What happened to me on this day? Very strange things indeed!
Creative Writing Prompt: What In The World?
Your character’s day has been every sort of strange that you can imagine. Write about it from their perspective—in the voice of a children’s book.
Post your response (500 words or fewer) in the comments below.
Same room. Same bed. Same house. Finally, a sense of normalcy returned, it only took an entire day for it to happen. My dad had just closed the door and switched off the lights, the only thing protecting me was my batman night light. I pulled the covers up to my chin. Everything would be alright now, I kept telling myself over and over. I just wanted this day to be over. I watched the clock as the seconds ticked by. My eyes grew heavier and it was only 11:31 when I was snatched into dreamland.
My head swiveled around as I got my bearings. I was at the neighborhood McDonald’s PlayPlace and Grandma Bev was standing next to me.
“You got the ribs?” Grandma asked in her heavy New York accent.
“Sorry ma’am, that’s no longer on the menu.”
I felt my cheeks warm with embarrassment at the noise my Grandma was causing.
“Who would come here if you don’t have ribs? Let’s go Charlie.” Grandma reached down to grab my arm and left.
They only problem was that she had grabbed the wrong kid!
I didn’t know what to do. They were gone. The mother of the child which was snatched became frantic. I went up to her and tapped her arm. “Hi is your kid missing?”
The mother looked at me, “Yes, did you see her?”
“My grandma is missing too.”
“What?”
“I think your kid snatched my grandma.”
There was a long pull of silence.
“Kid,”
“Charlie.”
“Charlie, my daughter has an appointment right now, so do you know where your grandma went?”
“She said she wanted ribs.”
“You know what. You look to be just about the size of my Patricia. Why don’t you help me for the day?” So, I went with the lady and got in her car. I know mom said to never ride with strangers but these were really special circumstances. We got out of the car and arrived at some strange location. Big lights flashed around a hot pink sign that read, “Little Princess”. The woman grabbed my hand and dragged me in. And now I understood what mom meant when she said don’t ride with strangers, only bad things happen.
“Patti couldn’t make it, so use Charlie here,” the woman said. That’s when it happened, the torture. Women with sharp objects moved around me here and there, stabbing me. I was strapped in rhinestones and pink satin, so I couldn’t move. Then it came. The headpiece. When they turned me around and I looked at myself in the mirror, I screamed. Instead of the boy I was used to seeing. I had turned into a girl! I was in a poufy pink dress and yellow wig, and actual lipstick was on my face.
That’s when I woke up. But it wasn’t a dream. I know because my mom got proof. The woman gave her a picture for remembrance.
I will never get in that car again.
They leaned me back in a chair like Dad’s in front of the TV, except a big light shown in my eyes. A strange woman told me to open my mouth. I was very confused until the woman told me they were going to take some pictures. I smiled with my widest grin and said “CHEESE” as loud as I could. She laughed at me and told me I had to bite down on something like a shark.
I gave my best shark impression and chewed it up and but she told me to “Hold still!”
Instead, Mom suggested a round of the Freeze! game. I am the best at this game so I stayed super still until I heard a zapping noise and the woman took the thing out of my mouth. I was mad she made me lose Freeze!
After that I got to choose mint or bubble gum flavor. I chose bubble gum because Mom never lets me have bubble gum except on special occasions. I opened my mouth and she put a metal stick on my teeth that sounded like the tools Dad uses in the garage. It did NOT taste like bubble gum. I started to gag and the woman squirted some water in my mouth with another stick. I was fascinated.
“Is that a squirt gun?” I asked, except it didn’t sound like real words and more of the not-bubble gum dribbled out of my mouth. I asked again and she replied with a giggle.
“Something like that.”
When she was done drilling my teeth the woman took a bunch of string like what Mom sews my jeans with and put it in between my teeth. It plucked out like the strings on Mom’s guitar, except without the funny sounds.
Before I could leave, the women asked what kind of ‘floor-eye’ I wanted. I picked blueberry and she squirted some gooey stuff in a funny shaped tray.
“What is floor-eye?” I asked the woman.
