Your parents have thrown you a surprise birthday dinner and have invited your two favorite fictional characters (can be literary, television, movie, etc.). There’s only one problem: Turns out, the characters don’t get along and, after some mild bickering, they get into a big fight following one particular insult. Write this scene.
Post your response (500 words or fewer) in the comments below.
Want more creative writing prompts? Consider:
The Writer’s Book of Matches
Shushing and scrambling filtered through hotel room’s double doors. Slowing on the red carpet, Jane eyed the golden placard naming the executive suite. “I didn’t want this.”
“I know you didn’t.” Gretchen dug into her purse. “But it’s your birthday.”
“Not until tomorrow.” Jane hugged the script, the crisp pages warm with the smell of ink outlining Marjorie Vendee’s part in the season’s final episode.
“Parties don’t have to be on the exact date, hon’.” Retrieving the key-card, Gretchen raised her hand in pledge. “But I promise, tomorrow you can do whatever you want.”
“What I want is dinner with Lewis.”
“Fine. I’ll have him flown in. For now, indulge me. Indulge your fans. I promise it’ll be a great boost for the show.”
Jane jabbed her agent’s meaty arm with a shellacked finger. “I see what you’re really after.”
“That’s what I do.” Gretchen smoothed the dents on her blouse’s sleeve. “Look surprised and it’ll be over before you know it.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” Jane straightened her jacket’s lapels and fluffed her hair. “And about tomorrow.”
“First flight in the morning.”
With a too-loud throat clearing, Gretchen swiped her card through the lock, counted to three, and opened the door. Lifting her chin, Jane strode obliviously inside.
“SURPISE!”
Every light flashed on, scaring shadows from the sitting area’s couches, and making the bar with its blossomed collection of bottles and plastic cups gleam. The faces from Marjorie’s fan club, President Calvin Watts among them, along with more Jane didn’t recognize popped up from behind plush cushions and released a curtain of soaring balloons. Her fans clapped, clutched brightly wrapped packages, waggled bouquets, and fluttered magazines to be autographed. The rest of the crowd flooded through the bedroom’s French doors and from the corridor to the bath amid poppers spewing streamers and high-pitched kazoos, all buffered by the hefty masses of bouncers Bulldozer and Raid.
The din, smiles, and laughter dimmed at the shove and scurry of photographers weaseling their way to the front, cameras snapping, flashes blinding.
“My goodness!” Jane managed a stage smile and blinked the spots from her eyes. Turning to Gretchen, she passed over the script and lowered her voice. “You forgot to mention there’d be press.”
Gretchen arched both caterpillar-brows. “I didn’t?”
With a disbelieving pout, Jane shoved her purse into Gretchen’s waiting hands and spoke for the rafters. “Was this your idea, Gretch’?”
“No, Jane, this was mine.”
The crowd swiveled in a rustle of silks and leathers. Balloons squeaked. Hands covered mouths and murmurs flew. Feet shuffled back, making way for the broad shoulders and long strides working their way through the throng.
Although her dimples stung, Jane strode to nearest armchair and maintained her grin. “Jeremy MacKentire.”
He offered a hand over the cushions. When she accepted, he pulled her in, planting a wet and lengthy kiss on her cheek. The cameras thundered, catching the moment of leading lady and man in the midst of their embrace.
… Click here to read the rest. Any comments are welcome.
It was my birthday and my parents managed to get my two favorite fictional characters to come to my birthday. The Joker and The Big Head Killer from The Mask comic book series, what the hell made them think it was a good idea to invite two homicidal maniacs to their son’s birthday party is beyond me, but there they were, sitting down at our dining room table staring each other down. There was Big Head in his banana yellow suit, with his red tie. Opposite him was the joker in his purple dress suit, with his orange shirt, and green bowtie.
“Well if it isn’t our good old friend the clown boy from Gotham, so have you pied anyone in the face recently, chuckles?” asked Big Head in his high pitched voice, sneering at the joker the whole time just showing off his humongous choppers.
“The name is The Joker, you freakish green cueball! What in the world are you wearing, your clothing looks completely tacky,” yelled the joker back at him “And who even finds slapstick funny in this day and age, your tricks are old hat!”
“Uhm guys do you have to do this right now, I mean we are here to celebrate my birthday,” I said smiling at them trying to defuse the situation, only to have them glare at me “Shutting up now,” I said backing off, out of fear for my own safety.
“Oh and I suppose throwing pies into people’s faces is a gag that’s still in style, puh-lease you sanctimonious piece of shit, that gag went out at some point during the 1950s. Clowns were a fad, cartoons are timeless,” chortled out Big Head, leaning back in his chair.
