Weekly Challenge #732 – PICK TWO: ecology, rash, aberration, plinth, mnemonic, wrought

NOTE: Yeah, I messed up the file this morning. Fixing it now… thank you for the heads up, Tura… we cover each others blind spots. Teamwork!

Tin nesting

LIZZIE

Lessons in Ecology? No one would dare. He knew far more than all of them put together. He’d spent decades studying the subject. He was “the expert”. And he was damn proud of that too. He’d lectured all over the world. He had written so many books that he’d forgotten most of them. These books had been translated to languages from all over the world.
So, when that rash started, he blamed it on the new exotic plant, a gift from a colleague.
He was certainly not an expert on Psychology. He didn’t count on something as simple as jealousy.

RICHARD

Anaphylaxis

Howard scratched irritably at the rash. What had started as a small patch was spreading, and now covered the better part of his body. The skin was raw and red, and the more he scratched it, the worse it got.

He felt his tongue swelling, and knew that he needed to get help: Unfortunately, here in the middle of the forest, he knew that help was too far away to be of any use.

With horror, he felt his airway constricting… He wasn’t going to make it.

His last memory: his mother’s words, “Ecology… Now, that’s a nice safe hobby!”

SERENDIPIDY

I have been called many things.

A criminal: Inhuman and evil. An aberration.

But I’m not any of those things; dig deep enough into any person’s psyche, you will find they’re just the same as me. The only real difference is that I choose not to hold that aspect of my character in check.

I remember one day in art class, as a child, my teacher said true greatness could only be found in unfettered self-expression.

I took her words to heart.

And now, as I look upon the destruction and pain I have wrought.

I see…

An artist.

TOM

An Audience of One Magic in the Time of Corona —

Since you asked … I’ve been doing a deep drive into aberration mnemonics: characteristic that deviates from the normal type using elaborative encoding, retrieval cues, and imagery as specific tools to encode any given information in a way that allows for efficient storage and retrieval. I’m work on peg words to build a magical card stack. So far I have 52 pairs that mark position with in a deck of cards. Simon Aronson the late Chicago Card Master came up with the stack. Among magician this is a Jedi level under taking. If done deftly one can do the Impossible.

NORVAL JOE

“Rub Marissa out?” Billbert exclaimed. “That’s a little rash, isn’t it? Besides, I thought the Albriagettis were the ones in the mob. Where do you get that idea?”
Linoliumanda didn’t hesitate. “It’s only reasonable they receive justice equal to the near catastrophe they wrought.”
Billbert laughed. “There’s an aberration in your thinking. If they nearly caused a catastrophe, they should nearly be rubbed out. How do you suggest we do that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe, shoot at them but miss?” Linoliamanda suggested.
“How about if we consider it for a moment, then decide it is not only illegal, it’s insane.”

TURA

Wrought; plinth
———
I conceived a magnificent sculpture in wrought iron, a maze of twisted and interwoven members, featherlight in appearance, massive in substance.

The base was to be of architectural granite. I searched all over Europe for a quarry that could provide stone of the quality I demanded, and travelled to the likeliest candidates to inspect their workings. Eventually I made my choice, and drew out on the rock face a block to be cut for me and shipped.

But then lockdown happened, and no-one knows when they’ll start work again. I can only hope that one day my plinth will come.

PLANET Z

It started with a rash.
Janet rubbed aloe vera on it.
But it didn’t go away. It got worse.
When she tried to make an appointment with her doctor, there was no answer.
There was an app for remote doctor consultations, and she loaded it and signed up.
And she waved the camera over the rash and sent still pictures, too.
The result.
“Go to a clinic,” said the doctor, and her credit card was charged.
The clinic was closed, so she went to the emergency room.
She sat in the waiting room for hours.
And caught coronavirus and died.

Carry Over

I can’t carry over vacation days from year to year, so I end up using a bunch of them at the end of August and beginning of September.
I’d rather use them in October or April when the weather is nice, but my work anniversary is in early September.
I could use those days in October or April, but what if I need time off between April and September?
I don’t want to chance it. So, I save the vacation days up.
I thought about quitting and getting rehired in late October.
But I don’t want to chance that either.

A Crash

On the way home from the store, I witnessed a car collision.
One car was going West on Westpark.
Another car was going East.
The car going East tried to turn left without a protected arrow.
The sign says left turn yield, but they didn’t yield.
They steered right into the other car, and they hit each other.
The driver going West got out of their car. They were fine.
The other driver… well… who gives a fuck, really?
They were a stupid asshole and idiot for turning without a protected left into the other person.
Fuck the stupid asshole..

Dan’s store

Business picked up at Dan’s neighborhood bike shop around the holidays.
He mostly sold assembled bikes, but some fathers insisted on doing it themselves from the boxes.
Those were the ones who called Dan on Christmas Eve, and Dan would charge them a lot more for a house call.
Kids would want to try their bikes Christmas morning, on the icy sidewalks and roads.
Dan would make a few more bucks from repairs.
And the restocking and scratch-and-dent fees for returns.
He’d get them fixed up for the next holiday season.
He also sold rollerskates and rollerblades.
And wheelchairs, too.

Why can’t we do both?

Hillary Clinton had the most votes, but lost the election.
Some people say she deserves to be in the White House.
Others say that she deserves to be locked up.
I say let her in.
The media can watch her walk the red carpet and cheer.
Waving to the cameras, smiling wide in her favorite pantsuit.
Bill at her side, with that shit-eating grin.
Then put her in chains, drag her into the basement, and lock her up.
As for Bill, he can visit, if he wants.
When he’s not collecting bribes… I mean charitable donations.
Or fucking his mistresses.

