A Few Sips Off

You take a sip from your drink and feel different. That may be because your torso has an extra arm protruding from it. Another sip, another arm. Then a wing. What happens if you finish the drink?

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561 thoughts on “A Few Sips Off

  1. WaterfallLady

    ok, here’s my first attempt at the writing prompts!

    Drink the Kool Aid

    I reached for the Kool Aid, knowing in advance how it would affect me.
    I closed my eyes as the liquid ran down my throat and coursed throughout my body. A rumble came from deep within me.
    My body began to twitch. I opened my eyes and scanned the room.
    “Who’s there? Who’s come into my chamber?” I bellowed. Suddenly, an extra arm popped out of my side.
    “Ha, ha, ha!” I repoured another cup and knocked it back. I fell on the floor as my body jerked with the birthing of a fourth arm. The small eyes stared at me and the face went round and still.
    “Come here, little one!”
    “What’s the matter? Do you not like my extra arms?”
    “Ah, watch this!” I refilled the glass again. Wings sprouted from my back. “Shall we fly to my castle, my dear?”
    “Ok, mommy!”
    I scooped up my precious child and together we flew off to our castle in the sky. Inside, I was so grateful for these moments that I knew would pass too soon. Too soon, my little one would grow, not imaginary arms, but bigger, stronger, and less needful of me. I knew that this little dear one was rooted so deep within my heart that someday, she would burst forth like these imaginary parts and become a full grown person apart from my sheltering wings.
    “Don’t cry, mama!”
    “No worries, little one. Mama just loves you so much.”

  2. Jay "The Doc" Wilson

    Only Human

    Can I hold myself to a higher place than anything else in this universe? I thought as I sliced through the thin layer of skin of the paralyzed woman supine on the cold metal table.

    Cynthia lived in a house with her six-foot-five, dark, and handsome husband and her gorgeous daughter. They had a peach picket fence, and she did Bikram yoga every morning. She liked to walk the family Pekinese, and she went out on the weeknights while her husband worked late. She would meet men, and let them flirt with her. Sometimes, she would stop by their place for a nice warm cup of Joe—or Mark or Frank, whatever his name happened to be. Some might call her a cheating whore or a monster, but she’s only human—an animal among animals no different from other creatures that cheat on their partners: elephant seals, hedge sparrows, even some insects.

    I often wondered what really made us different. Is that we can talk? Is it that we can walk on only two legs? Is it that we supposedly have a higher mental capacity or that we can build giant machines while simultaneously destroying the earth? Is it some ability to know right from wrong? Do animals not have these qualities, too?

    She blinked hard every time I cut into her. The skin parted as if I’d cut through a warm round of ham, only she bled. A lot. With the new hole in place, I quickly attached another arm—one of two I harvested earlier from a homeless woman—just below her right one. Not long before this, I attached the other just below her left. Now she had four total. With each prick of the needle to close the wound, she blinked.

    I thought about what I might do when I arrived home later that evening. I might play some Call of Duty or perhaps read a book or two. I might make some dinner or take my dog for a walk. Perhaps I’ll go out and meet a woman instead of staying inside, I thought.

    When I finished attaching the arm, I took a step back and gazed with amazement at my art. She didn’t look happy, and I didn’t blame her. She was, after all, in a very serious position in her life. One she might remember if the police found her before she died of infection. However, my art would put a smile upon someone’s face. Probably many faces. Sure, some might call me a monster, but no different am I from the many murderers of animals like lions that kill to rule the jungle, murdering a whole family—cubs included—and taking the lion’s wife hostage to enjoy and rape at his pleasure. After all, we’re all just animals; it only happens that I’m human.

  3. jhowe

    Even though the day was warm and humid, Jarvis wore a light jacket as he waited for the bus. There were no seats available and Jarvis stood and kept his eyes averted downward. A woman wearing very short shorts and a halter top twenty years out of style sidled next to him and said, “Hey stud, you looking for some action?”