“A fad! Clowns are a fad!?! What about Punchinello or how about Pogo the clown? We clowns will be remembered until the end of time, but who even watches your Looney Tunes anymore?!?” yelled the Joker, standing up from the table and stamping his foot in outrage, “No one, that’s who sweetums!!!”
“Them there’s fighting words pard’ner!” yelled Big Head now in some sort of banana yellow cowboy getup, while leveling a colt revolver at the Joker’s head. And within a split second he opened fire, with Joker just barely avoiding getting shot by jumping over the counter and into our kitchen.
As soon as Big Head stopped firing, The Joker hopped back up and hurled some of his famous exploding marbles at Big head, who just barely moved out of the way in time, resulting in a huge hole being blown out in our house. My parents and I just barely managed to hit the deck in time to avoid an untimely death.
As they ran out to go on a violent rampage throughout our suburban neighborhood, I watched them depart. As they faded away into the distance, I looked over to my mom and said “Next time you invite surprise guests for my birthday party, make sure they aren’t homicidal maniacs.”
Featuring Donald Duck and Tinker Belle.
I woke up with a big smile on my face. Today was my 9th birthday! I was so excited. I got dressed and ran down stairs. I walked into the kitchen and everybody popped out and yelled surprise! I was so shocked! I totally didn’t see that coming! “Happy birthday” said a voice that sounded a little familiar… and out walked Tinker Belle! The smile on my face must have been a mile long! Her wings sparked like the stars in the night sky. “This party is going to be flitterific” she said. ” hey! Did you forget about me?” Said Donald Duck . ” “Of course she did.. she likes me more! ” said Tinker Belle.j ” No she watches my show every morning.. so she likes Me more” yelled Donald Duck. “She owns all my movies and she has Tinker Belle t-shirts.” Claimed TinkerBelle. ” Will you guys stop bickering! Your ruining the party” I yelled. ” I’m sorry Jessie. We didn’t mean to fight.” Said Donald Duck. ” Yeah, we are sorry. But we came with great news! You are going to WALT DISNEY WORLD NEXT WEEK!” Screamed Tink. I must have been smiling Asa’s big as the grand canyon. I had never. been to Disney world! I was super excited! Next time I have a parrying bringing Mickey Mouse and Minnie Mouse, they always get along!
Characters: Lord John Roxton (the Lost World)
Professor James Moriarty (Sherlock Holmes)
Both written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
“I thought she said to leave the weapons outside.”
“Be quiet, you wet fish.”
Mum looked at me apologetically. I grinned at her. This wasn’t so bad.
Lord John looked around smiling at me, and gesturing to the hunting rifle.
“You don’t mind, do you?’ he asked. I could tell mum did – what the hell. It was my birthday, anyway.
The professor looked at him imperiously, ‘I do believe firearms are highly inappropriate, especially at a youngster’s party. You are not the most sensible of characters.”
“Yes, coming from the man who attempts to throw his enemy off a cliff, when surely shooting him would be far easier.”
Moriarty sniffed, “You know he wouldn’t have fallen for that – and anyway, it made for a far more dramatic ending.”
“Do you know what really happened at the Reichenbach?” Lord John asked, poking his finger at the slightly damp Professor.
“He… was thrown off. By Holmes. Wasn’t he?”
Lord Roxton laughed, “upon my word, no! He backed away when Holmes unexpectedly pulled a gun out, and tripped. Couldn’t get to a dry cleaners before the party, so you’ll have to forgive him for the stains.”
Moriarty coughed, “I think you’ll find that incorrect. And you yourself can hardly be called the greatest of thinkers.”
Lord John smirked, “And what makes you say that?”
Mum quietly left the room by a back door. I watched the byplay happily.
“well, shooting the native in revenge wasn’t the greatest idea. I mean, I know you are of an insufficient and positively primal intellect, but I still cannot see the sense in not recognising and learning from past mistakes. I mean, didn’t he maroon you in the jungle, because you’d done the same thing to his fellow?”
“It was the best thing to do at the time.” The soldier said stiffly.
“Oh,” Moriarty said archly, “the best thing to do at the time. Couldn’t have just left Zambo do it for you? Had to go and shoot him, which you then expressly insisted should be an action taken in a last resort situation? Pardon me for commenting-“
“I don’t, sir.”
“- but it didn’t seem very logical.”
‘Yes, to you, sir. As if you’d have done better.”
“Had I, sir, murdered an Indian, I would have done it quietly, and used one of my indispensible pawns. You, on the other hand, are hot-tempered, ill-mannered, language-mauling cad.”