The Bonfire and The Pile

Jose Hernandez was a gardener here at the university.
He wasn’t a very good gardener.
He never trimmed the hedges. He never watered the grass. He never weeded the flowerbeds.
Fifty years, he couldn’t do a damned thing right.
When he died, he left all of his money to the university.
“Build a memorial garden for me,” his will said.
So, we did.
It’s over there, in the middle of the parking lot.
We toss all of our dead plants there.
Downed tree limbs and branches.
Every year, we hold a bonfire.
And we start the pile all over again.

The Nurse

They hauled in the school bomber last night.
Bloody and torn, barely recognizable as human.
“Fifteen minutes,” said the medic. “Twenty tops.”
The nurse whispers into the dying man’s ear.
“I’m with the Red Crescent. You’re not dying. Tell me who to warn off the attack.”
A head full of morphine, he mumbles names, places.
The nurse smiles, and injects the morphine blocker.
A moan, then screaming.
She lights the blowtorch, and slowly sears every inch of his skin.
Years later, she’ll take out a lighter, and singe the hair on her wrist.
The smell brings back such good memories.

Weekly Challenge #731 – SANITIZE

Care Package (not Gwynneth Paltrow's head)

LIZZIE

“Sanitize this, sanitize that, that’s all we hear these days. How about sanitizing at a larger scale?”
The staff sat around the oval table in the meeting room, motionless.
“We just have to have political courage, that’s all.”
No one uttered a word.
“We start small first and see if anyone complains.”
A few people shifted in their chairs, the discomfort growing.
“If the media don’t pick up on it, we go bigger. It’ll save money too.”
The silence was overwhelming.
“OK, then. It’s decided. We’ll start next week.”
They started with the old and the lonely. No one noticed.

RICHARD

OCD

I used to sanitise everything.

OCD is like that.

I’d wash my hands countless times a day until they were raw and red; wipe down door handles, avoid putting cutlery down on any surface, and wipe down anything I was likely to come into contact with.

Outside the home, I’d wear gloves, avoid public transport and never shake hands or hug friends.

But now, I don’t do any of that.

I’m not cured of OCD.

It’s just that, everybody else in the world is now doing the washing hands, wiping down and social distancing thing.

So, I don’t have to!

SERENDIPIDY

Maybe I should tone down my stories?

Make them less gory, steer away from the graphic depictions of blood and guts, and tone down the horror?

I know they’re not everybody’s cup of tea, and I don’t cover the sort of topics that crop up in polite conversation.

I know that sometimes, after reading one of mine, some will feel the need for a stiff drink, or find something pleasant and uplifting to sanitise the feelings of corruption I’ve sown.

Maybe, if I did, I could be a successful writer?

But perhaps not.

It never did Stephen King any harm!

TOM

I Long For A Hair Cut

Did you here this? I cannot believe this. Someone just santatize that merry old elf, Father Christmas, Saint Nicholas, Kris Kringle. Saint Nick. Caught him from behind and gave him an injection of Christmas Winter Green Pinesol. Some born again nut-job in a maga hat. They rushed him to the local hospital, unfortunately he was vacationing in George at the time. The ICU treated him with a mega dose of UV light. You know how hard it is to get a lamp down someone esophagus? Just as he passed away. He said,” I was only a sniffle, didn’t have a fever.”

NORVAL JOE

Billbert’s phone rang. It was Linohliamanda’s number.
“What’s the problem, Billbert?” she asked when he answered the phone.
He explained what had happened with Marissa and her father. “If it gets out that I can fly, my dad says we’ll have to move away.”
“Right,” Linohliumanda said. “We need to go back and sanitize the crime scene.”
“Do what?” Billbert asked.
“You know. We need to go to the school and remove any evidence.”
Billbert couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “The only evidence was witnessed by Marissa. How are we going to sanitize that?”
“Rub her out?” Linohliamanda asked.

TURA

Sanitize
———
It’s such a bother having visitors. I feel it necessary to sanitize my place, by clearing away piles of clothes, washing the dishes, vacuuming the floors. Then hide the sex toys (unless it’s that sort of visit), clear the web browser history, turn off embarrassing notifications from eBay. The sigils warding my portal to the Dark Realms can’t be erased, of course, so I have to cast an invisibility spell over them, which is tricky because the demons still have to be able to see them.

At least social distancing means I won’t need to do that for the duration.

PLANET Z

When you make pancakes with chocolate chip smiley faces…
When you lay out his favorite clothes for the day…
When you wash his teddy bear separately so it doesn’t stink of fabric softener and fragrant detergent…
When you dump the water out of the tire swing so it doesn’t breed mosquitoes or get his pants wet…
When you take the ugly sweater out of the gift box from Aunt Myrtle and replace it with a video game console…
Hope that he remembers those days.
The good days. The special days.
And not the ones when you were drinking all day.

Relaxing in the tub

Soaking in the tub, breathing slowly.
Watching the blood leak from my arms into the water.
Red spirals and loops, it’s almost beautiful.
I barely notice the pain.
Drowsy, relaxed.
Is it the warm water in the tub, or the loss of blood?
Probably both. Or maybe it’s the pills.
I slide down, and my head goes under the water.
I don’t even try to lift it back up. I don’t know if I could.
My eyes open, looking up, cloudier and cloudier.
And darker. From the blood in the water, or the loss of blood?
It doesn’t really matter.

Pringle Farms

Every year, we go out to Pringle Farms.
No, that’s not where they grow Pringles chips.
That would be silly.
That’s where they grow the canisters in which they sell Pringles chips.
You thought that those were used tennis ball canisters, didn’t you?
Well, that’s not true.
They’re not used at all. They’re picked fresh from the vine.
Then, they’re dried and sent off to the Pringles chip factory.
After you eat the chips and throw away the canister, they recycle it into a tennis ball canister.
Well, they have to wash it first. Otherwise, the balls get all greasy.