    Jarvis was not, and he ignored her.

    “Don’t I turn you on big boy?”

    She did a little, but he still ignored her. The woman slid her arm beneath his jacket and let out a small scream. “What was that you freak!”

    Jarvis attempted to move away from her but the bus was too crowded. “I said what was that? Do you have a dog or something under there? It licked me.”

    Two rough cut men came up to them. One of them said, “What’s shaking baby?”

    “This freakazoid has something under his shirt. It licked me.”

    “Let’s take a look.” One of the men held Jarvis by the arms and the other unzipped his jacket and tore open his shirt. There was another scream and much commotion ensued from the passengers. A malformed head and two limp arms hung from Jarvis’s torso just below the ribs on his right side. The small mouth was wet with saliva, the miniature pink tongue darting about.

    “Meet my brother.” Jarvis said with a hint of venom.

    The hooker and the two men backed away and pushed through the crowd. Many of the riders got off when the bus stopped. Jarvis held his brother and stroked his head as he adjusted his clothing.

    There were now plenty of vacant seats and Jarvis took one. A middle aged man in khaki shorts sat in a seat opposite. “Conjoined twin?”

    “Yeah, I was the lucky one so it seems.”

    “I don’t mean to overstep my bounds, but there are surgeries available for this kind of thing.”

    “Oh yeah, I know all about them.”

    “But yet you decided not to go through with it?”

    “That appears to be the gist of it,” said Jarvis.

    “I don’t feel you’d be doing the wrong thing if you decided to consider surgery.”

    “He’d die.”

    “We all die son, some of us sooner than others.” The man got up. “This is my stop.”

    “Thank you for not being afraid of me.”

    “Son, if I was that brother of yours, I’d want you to at least talk to someone. For his sake as well as yours.”

    “I have talked to someone. You have no idea what something like that would cost for someone with no insurance and no job that lasts longer than two months. ”

    “Oh but I do know how much it costs.” The man gave Jarvis a business card. J. Paul Land, General Surgeon. “Please call me. I’m willing to help you.”

    “Why would you help me?”

    “I know a good man when I see one. And I also know that your condition can be improved if you are willing to let go.” The man started to walk away, but turned around. “Son, your brother has virtually no quality of life, but you can start again. You would both be better served.”

    As the bus continued on, Jarvis sat alone and stroked his brother through his shirt as he studied the business card.

    1. lionetravail

      Very inventive take, Jhowe, and lots of great emotions, visceral reactions, humanity at its cruel/disdainful worse and its kind best… and all in a succinct package. Nicely done 🙂

  4. pinkbamboo

    Ok, I’m back with a weird story. This time I let my imagination went sideways lol


    This was exactly what I wanted. I touched my drawing with my original left hand and looked at it. It was a drawing of a man with wings, two arms and a scorpion sting. That’s going to be me. I took another sip and my claws appeared. I lashed forward and scratched the mirror as it broke into a thousand pieces.

    Smiling to myself, I thought of my plan. I’m going to cut a hole behind the bank and crawl in. Hey, this was not my fault. I did not kill her on purpose, I was only defending myself but they won’t believe me. Nobody believed me so I had to go. I had to get out of here. I looked at the clock. 10 pm. Time to get what I needed and get the hell out of here before the police dragged me to court again for something I did not do. Let me finish my drink.

    I turned around and the edge of my wings knocked the cup to the floor. I fell to the floor, desperately licking the carpet before the remainder of the potion seeped in. Frustrated when the claws only appeared on my right foot, I hit the floor repeatedly until I was exhausted. How could I have been so careless!

    Sweat was dripping down my face and my potion had run out. It was only then I remembered my mission.

    I grabbed my duffel bag and ran to the window. My wings wouldn’t hold me up and I hit the wall in anger again. Calm down, there’s no time to lose now, I need to hurry, I whispered to myself. These wings just needed some time to get used to. Ran to my bike and cycled down town to the national bank.