“Fluoride,” she corrected me, “Have you ever painted your finger nails with nail polish?” I was horrified.
“I don’t want nail polish on my teeth!!!” I screamed at her and tried to get out of the big chair. When the woman finally caught her breath from laughing at me, she explained that it wasn’t really nail polish, but it puts a protective coat on your teeth to keep them healthy.
I let her put the tray of gooey fluoride stuff in my mouth, and it tasted like blueberry jelly. While I sat there with the blueberry jelly in my mouth, the woman let me pick out a new toothbrush, some more teeth-string, and a sticker. After she took the jelly tray out she told me I wasn’t allowed to eat or drink anything for a half hour but then handed me my presents.
I wasn’t sure what to think about this place. It was a very strange place, a very strange place indeed.
I went from laughter to shivers on.this. on the good side I lived through but on the reverse the dentist dropped two drill bits down.my throat..but.i didn’t swallow.either. He to fish for the bits
Wanted to give me a discount but I ran.out.as quick as I could extremely interesting and funny after I
quit shaking
U
My childhood dentist was horrible, no bubblegum or blueberry anything. Enjoyable take on the prompt.
this one made me uncomfortable just because it was so realistic
Child’s POV was dead on
Really realistic sounding portrayal of what child might think of their day in the dentist. Great work!
Ellie & The Strange Day
———————————
My name is Ellie Simons and I am an elephant trainer. I know you think it strange that a twelve year old girl would aspire to such a noble pursuit, but I assure you there was no other choice.
My parents raised me on a tropical island full of circus animals. The ship the circus had been crossing the ocean on had encountered a destructive storm that overwhelmed the fully loaded ocean liner. Those who survived spent an entire decade confined to the lush island. That is where I was born.
Three years ago today, my birthday, our extended family was rescued. Things have changed a lot since then. I have been forced to see a tutor daily, to learn English and Math and Science. At times these things seem interesting, but today I am not excited to face them.
I finish dressing and head down to the breakfast table. There is a covered plate awaiting me, but no mother or father in sight. The tablecloth is stained. I have never started the day with a used linen before and while it doesn’t really bother me, I can’t help but feel a little disquieted. I grab the plain stainless silver lid and move it aside.
CHAOS!
There is a very live chicken on the plate! It has been eating my breakfast! It flaps its wings and runs across the table, cocking its head inquisitively at me. I do not remember getting to my feet but I am!
“Mom! Dad!” I holler, trailing the annunciation.
I am met by silence. Then clucking sounds, and other chicken sounds. I pick up Henrietta, her warm brown feathers soft, unresisting she is content to be snuggled around.
“What are you doing here?”
I carry her through the house. When I get to the back of the house I open the sliding glass doors, revealing a huge crowd of clowns in the backyard! None of these clowns look like my parents or anyone else I recognize.
In the middle of the crowd is an elephant. It is not the biggest elephant I have ever seen, but easily the most beautiful.
The clowns are giving her lots of room and she is swinging her trunk around and seems upset. YI am moving towards her slowly and confidently before I have thought things through. I just know I have to help, after all this is my yard!
When she sees me she stops. She stares at me long and hard. The clowns hold their breath.
I keep walking to her. Henrietta starts getting agitated and flies out of my arms suddenly! She runs towards the elephant!
Everyone is frozen!
Then the elephant catches the chicken with its trunk and I think the chicken is a goner.
Then the elephant puts the chicken on its head!
I walk up and shake hands/trunks with the elephant.
The clowns say that the elephant’s name is Poppy and that she has not been trainable up until this point.
My parents arrive. They run up to me, making sure everything is OK. I introduce them to Poppy.
My parents make arrangements with the clowns to take over training the elephant.
Poppy is still inseparable from Henrietta. I can’t wait to show the world what these two can do!
An elephant and a chicken should be the headliner for the next democratic meeting for the next election
However they will say the chicken is a spy and going to throw the election. Chaos and donkeys. Thought the story was very imaginative and cute
.
I don’t know that I’d trust a crowd of clowns even if the elephant is beautiful and Henrietta likes her. Fun story.
