said. “It’s so fancy!” Her voice shrilled throughout the fancy rooftop. And now, here he was, pondering whether he could break the glass he was holding, and stab her with it quickly enough. Well, he did try. But the damn lounge had some pretty sturdy glasses. “It’s a dirty job, but someone’s got to do it,” he later told his cellmate. “I trust you.”

SERENDIPIDY

Someone has to do the dirty jobs.

The muck-rakers, the toilet scrubbers and the collectors of night soil. The gatherers of carrion and the bringers of death and decay.

They have their place, and although despised and looked down upon by society, they fulfil a need.

Theirs is the domain of darkness and stench, the place of pain and putrescence, and without them, life would fester and rot, with no-one to prevent its fall into chaos.

So celebrate those of that foul domain, and remember their worth.

Personally, I wouldn’t deign to touch them

That’s your job, not mine!

TOM

Thick as Thieves

I couldn’t have been greener. But my mentor in the party was an old hand at the more dubious craftsmanship of Rat Fuckn. “It’s a dirty job, but someone hast to do it.” He would quip slowly, as he surveying the room, finally letting his gaze fall on me. The funny thing about the dirty job is the goal was not to let a stray finger press make its present known. He reminded me we were not spooks; we were shadows. We did not change outcomes we merely shaded perceptions. And the price He smiled was never done dirt cheap.

NORVAL JOE

As the three walked along the foggy road, a van from the “Someone’s gotta do it” septic service stopped next to them.
The driver asked. “Do you kids need a ride?” He smiled, exposing large yellow teeth.
Linoliamanda stepped toward the van. “Sure.”
“No. Wait,” Billbert shouted.
The van’s door slid open and six burley teenagers jumped out, grabbing Billbert and his friends.
Too late to join hands and fly off, Billbert said, “Come on, Sabrina. You’re the weather witch. Do something.”
“Right,” she said, turning to face the ocean. The fog separated and a giant thunderhead barrelled toward them.

PLANET Z

A long time ago, I had a son.
He grew up big and strong.
And one day, he went out but never came back.
He never came back again.
Sometimes, I think I see him hiding in the bushes.
Or up in a tree, in the shadows.
It’s been years since he left, but I know he’s out there.
And one day, when my days are done, it will be my time to go out and never come back.
And I will find him.
Maybe you’ll see us, in the bushes, up in a tree.
In the shadows together, forever.

Weekly Challenge #901 – PICK TWO Photograph, Buttery, Tramlines, Vast, Unit, Trying

The next topic is It’s a dirty job.

RICHARD

Railroad reflection

The mournful sounds of train horns filled the frigid air.

Blowing into my cupped hands had little effect on my numb fingers, and I longed for the warmth of a friendly flame and woollen mittens.

This was the reality of the hobo’s life.

Cold, unforgiving, and distinctly lacking the romance of the open road.

The winter sun, slowly dipped in the Western sky, glinting from the steel rails, bestowing a lustrous sheen of glowing golden light;

Buttery tramlines, leading my gaze towards the distant, unknown horizon:

My destination on the next passing outbound train.

The traveller’s dream; the vagrant’s curse

SERENDIPIDY

I found the photograph in his wallet: A happy, smiling child. His daughter.

It was old now, cracked and faded with time, but still he’d kept it, all these years.

And now, he lay dead at my feet; the knife in my hand, slick with his blood.

He deserved it.

And that’s all I have to say on the matter. You don’t need to know the details, you only need to know that he had it coming.

I trace the little girl’s smile with my bloody finger.

I was happy once.

I looked down at his lifeless form, “Goodbye, dad”.

TOM

VAST

During my undergrad degree in Photography our inter-circle of A-students got the university to give us a van for a road- trip to the Grand Canyon. This prompted a new university policy of no vans for field-trips. Proud of that legacy, I am. The Canyon is number two on the national go-to destination for an American youth, just behind the Happiest Place On Earth. Not your fine art major venue. But the Canyon fine arts written large. As hard as I tried my photos never captured the feel of the Canyon. In a word it is the soul of Vast.

LIZZIE

It was a trying endeavor. A man sitting on a beam, working up high. No ropes, an emptiness below him. Just sitting there and hammering away. But she took that photograph, plus the one with the buildings. Her father had told her that those two represented the company’s prestige. A man dangling, hammering away for a pittance, building the company’s prestige. The pride of the family. When her father died, she took those photographs and burned them. Yes, she got rid of the company’s prestige, and she got rid of her family. It was a trying endeavor. Freedom’s never easy.