    Everything worked so smoothly, I avoided the alarm trigger and cut myself a nice hole to the safe. Four arms worked simultaneously and the duffel bag was filled up within seconds. As I exited the premise however, I was surrounded by the police.

    “Roy, put down the duffle bag” I heard one of them.

    “No! You can’t do this to me! I did not kill her!” I shouted at them.

    There were about 3 police cars with their lights on and 4 policemen pointing their guns at me while another one was holding the hailer. I could see the astonishment and shock when they saw my arms and wings. Disgust too maybe.

    “I look like a freak don’t I?” I laughed as I lifted the duffel bag up high with my arms.

    “Don’t make us shoot you, whatever you are now”

    I looked around and tried to escape. I couldn’t use my wings yet and even if I do, they might shoot me down. I looked at the policeman nearest to me. Suddenly I grinned for I have the best escape plan now. I might not be able to fly or scratch them but I can use my tail to grab the nearest one and threaten the rest of them.

    I was already convicted of killing a girl, why not add some other colorful records as well? A police officer would be a nice addition. I turned sideways and used my mind to control my tail.

    No movement. I turned around and my duffel bag dropped. I heard the controlled laughter from the police force and I shouted as I punched the walls repeatedly. What the fuck! What the ..

    In place of my desirable scorpion tail was a rabbit’s bob tail.

  5. Reaper

    This is completely off topic and way, way, way, over the word count. However I am posting it for McKevin. If you hate long and preachy stories please give this a pass. But McKevin here you go. This is my completely non traditional telling for the three little pigs since you asked.

    Wolf’s Clothing

    U’tana’ Waya was a warrior of his people. The men of his family had been hunters since the times when land and sky were one. Once the sons of the chief had chosen their brides the men of the Waya line had their choice of the most beautiful women amongst the tribe. They always had. Hunters had been revered and loved. It was when the soft men came that the role of his family had changed.

    The soft pink men destroyed everything they touched. They ravaged the land, burned the trees, and slaughtered the animals of the forest with no thought towards leaving enough to breed and prosper to provide food for the children of their children. Witness the absence of buffalo after their arrival, a thing that had never before been a danger. Worst of all these pigs violated and defiled the women of the tribe.

    The tribe was naught more than animals to the pigs. Their women were property to be stolen, used, destroyed, and then returned in a tarnished state or worse left lying in their blood and shame; forced to survive on their own if they were able, which many were not. The tribe must then attempt to set to right whatever devastation had been most recently visited upon those women after the soft pink men had departed. They did what they could but as the pigs also slaughtered members of the tribe; man, woman or child; when the urge or strong drink was upon the interlopers the tribe had a difficult time of it.

    If the natives resorted to extreme measures such actions could be understood could they not? They were necessary. What brave would wish a violated squaw? If one claimed or spoke for the woman she was left in peace. It made U’tana’ ill when one was disposed of. Avoiding such a fate for as many as possible was why he had taken one of the defiled for his own wife. It was also why his eldest daughter was not of his blood.
    U’tana’ was thirsty for revenge. The tribe was hungry for blood and satisfaction. First the explorers came and some of those did not survive, though most passed through too quickly and the vengeance was much as ashes in the mouth of the tribe. Next the cavalry arrived and the tribe flowed their wrath upon the men in blue. Some of the soft men passed with the attacks. The losses to the invaders were not enough to hide that those attacks did more to leave the tribe broken and depleted of warriors than they did to stem the invasion. With U’tana’s people “broken” and depleted the government of the soft pink men declared the land tamed. The three brothers came to the acres they had purchased despite the fact that the tribe had never sold it. Finally the tribe saw the chance to balance the scales.

    The brothers Porc had purchased the land at an amazing price from the government. They had no qualms about what had happened there, though that was part of the reason for the discount. There was still some concern that the efforts to drive off or exterminate the savages that inhabited the land previously had not been entirely successful. The official that had signed papers with them had been emphatic that he told them of the danger only because it was required. In his professional opinion there was no longer cause for concern. The cavalry had seen to that.