I would like to hear a story involving the crash of the ship also. The backstory alluded to in your piece is fascinating.
Creative take.
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An Unsavory Treat
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Remy loves dessert. Any of kind of dessert. Ice cream, cookies, candy, and so much more. Remy loves them so much, but adults tell him that he cannot have it all. Remy gets frustrated whenever people tell him what to do, but he plays along.
Every day.
Every week.
Every month.
Every year.
Bounded again by the same old rules, when all Remy wants is to have some fun.
One day, Remy learns about a dessert that he’s never heard of. He tried asking what it is, but everyone looks at poor Remy like he’s gone mad.
Mad?
Mad?
Remy doesn’t quite understand.
Remy is the lover of all desserts. He wants to try out every sweet that he sees, but adults never give him what he wants. Remy asks again, but he gets the same answers. Not even Canna will tell him what it is and she’s someone who normally understands.
He tried asking Cicero, his dim-witted twin. What a waste really. He never understands. Cicero’s head is that of a rock. A useless object that doesn’t do anything. If no one will tell Remy what it is, then Remy will have to find out on his own once again.
And when he does, Remy will try out this new dessert.
He’s tired of listening to adults.
Tiptoe, down the stairs, hoping not to draw any attention. Remy’s quiet like a mouse. Oh so silent that no one knows that he had gotten out of his room. Cicero doesn’t know either, but that’s okay. He would ruin Remy’s plans anyway.
Half way down, still burning with curiosity. The thought of the new dessert makes his mouth water. Why, Remy could almost taste its flavor. He must try it out. He must. Remy will do what it takes to get what he wants.
Suddenly, he hears Canna’s voice. Remy carefully looks through the stairwell. He sees her talking to Gwynplaine and Artemis, her friends. I mean our friends as Cicero would put it.
Gwynplaine puts his tongue out in disgust as if he tried something bitter. It must not be a good dessert if he’s making that expression, but why?
“Explain it to him in terms of food,” Artemis says.
What is that supposed to mean?
“Uhhh…it’s when you like put whip cream on ice cream…yeah…that’s all,” Canna says nervously as if she had done something wrong. “Oh, but if you…ummmm…mix it…it…makes uh, somethin’, yeah I don’t know…y-you get the rest.”
“Why is it bad to mix whip cream and ice cream?”
Remy why did you blow your cover away? Canna’s looking at you with fury in her eyes as she stomps towards the stairs.
“Were you listening in?!” she shouts.
“I-”
Every word escapes Remy’s head. He’s completely powerless to do anything. Remy hates getting in trouble.
“Also, where did hear that term? Some dirty adult that I need to beat up?!”
“Wh-what term? Remy doesn’t quite understand,” I say. “You told it to Gwynplaine and Artemis.”
“You know darn well what I’m talking about,” she says sternly. “And that’s because both of them are at that age, you’re not.”
“Remy thought it meant dessert. He didn’t know it was something bad. Remy is sorry, he doesn’t know everything. No one tells Remy anything,”
“And there’s a reason why,” Canna says.
Remy normally doesn’t feel any shame, but today he does.
All thoughts of dessert goes down the drain.
I get the feeling this dessert has nothing to do with food. Such mystery abounds. Nicely written, Fleur.
Not certain what’s going on, but enjoyed the read.
A LAND CRAB NAMED JOE
Tommy sat on a small sand dune at Avalon beach. A tiny tear or two worked its way down the side of his nose and he brushed it away. Tommy was very unhappy because his mother played cards with her friends under a beach umbrella and made him sit there for an hour. He ate two hot dogs for lunch and had to wait to go swimming because he might have a stomach cramp if he went in the water too early.
So he wandered a small way toward the ocean but stopped above where the water came ashore. Tommy played in the sand, not caring what he made, when a small voice behind him spoke,
“My name is Joe and I need a friend.”
Tommy looked back over his shoulder at a large land crab that half stood up and waved a large claw to him.
“Crabs don’t talk,” Tommy said.
“Oh yes we do but only special people can hear us. What’s your name boy?”
“Tommy, you’re not going to pinch me, are you?”