NORVAL JOE

The woman struggled, trying to escape from the thorn bush. Sabrina took out her phone and took a photograph of the woman’s face.
“What are you doing?” Billbert asked.
“Evidence,” Sabrina said, putting her phone away. “Let’s get out of here before she gets out of the bush.”
They joined hands and lifted off in the buttery yellow light of morning, flying north across the Eel River delta and the South Humboldt Bay before landing just outside the Eureka city limits.
Sabrina scowled. “Why are we stopping here?”
Linoliamanda started walking. “That’s okay. My house is just up the road.”

PLANET Z

Back in the day, there was a streetcar on Main Street.
From City Hall to the College.
Along the way, there was the factory, the hospital, and the grocer’s.
The town got bigger, the streets got wider, and the streetcar tracks were torn up.
I collect postcards of the old days, women in big dresses and men in their top hats.
Mounted and framed at the old-timey bar by City Hall.
They were going to build it out of a pair of streetcars, but they weren’t big enough.
A toy streetcar goes around on a track near the ceiling, though.

Weekly Challenge #900 – Potato Eyes

The next topic is Photograph, Buttery, Tramlines, Vast, Unit, Trying

RICHARD

Starch

Don’t chop the onions next to the potatoes.

Potato eyes are easily irritated, and unlike you, they can’t turn away, avert their gaze, or mop the tears when they flow.

If you don’t believe me, ask the carrots, they’ll tell you it’s true – inasmuch as you can believe anything a carrot has to say!

You could argue that sore eyes is the least of the potatoes’ worries, and once you’ve dealt with those onions, their fate will be far worse.

And, I suppose you’re right.

Maybe, it’s not the onions that make potatoes weep.

It’s knowing they’re about to die.

TOM

Linden Sweden Jonas Peeler 1953

Glance at a “Old-School” Professional Potato Peeler you are witnessing the height of 1950’s form follows function. Built to last several life times. If you never had to use one, despite its striped down simplify you may well miss one of its built-in utility tools. At one end is a blunt tapper curvy part. Dull as a butter knife, but deadly in a well-trained hand. This my friend is a Potato Eye Garroter, as in surround and choke off. With a well-placed stab, quick twist and a sharp snap you can render your tubers eyeless with chief potato peeler efficacy.

LIZZIE

Don’t say that. Don’t put it there. Don’t look that way. Don’t, don’t. Didn’t I tell you not to…
I am sick of it. And I want to move on.
But she grabbed my ankle and her hand was a shackle. She drags herself through the mud and she doesn’t let go.
I knew I would… Yes, die, say it, say it, die.
She would never let go. Never.
Don’t throw that away.
The potatoes? Potato eyes. The potatoes have eyes. The potatoes have…
And I throw it away, I throw everything away.
The eyes, the will, and the soul.

LISA

We’re lucky. We live in a shared house on a posh street. The teacher’s strikes have been tricky though. I’ve not been able to get time off work, but a lady down the road has been looking after my youngest, Louise.

“Estelle never had telly. They just did playing.” Louise said excitedly thrusting a picture towards me. The picture was a face made out of a meal’s worth of dried pasta. “Tomorrow we’re going to do printing with potatoes.”

We put the picture on the empty fridge. It watched us while they ate, and I pretended I’d eaten at work.

SERENDIPIDY

They’re watching me.

There, look at those ugly potato eyes as they follow me around the kitchen.

Those evil, nasty things, staring at me.

It’s almost as if they know.

Carefully, I fill the pan, set it on the gas and slip the biggest, sharpest knife from its slot in the knife block.

I know what I have to do, and I know I must be ruthless and show no pity.

Slowly, I heft the knife in my hand, approaching the chopping board with intent in my steps.

Then, I rapidly turn, thrusting the knife deep into my husband’s throat.

NORVAL JOE

As Billbert and the pudgy old woman climbed higher into the sky, the woman’s gimlet, potato eyes grew wider. In fear, she wrapped her arms around Billbert, her ample bosom pressing into his face.
The more Billbert tried to push away, the tighter she locked her arms around his neck.
He leveled off. “Come on, lady. Are you trying to kill us both?”
She only whimpered.
Flying parallel to the ground he could see that only Sabrina and Linoliamanda waited below in the empty street.
Billbert shot back to the ground and dropped the old woman in a prickly bush.