    The brothers were divided in their acceptance of that assurance. Andre, the eldest and most morbid of humor had complete faith that the Lord and his rulers would protect him. Benoit, the middle brother and shortest of temper believed that God was on his side but that human officials were full of lies if it brought them the ends they sought. Pierre, the youngest and most nervous of spirit knew that all men deceived and believed that the Lord only helped those that helped themselves. Thus they were arguing.

    “We should mock these savages!” Andre insisted in his gruff and boisterous tones. “We will build our homes from grass and mud in honor of their huts and in the manner of their teepees!”

    The time had long passed that the younger brothers caved instantly to the bleetings of their elder. Both shook their head. Andre was hard to take, though his brothers could do so with more ease than others. Pierre would not look upon his brother. Benoit was more benevolent. He spoke in calm, soothing, reasonable tones when he offered his own opinions.

    “While I believe that we are safe there is no reason to be cruel to the animals. Moreover it is wise to take precaution and avoid tempting fate by mocking them. I advise that we build cabins of log as we had back home.”

    Andre laughed off the suggestion. Benoit had skin thickened by a lifetime of jibes from his brother and shrugged off this newest one. Pierre then offered his own advice. He seethed the words out in a sibilant hiss that was positively serpentine and brooked no argument.

    “We must defend ourselves. We shall build a fortress of the sturdiest stones we can pull from the land and fill it with soldiers and men at arms.”

    Pierre’s tone brooked no argument and yet the other brothers did so. Under open air and then in their tent to protect from morning dew the siblings raged and bickered. The disagreement knew no surcease. At the end they declared they were no longer family and would see each other no more. They divided the plot in thirds. Each would abandon the others and do their own will upon their private land.

    Andre went north and built his mocking hut of grass and mud. Benoit cut down trees that had been sacred to the tribe and built his log cabin on the ground where he had lost his brothers in symbol if not fact. Pierre rode south to build his outpost after gathering the largest and mightiest of stones from the hills that existed there.
    For a time the brothers knew peace. It was the peace that only one that lives without danger and with enough distance from his family that they might visit but not happen upon him can know. For a time solitude and peace brought with them happiness. That time was less than a week.

    U’tana’ had watched the brothers argue from the top of a hill. He understood their language but was unable to hear the word from the ground on which he stood. When the soft men parted ways U’tana’ sent scouts to follow the two that departed the area. Then he gathered the surviving warriors of his tribe. The land, their women, and their brothers that had gone to the happy hunting grounds would be avenged.

    U’tana’ led his band first to the north. Rage filled his heart when his eyes landed upon the mockery of his people that was the hut of the eldest brother Porc. It was only due to the respect the other braves held for him that he was able to still them before they fell upon the hut too early. U’tana’ made his way to the door of the hut and rapped upon it. The eldest of the soft men called from inside.

    “Who comes to my home uninvited?”
    U’tana was ready for such a response. He knew more of the ways these men held than they did of his people. He replied in a voice that was strong and proud. He spoke for his people.
    “Little pig, little pig, let me in.”
    “Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin.” Came the reply from inside.
    “Then I shall huff, and I shall puff, and I shall blow your house in.” U’tana’ informed the soft man in challenge.
    U’tana’ let his tribe do as they wished. The dwelling was shredded with ease. U’tana’ stepped through the wreckage and took his revenge with blade and might. He left the body in the sun as a warning to those that would dare defile his people in the future.

    The band rode south. It was a day’s ride between the two homesteads. When they arrived anger still filled the braves. The man they sought was on their land, his brother had chosen to mock them and while this one did not he had tarried here; his people had brought disease and death to the tribe and the land. Still they might have been convinced to show mercy. Then they saw the stumps of the trees that had been used to construct the home, the sacred trees. Mercy left their hearts. They were warriors.