“Oh no, I need your help.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re a boy and I’m a crab, that’s why. By the way, call me Joe.
”
“Ha, that’s funny. A crab named Joe.”
“Tommy, sand crabs love to build castles and knights of old, out of sand.”
“You do?”
“Of course, but children kick down our castles.”
“But what can I do?”
“You’ll see. Let me bring my friends here and we’ll build a castle just for you.”
“You will? Oh boy, I’m ready to help.”
“Keep the children and parents from kicking down our work. It’s a mean thing to do.”
A dozen or so crab showed up, all slightly smaller than Joe and started moving sand around over a large area. People came by and teased Tommy for watching the crab work.
“I’m trying to help these crab build a castle. Leave them alone.
The people stood back and watched. In a little bit, a large crowd circled around Tommy and looked on in amazement, for the crab not only built a castle but a moat around it and a small village next to it. Tommy’s mother showed up and was so proud of her son who helped a crab named Joe, build a small village and a large castle.
So if you see a land crab on the beach, stop and talk to him, protect him and he might build a castle for you also. Some things may seem small and kind of funny to look at, you should give them a chance at life. You may be surprised what wonders may be returned to you, twice fold.
Very sweet story. Wonderful, strong moral lesson that every child should learn.
Like DMelde, I liked the positive message of this one. The part of waiting to go swimming was quite humorous. I recall those days of fidgeting until your mother let you swim.
This is very, very good. Very visual, especially Mom playing cards, with a message that’s not over done.
Kerry – well done with regards to using the children’s format. I’ve learned a lot this week from reading the responses. Anyway you hit all the marks – relatable to kids- how the boy has to listen to mom and stay put – magical character, and moral lesson.
Great work and the beach setting was a bonus.
An Annie Story
I could not believe my very own ears. She kept saying things like, “Annie did this, Annie thought that.” Personal, private stuff I wouldn’t never, ever tell a stranger, but she did, right there in that fancy room in some place called Laramie. I didn’t want to come, but that woman, who keeps on using three names, said I had to. I don’t even know anything about agents or why I had to be introduced to one.
Meeting her, I’ll call her Miss Stephanie, wasn’t the worse part, that was the night before at a big party. After we ate some little sandwiches cut up funny, a lady got up on stage and called out a bunch of names and that woman who made me come along kept going up to get awards. That was kinda nice, ‘cause folks clapped.
But, then, the woman went back up and read out a story about almost the worse morning in my whole entire life, the time I had to go knock on Miss Jimmie Mae’s door because, because, because Mama wasn’t home and because… Well, Miss Jimmie Mae said what happened happens to every single girl and even though the school nurse gave all the girls a little book about our insides, I didn’t think it would happen to me.
Now, we’re back home and I guess I’d better get used to all this, ‘cause Miss Stephanie wants to be our agent, even though I don’t know exactly what that means.
Yes, that would be an embarrassing story to have told about you. I hope this agent doesn’t mess with Annie’s innocent mind… we’d be lost without her wit. Thanks Reatha.
Correct me if I’m wrong but is this about you reading aloud Annie? If so, very clever; if not, still good to hear from Annie! hope this means you have a literary agent.
Looking forward to buying the Annie book and reading all her stories together.
A wonderful, strange, embarrassing day all rolled into one. Your story makes me happy. I have confidence that the woman with three names will take good care of Annie.
I was trying to be clever and appear humble. It was a productive event. Pitched to two agents, visited with a third one. All were interested in Annie, now the real work begins. As I was reading a piece from a winning entry Friday night I realized I’d changed a character’s name later in the book but hadn’t gone back and replaced it throughout. Seventy thousand or so words are more difficult to edit than 500!
I will remember all of your stories because I have photos of them in my mind. I hope to finish the rewrite on “Living In Paradise and Not Knowing It’ before the end of the year and then i’ll tackle agents unless you think I should do it now. It starts at my first memory I can recall and ends about three months after I turn twenty one. Believe it or not I have 85,000 words I am rewriting. I am through the first 60,000. Iy is a factual living history mostly of the fifties and all it’s traditions. .