PLANET Z

Nietzsche says that when you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back.
The same goes with potatoes.
If you stare into a potato’s eyes, the potato stares back.
I know, it doesn’t look like that when you first stare at the potato.
But try it. And keep at it.
You’ll see.
It’s disturbing, isn’t it?
You want to look away, but you can’t.
Peel the potato, slice it up, boil it, mash it.
And you can still feel it staring at you.
Can you eat it?
No.
So, throw it on the compost heap.
And not into the abyss.

Weekly Challenge #899 – Split

The next topic is Potato Eyes

LISA

He wore the pointiest shoes that I had ever seen; I couldn’t work out where his toes would go, and soon suspected he didn’t have any. I stared whilst scuffing the toes of my own brown buckled school shoes. I hated them. Mum wouldn’t let me have slip-ons. She’d said that I wouldn’t be able to run in them, remembering made me scuff even harder. I realised he wasn’t a normal adult when he didn’t stop me. I didn’t linger on that thought though. Just anticipated the bright red cherry on top of the Banana Split he’d promised me earlier.

RICHARD

Morgan’s Lot

“So, you two are going to split up then?”

I could practically see the glint in Morgan’s eye as he asked the question.

“Yeah. I’ve known for ages she was having an affair, but she finally admitted it and wants a divorce.”

I didn’t mention I knew exactly who she’d been seeing behind my back, or that I was fully aware Morgan was the guilty party.

I also neglected to mention her drunken rages, unbridled spending, violent outbursts over nothing, and her longstanding gambling addiction.

I figured, if he was going to take her, he could take the whole package.

SERENDIPIDY

The idea is always to split the group up.

When they’re alone and isolated, they’re vulnerable, easy targets. No challenge at all.

The tricky part is splitting the group up: People tend to band together when under attack, and there’s strength in numbers.

However, a group will also gladly welcome a distressed and terrified stranger into their care, to protect them from an unknown, and unseen aggressor.

Bad move.

Especially when that stranger is me.

And I’m the unknown, unseen aggressor.

Now I’m in your midst, you’ll scatter soon enough.

Ready for me to pick you off, at my leisure.

LIZZIE

The show is about to start.
And she laughed and laughed.
The stage was empty, but she laughed and laughed.
I just sat there, my mind filled with perplexity.
She waved her arms and laughed and laughed.
I sank in my chair. What could I do but wait for the show to start?
And I waited and waited.
That’s when I realized that she had her own stage. In her mind. Everyone owed her attention, a lot of attention. She was the show. And she thought everyone knew that.
When no one clapped, she stopped laughing. Hate. She hated everyone.

TOM

Intelligent Design

I come from a generation where getting a full banana split was a big deal. Was not ever going to happen in a home with eight kids. Hell, you were lucky to get a single scope of Neapolitan ice cream. And for the record Neapolitan managed on its own to be the worst offering of all three flavors. Back to the split. I sixth grade I won a church raffle for one of Sister Mary Joseph’s New York split. Quad scope Quad syrup Quad Cherries. A coma confection. I firmly believe banana split are proof of a loving god.

TURA

Split
———
“Split a pound note and it’s gone,” my father would complain. A penny back then would buy what a pound does today, an old penny, 240 to the pound.

You wouldn’t spend a pound note in a corner shop, you’d change it for smaller coin at the bank, and put off doing that as long as you could. A workman’s wage was ten pounds a week, you work out what ten times 240 is, fifty weeks a year.

Sure, you can buy stuff today my father never dreamed of, but you’ve less real money than he had to buy it.

NORVAL JOE

Fortunately for Billbert, Sabrina, and Linoliamanda, they were flying slowly and low to the ground when the blast from the confetti gun split them apart. They hit the street and tumbled across the asphalt with each of the youths acquiring a variety of bruises and abrasions.
With all the indignation a 13 year old could feel, Billbert stomped up to the smirking woman. “What were you thinking? Were you trying to kill us?”
She laughed. “Now that you mention it, that’s not a bad idea.”
Her humor vanished when Billbert grabbed her hand and shot straight up into the air.