    Again U’tana’ knocked upon the door to the home. The cabin was of sturdier make than the first and yet it was weak and the man was alone. Once more the man spoke as U’tana’ expected of him.

    “Who comes to my home uninvited?”
    Once again U’tana’ spoke the traditional phrase for Porc’s people.
    “Little pig, little pig, let me in.”
    “Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin.” The words, it seemed, ran in the family.
    “Then I shall huff, and I shall puff, and I shall blow your house in.” U’tana’ cried out with rage and pain.
    U’tana’ had shed the life’s blood of one enemy. He allowed the other warriors to do their will unto this one. At his signal flaming arrows were loosed upon the wood from which the cabin was constructed. The structure caught with ease and avenging smoke filled the air while purifying flames lit the land. The tribe was patient and required surety. It was not until the squeals and screams of the middle brother ceased filling the air that they moved south once more.

    There would be no mercy for the youngest brother. The warriors knew that these soft men were no different than the others that came before them. Respect and compassion were absent from the hearts of the Porcs. The decimated tribe saw the fortress of stone in the style that cavalry soldiers built before going to war with the natives and they knew that the soft pink men intended no mercy for them either. Still they would not cease. They knew no fear and their cause was just, righteous. They had come too far to fail. What they were unable to see were the soldiers that had gathered at Pierre’s request.

    The warriors dismounted and followed U’tana’ to the gate of the keep. U’tana’ pounded upon the larger door. He was greeted from inside, the youngest brother also the boldest though he could see those outside.

    “Who comes to my home uninvited?”
    U’tana’ raised his voice to the sky to be heard by the man within. He cried for his people.
    “Little pig, little pig, let me in.”
    “Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin.” There was a taunting laugh to the words.
    “Then I shall huff, and I shall puff, and I shall blow your house in.” U’tana’ responded in a shout. This last time would bring peace.

    The braves stormed the keep. Some climbed the stones of the wall but only attained half the height of the structure. Others flew in rage at the door, the weakest point of the fortress, attacking wood with their blades. There was commotion inside and at first it seemed the inhabitants were afraid.

    Then the doors flew open. The soldiers flowed out with swords and rifles in hand. They bent to the attack with joy that all of the soft pink men seemed to share for slaughter.

    The warriors on the wall dropped into the fray. Soft men fell and died, others were injured to a point that they would no longer be of service. The tribe was outnumbered. Their weapons were strong but no match for those of the soldiers. U’tana’ and his brothers gave it their all, bringing a good fight to the invaders but in the end they were slaughtered. To a man they died with their eyes to the sky. They perished knowing that the remaining soldiers would kill the women, children and elders without compassion to put an end to what had happened here.

    U’tana’ passed from this life knowing that he had done what was right. He died knowing that he had failed, that he would be vilified by the soft men. His field of vision was eclipsed in his last moments by the body of Pierre Porc. That man held a torch that he used to set the ground around U’tana’ aflame. That was not enough. Pierre put his torch to U’tana’s clothing before jabbing the burning end against U’tana’s skin.
    The warrior smelled his flesh burning away. U’tana’ never cried out with the pain. He was stronger than the Porcs and he would not give his murderer the satisfaction. He died a warrior as did those that had followed him.

    The area was cleared and the ground stained red with the blood of heroes. The soft pink men had their way. The savages were removed by whatever means necessary.
    And the land wept.

    1. Observer Tim

      Very nice story, Reaper. You did an excellent job capturing both the indignity and callousness of the white invasion and the single-minded resistance that turned retribution into revenge. Thanks for sharing this.

    2. Augie

      I wonder.. If the charts from Amerigo Vespucci were never found of the “New World’ Or… If the foolish Christoforo Colombo sank prior to naming the natives, ‘Indios’ What did the inhabitants call themselves, in their very old world.
      Beautiful story reaper, you knew I would like this.


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