Kerry, I think I need the agent route for many reasons. Even with lots of research I still have so many questions about the business of publishing. I also recognize that at my age I don’t have the stamina to wade through all that entails. I know several folks who post here have self-published and in fact my husband is planning to do poetry that way, but I’m exhausted just thinking about doing a whole novel. So, I guess I’m saying I don’t know exactly how to answer your question. I still have lots of work to do, but believe an agent will help guide me so I’m not wasting time with “mechanics” like chapter details such as length, titles, etc.,, copy and content editors, and that list goes on. I’ve had friends who successfully published, but sadly they are gone so I can’t ask them how they did it. I also realize publishing has changed in ways they probably wouldn’t recognize. In the meanwhile let’s both keep posting here where we know folks enjoy what we write.
Reatha
Thank you for sharing advice!
I’m Ish.
I like playing out here on the water. In this boat.
There’s big waves out here. And big fishies.
Do you want to meet my friend? His name is Kwee.
Kwee is funny, but he doesn’t say that much.
I think he likes being on the boat too, and catching the fishies.
But he’s pretty quiet. I think he’s an Eskimo or something.
He’s my only friend on the boat. All the other kids on the boat are too serious.
And scared.
They’re scared of two things:
First of all, they’re scared of the kid who’s the Captain. He’s very, very mean.
He has one leg and is kind of crazy. But he’s not afraid of anything.
Except the one other thing that everyone else is afraid of too:
The biiiiiiiig fishy.
The big White fishy.
“Have you seen the Great White Fishy?” is all the Captain asks day and night.
Well, one day the Great White Fishy is sure to jump on the boat and kill the Captain and break the boat in half.
I think that’s why Kwee is building a coffin. So I have something to float to shore on.
Kwee is a real good friend.
But the Captain is crazy.
And that Great White Fishy is such a Dick.
The last line really ties it up nicely, Hack. Very enjoyable.
I’m kind of embarrassed to admit I’ve never read Moby Dick. Now I have this synopsis. I won’t have to read it. Thank you.
I’m with you!
What a Dick-Ish story. Haha, great read.
Well done, love the last line!
I reread the book a few years ago for a book club. Wish I’d had this version then.
I read it when I was about twelve and fell in love with stories of the sea . Nothing crossed my eyes like your’s Hack. One sentence says it all. “Splish Splash, Yackety Yack.
I walk towards the exit, beneath the Homecoming decorations. Shoulders crash into me, feet tripping my steps. They call me ugly. Gross. A freak.
On good days I’m ignored by the monsters. By teachers, by girls, hopefully by Tate Spiller. In the locker room, I dodge spitballs and wads of toilet paper thrown at my back. Then I go outside, walk the track and wait for the whistle.
I want to go back. To sail for weeks and through a day. To leave this forsaken place, where they are all the same. The same wicked smiles and the same stupid faces. The world all around is the same.
The things warned me not to leave. And I should have listened. I told them to be still and they stilled. They were frightened, rapt with wonder. I should have stayed and been a great king. In the wild I was a magician. A showman. A tamer.
In the wild I was what I was meant to be. But I gave it all up.
So many nights I’ve stared at that wall, waiting. Waiting for the vines, for the walls to turn inward, then outward, for the saltwater breeze to tousle my hair. For weeks, a year, through night and day. I dream of going back. To the wild.
“Hi Max, how was your day?”
My mother carries a heavy burden. She’s carried it under her eyes since that fateful evening. She blames herself, for my exile, for what has happened since. Perhaps things would have been different. Maybe I would have been the same as them.
But I would have never been a king.
I remember her face, when she walked in and caught me panting, sweating, roaring at the moon. I was soaked through and growling. She backed away, from my unblinking yellow eyes. She dropped my dinner to cover her mouth. She didn’t know, couldn’t have known, that what was one half hour for her for me was lost at sea. Part of me never returned.
I tell her my day was fine. It helps her in some way, if I play this game. It crushes her to know the truth. Crushed her every time she had to pick me up, when I roared terrible roars, when I was the wildest of all. And it crushed me when she didn’t believe me.