PLANET Z

Mindy and Bobby grew weed down by the old railway.
They dried it out in Mindy’s attic.
Bobby weighed the weed and bagged it.
Mindy took orders on a Girl Scouts cookie sales sheet.
Never names, just the amount and locker number.
And never on credit. Only cash.
When the harvest was sold out, they slipped the baggies into the kids lockers.
The principal took his cut, and let them know when the cops were bringing dogs around or searching lockers.
Bobby and Mindy made enough to pay for college. Different colleges.
They graduated, and never saw each other again.

Weekly Challenge #898 – Riot Of Color

The next topic is Split.

LISA

The Bully

Her bruises bloomed with a riot of colour across her face. Purple and blue blended with a jaundice tinge beneath her eyeball. What a night: it was the first time the neighbours had intervened.

The police said they didn’t get involved in domestic disputes, and left when no one needed hospital attention.

She didn’t know where they’d go from here. Changing the locks hadn’t helped previously. She wondered about leaving, but would miss the children. She looked in the mirror at her beaten up face; he’d never retaliated before. At least she only hit him where the bruises didn’t show.

RICHARD

Proud

I had no idea at the time it was my big break. The editor tasked me with covering the Gay Pride parade, mainly because I was the most junior reporter.

I wasn’t exactly impressed, but determined to make the most of it, and to be fair, it was really quite impressive with all the rainbow flags, outrageous outfits and over the top makeup.

Fun, until they ran into the Black Lives Matter parade, who thought they had right of way.
Words and blows were exchanged, and it all descended into a brawl.

Front page news.

Headline: ‘A Riot Of Colour!’

LIZZIE

Out of the blue, he jumped from behind the giant canvas. Sword swallowing. A daring exhibition. He had to practice, right? “Almost caught red-handed,” he mumbled. And when they asked him questions, he chuckled. “Oh, it wasn’t me, officer.” And they believe him, because he told them a harmless little white-lie. The officer grinned. But then he was given two days to leave the circus… Why?! Making a random passer-by swallow a sword hardly seemed a good enough reason to be fired. The said passer-by vanished into thin air, true. But still. Well, their loss. A daring exhibition no more.

SERENDIPIDY

It was entirely by accident I embarked on my new career – serial killer to contemporary artist in one simple step.

My last killing was rather messy: blood, guts, and gore everywhere, and body parts strewn all over the floor.

It hadn’t quite gone to plan.

It was supposed to be a simple throttling in a dark alleyway, but an unexpected change of plan meant it was indoors, and a little bit gory.

Thankfully, it happened in an art gallery.

Rather than clean up, I attached a small label: ‘Riot of Color’ – Unknown artist.

I sold it for a small fortune.

NORVAL JOE

Once they were at the river’s edge, and out of sight, Billbert, Loliamanda, and Sabrina joined hands and flew downstream. They crossed back to the highway passing flocks of sheep and eventually coming upon the small town of Ferndale. The main street was lined with Victorian houses. The rising sun reflected off myriad stained glass windows creating a riot of color, distracting the three from the danger waiting on the edge of town.
An elderly woman stepped into the road ahead of them, aimed a confetti cannon, and pulled the cord. A riot of color blasted them from the air.

TOM

897 Story 1
In its day Live Aid was real big deal. And it was in the day of VHS. I recorded the whole thing on a number of tapes. Each carefully labeled. Fast forward to the day I got married. Total chaos, lots to people circling in cars around a shifting center point. One of these folk was the person willing to do video. He needed a tape to record on. So somehow he got tape 15 from my Live Aid tapes. He used it to record the wedding, but the camera input failed. No wedding and a hole in Live Aid.

898 Story 2
Frank was some what normal. Job, eating habits, selection of friends, and most of his hobbies. He did have one odd habit. He loved sitting in large vats of paint. Had 16 barrels of different colors. Built a crane that lowered him into and out of each color. I took four hours. When finish Frank was a Riot of Color. His wife would wrap him in a bolt of white canvas, toss him in a wheelbarrow, tip him out at the edge of hill. One foot on the canvas, down the hill rolled rainbow Frank. Sold them for a Fortune

PLANET Z

When the Amazing Journey to Inner Space ride opened, thousands of guests boarded the conveyor of seats, showing them the journey through molecules and atoms.
After hours, the employees lit up all the projectors in a riot of color, and lit up their joints and dropped acid.
The speakers jamming the latest psychedelic rock.
The wildest ride, a trip unlike any other, true to the name of the building.
The park managers posted security guards to keep the employees from their after hours drug trips.
But the employees shared their drugs with the guards, and The Amazing Journey rolled on.