Now I seldom roar. But I might, if I’m punched, or kicked again. If they keep calling me a freak. I think about making them still. I may roar again.
But for now, I tell her my day was fine.
“Good, sweetie, I’m making soup.”
My mother and her soup. She thinks it heals the soul. My soul needs healing. But my soul is lonely. My soul wants to be where I’m loved most of all.
After therapy I leaned not to talk about it. Not to tell the stories no one believes. Of the magic and wild and well, the unhealthy make-believe. I was told there were no wild monsters. Even though I see them at school every day.
A quiet supper with my mother. She smiles and talks about her day but her eyes ooze with disgust. She too thinks I’m a freak. She too is afraid of me.
I lay my head on the pillow. And I wait. I wait for the vines to weave their way down my bed, for the walls to turn inward. I wait for the forest to grow. I wait for the walls to turn inward, outward, I wait for the crash of the waves, for my boat to rock. So that I can escape, through the under the moonlight, and reclaim my throne.
I wait for the rumpus to begin…
You keep getting better and better, Pete. Freakin awesome.
Hack
Great story. Some great lines in here too.
Now I believe in monsters, dang. Very well done, Pete. I always look forward to your stories.
Oh, oh, oh, Where the Wild Things Are! Am I right? My sons’ favorite because the soup was still warm.
A perfect slice of life, writer_sk. I hope she saved her baseball cards.
79. The Summary
[Follows “78. The Weapon”, under “Thrift Store Finds.” You can click on my name above for the rest of the Darth Barbara Saga. This is a bit off-prompt, but the Galactic Union is having a very strange few years, indeed. Sic transit imperium!]
This is Barbara.
Barbara is an advisor.
An advisor tells people what to do.
Barbara is an advisor for the Galactic Council.
The Galactic Council tells all the planets what to do.
That means Barbara tells all the planets what to do. She is very powerful.
One day, Barbara realized she had a problem. The Galactic Council kept asking her what to do. She told them, “You have to think for yourself! You have to be smart!”
“But, we don’t know what to do! You have to tell us what to do,” said the Galactic Council.
Barbara was very angry at them, but she cared about the Galactic Council, so she told them what to do anyway.
Then, Barbara realized she had another problem. The Galactic Military, which was mighty and strong, also started asking her what to do. She told them, “You have to take action! You have to be brave!”
“But, we are afraid of making mistakes! You have to tell us what to do,” said the Galactic Military.
Barbara was very disappointed in them, but she cared about the Galactic Military, so she told them what to do anyway.
This is a Kryzlam.
The Kryzlamei were very smart and very brave. And Barbara loved them very much.
The Kryzlamei hated Barbara, who kept telling them what to do.
The Kryzlamei hated the Galactic Council, who kept acting selfish and greedy and mean.
The Kryzlamei hated the Galactic Military, who kept destroying planets and moons and ways of life.
“Hmmm,” thought Barbara, “maybe the Kryzlamei should be in charge of the galaxy.”
So, Barbara did a very bad thing. She invited a very bad leader of a very bad planet to a big dance. The Kryzlamei were very upset at her, because that meant that she was being very hurtful.
Barbara ran away, and the Kryzlamei chased her.
“Wait!” said the Galactic Council. “You can’t chase Barbara. She tells us what to do!”
This made the Kryzlamei even more angry. “If Barbara is telling you to do all the selfish and greedy and mean things, then she is not a good person.”
“Wait!” said the Galactic Military. “You can’t hurt Barbara, She tells us what to do!”
This made the Kryzlamei even more angry. “If Barbara is telling you to destroy planets and moons and ways of life, then she is not a good person.”
The Galactic Council and the Galactic Military tried to stop the Kryzlamei, but the Kryzlamei were too smart and too brave.
They cried, “We need your help! Where are you, Barbara?”
Barbara ignored them.
“Tell us what to do!”
Barbara ignored them.
“Tell us how to stop them!”
Barbara ignored them.
So, the Galactic Council and the Galactic Military did a terrible thing. They went to a distant planet where a lot of Kryzlamei lived, and killed everybody there.
This made the Kryzlamei very angry. They decided to destroy the Galactic Council and the Galactic Military.
Just as Barbara wanted.
Well, Jennifer, You pulled off the children’s book format very well. This was very enjoyable and kind of summed things up nicely.
Nice, Jen. I can visualize ET reading this story to his (her? it’s?) kids on a balmy night on Promptoria Centauri.
Hack
ET is a male!
Bad Barbara. Bad bad Barbara. I enjoyed your story a lot. Thanks!
I loved the rhythm of this piece and Barbara’s last thought.
Thanks everyone!
Sorry I’ve been getting behind again on reading everyone’s…
Monroe doesn’t like Mondays.
On most days, Monroe is a perfectly behaved girl.
On Saturday, Monroe helped her mother bake sugar cookies. They decorated them just so and the whole family enjoyed eating them.
On Sunday, after Church, Monroe went on a hike with her Father and her brother, Jacob. They gathered wildflowers from a meadow and brought them home. Monroe found a vase and arranged the flowers, just so.
On Monday morning, Monroe began acting strangely. It was a Monday, after all. When she refused to be a good girl, her father had to handcuff her to a drain pipe. He clamped the cuffs just so. Not too tight, not too loose. Just so.
By afternoon, Monroe was very cross. She began to speak meanly, using words that were hard to understand. Her mouth foamed like her mother’s dishwater. Not too sudsy, but sudsy just the same. Monroe’s father called their minster. She came immediately and talked to Monroe. From a distance of course.
The minister did what ministers do, and before long she gave up. She said they should wait it out. It would be Tuesday soon.
Tuesday was a long time coming, but it did come. The family was very tired. It wasn’t easy to have a demon in the family.
On Tuesday morning, Monroe kissed her mother before getting on the school bus. After the bus left, a van turned in the drive. The minister got out with two men wearing white coats. They asked about Monroe and Monroe’s mother told them she was on the bus. This made the men very cross. They got back in the van and hurried away. The minister and Monroe’s mother stood in the driveway, shaking their heads.
At dinner, Monroe’s father asked about Monroe. She was gone, of course. Her mother explained about the men in white coats. Her father asked if they knew about Mondays. Her mother shrugged. They’d find out soon enough.
Oh wow. Creepy. The use of her name over and over lent well to the rhythm.
Very nice, John. So you’ve met my sister, eh?
Hack
I know Monroe. I work with Monroe. On Mondays, I talk to a lot of Monroes. Good story. It makes me want to know what happens to the white coats next Monday.
I shouldn’t, I know, but I loved this.
I live on a popcorn farm. We grow popcorn and people buy it in stores. Our farm sits up high on a hill. Sometimes we get a bad storm with lightning and loud thunder. My older brother told me the thunder was the noise God makes when He’s bowling. God rolls His bowling ball and hits the pins. When the pins fall over that’s the thunder sound I hear. I don’t like it when God bowls. It’s too loud and I wish He would quit. But I’m not supposed to tell God what to do.
One day the lightning came, and God started bowling again. Then the lightning hit the popcorn on the corn stalks in the field. All of the popcorn started popping. It flew up in the air and rained down. It looked like snow on the ground.
Soon our pigs saw the popcorn. Their eyes got really big. They loved popcorn, but they were locked up in their pen. Fred was their leader. He was a very smart pig. Fred opened the gate with his nose, and the pigs ran into the field.
My mom saw the pigs in the field. She let out a yell.
“Henry! The pigs are loose! And they’re eating the popcorn!”
Henry was my dad. He jumped out of his chair and yelled.
“I’ll get my stick!”
“And I’ll get my broom!” my mom yelled back.
Together, they ran out of the house. We kids ran out too. We ran down to the field. The pigs were grunting and eating. Dad waved his stick. Mom raised her broom. Mom called out-
“Heeere Piggy Piggy Piggy! Here Piggy! Here Piggy!”
But the pigs didn’t listen. They didn’t want to go back to their pen. They wanted to stay in the field and eat more popcorn. They ran around and Dad chased them with his stick. Mom swept the popcorn with her broom.
I didn’t know what to do. The thunder had stopped. I think God stopped bowling to watch us chase after the pigs. I sat down and started eating popcorn. Fred the pig came over to me.
“Do you want some popcorn?” I asked.
I held out my hand. Fred grunted and ate the popcorn from my hand.
“What are you doing, Davey? Don’t feed them!” my mom said.
But I couldn’t help myself. I liked the pigs.
“It’s no good, Martha. We’ll never catch them. We might as well let them eat.” My dad told my mom.
“Sue-eeeeee! Sue-eeeee!” Dad yelled.
My dad always yelled that when it was time for the pigs to eat.
Dad saw the popcorn my mom had swept up into a pile. She was standing knee deep in it. He started to laugh. Mom looked over at Dad and she started to laugh with him. We kids laughed too.
“Don’t we look silly!” Mom and Dad said.
The pigs grunted their approval. They looked at us and they smiled. They were happy pigs.
DMelde, this was very entertaining. Nice children’s format. I’m glad they let the pigs eat.
This could be a real children’s picture book. Very warm tone
Very good, DMelde! Happy pigs knee deep in popcorn! Excellent political allegory…
Hack
Fun piece, very visual, would make a great illustrated book.
Nice story, it really sounds like it’s from a child’s perspective.
LIFE IS STRANGE
“Do you ever think your life is a dream?” I looked up at my mother who was stirring Quaker Oats in a pot on the stovetop to which she would add raisins resulting in a dish with a taste and consistency I’ve yet to duplicate.
“Hmm?” She looked distracted but I knew she was thinking of the answer.
“Yes, everyone wonders that at some point in their lives,” she said, lifting me up and hoisting me onto the adjacent washing machine which was right beside the pantry in our apartment above grandma’s. I opened my mouth to taste the warm spoonful she offered. Mom kissed me and went humming around the kitchen. She put my bowl on the table and gathered my shoes and coat for school. I slid down and got to eating.
“What’s that?” I motioned towards a big box.
“That’s the crib for the new baby when she gets here.” I smiled. Life was strange. Soon there would be another person in our family.
After school I dug a bunch of new roads in the dirt and connected them to the tree-root roads. I ran the matchbox cars through and made voices for them. I looked towards Tommy and Matthew’s house to see when they would come out.
“Get any cards this week? Matt was standing there with some baseball cards. I took some out of my pocket and we looked them all over not really knowing or caring about the meaning.
“Katie and Jaimie are home.” I pointed. We all got a game of tag going: me, Tom, Matt, Katie, Jaimie, Jenn who we called Jay, Nick and Jill. After tag we played kickball. My father came home.
He came and picked me up to give me a hug and kiss. He gave me another pack of baseball cards.
“Thanks, Dad.” I ripped them open to taste the gum inside and see if I got any Boston Red Sox or any interesting looking people, in general.
It was September and muggy, and I laid down on the lawn. The grass was soft and I remember thinking about why I couldn’t just sleep outside. Animals did. I guess they were made for it.
“Supper!” Mom’s beautiful apron was two different fabrics she’d sewn together but once matched they worked just as well as one piece with all the same color. Life was like the apron, I thought, it had a funny way of working out ok.
Mom redid my ponytail while I looked at the book I picked out at the school library. It was an alright choice. I had run out of time and grabbed it. I always picked “Frog and Toad” when mom brought me to the Elmwood Library.
The weather man on the news said tornadoes were somewhere. I looked out the window. The pink was coming out in the sky. Pink was my favorite color. I wondered if God knew that.
I pressed down on my mashed potatoes and made a little trail for the gravy to go down the mountain.
“Will the baby like mashed potatoes, Mom?”
THE END
A perfect slice of life, writer_sk. I hope she saved her baseball cards.
Haha yes I did save them and my son has em
Great sense of time and place, sk. Loved this one!
Hack
Sweet, nostalgic story. It made me think back and ask- when was the last time I made the sound of toy cars? Too long ago, was my wistful answer.
Lovely piece, I’m still smiling.