“I say sir!” cried Lord John, leaping to his feet,” this is by far an insult I must take personally!”
“That was my intention.” Moriarty said nastily, “I notice the name Holmes and Moriarty have passed into the national psyche, but not that of Roxton. What does that say to you of quality of character?”
Lord Roxton snatched up his gun, and hurled insults as he pointed it at his written fellow. Moriarty smirked, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You have three separate assassins watching your every move, and another twelve busy infiltrating your personal notes, websites and fan clubs. I have them ready – would you like me to tell them to send out the message?”
Lord Roxton paused, “I have a fan club?”
“Yes sir, a very small one, not, I might add, anywhere near the mass of Sherlockians baying for my blood, but still sizeable in comparison to your intellect. And I will show this to the world.” He smiled nastily, and held a piece of paper out to Lord Roxton.
Lord John turned white. “where did you get this?” he whispered. Moriarty looked smug.
“I have my sources.”
Lord John sat down abruptly. “well then, sir, you have my compliancy.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “Cake, anyone?”
Not actually sure if Lord John actually has a fan club. But if he does, I’m joining it! hope you enjoyed!
Cimorene- Enchanted Forest Chronicles by Patricia C. Wrede
Skye Penderwick- The Penderwick trilogy by Jeanne Birdsall
It wasn’t going too well. I should have known that two such strong-minded females in the same room wouldn’t work.
“So. You’re queen of the Enchanted Forest? Where’s that, I wonder? Somewhere that Jane made up? Is your Best Friend Sabrina Starr?”
“I don’t know who this Sabrina Starr is, but the Enchanted Forest is a very dangerous place. Too dangerous for little girls.
“I’m only a few years younger than you were when you ran away from your responsibilities as a princess!”
“Have you ever been a princess? With that long, blonde, well-kept hair I would imagine you have! Therefore you know that I am probably the most sensible of all of my six sisters!”
“Six sisters? That’s like each of my sisters times two! And while an extra Rosalind would be nice, an extra Jane spouting nonsense about love and Sabrina Starr would be a nightmare!”
“So you see what I had to put up with.”
“Uh, no. Because you ran away from your responsibilities to go live with dragons and marry a king and avoid marrying some other guy altogether. You were afraid of your responsibilities!”
“Take it back.”
“No!”
Just before Cimorene reached for her sword and Skye squared her camouflage hat for a fight, I woke up.
And it’s a bad idea to read two books at once before you fall asleep.
I used to love both of those series!
featuring sub-zero,and scorpion
“it’s my thirteenth birthday and my mother said i can invite any one i want Ricky”
“oh,cool who are you going to invite other than me,Oscar,Carlos,and your homeboy’s at school”Ricky
said
“sub-zero from the Lin-Que,and scorpion from the nether realm/Shirai-Ryu,clan”, i said.
“wait isn’t the Shirai-Ryu dead,bro”,”yea”,i said.
“then,oh wait! scorpion is also from the nether realm.”
“duh”
Characters: Captain Corcoran of the “HMS Pinafore”
Mr. Spock, Captain of the United Federation Starship “Enterprise”
#####################################
Rock Music in background:” God save the Queen!”
Here, Here! Huzzah, Huzzah!
MUSIC:”We are the Champions, we are the Champions….”
This music is quite loud, don’t you agree, sir” Who are these men with hair long and sing the Queen’s song? What manner of music is this?
I believe, Captain, they are called “Queen’. They have been commissioned to play for the young gentleman’s annual nativity party. I am familiar with you, Sir, by your uniform and epaulettes.
I serve the true Queen. I am the Captain of the Pinafore,
I recall the verses from Earth’s audial data files: “And a right good Captain, too.” is the correct refrain.
Who may you be, Sir, dressed as though a thespian for the Strand. Had a run in with a press gang?
I am Spock. I served as first science officer of the UFS Enterprise. I am now Captain of the same.
The ‘Enterprise’! The grandest vessel of Her Majesty’s Navy. The Admiralty re-commissioned her? Are you an Englishman too, then?
No, I am a Vulcan. The ‘Enterprise’ on which I serve is a starship.
Yes, Yes, of course, a stellar ship if ever there was. Did you say Vulcan? Well I, too, am a man of the sciences. If my memory serves me, vulcanizing is to inject a specific natural chemical element, sulfur, into a heated portion of a peculiar tree product to produce a more stable compound: rubber, I believe, it’s called. Yes. Vulcanizing; better than tarring the wood, it may prove. You are a mixture of race yourself; you don’t exactly look pure Anglo- English? Damn that loud music. Pardon me; I rarely ever use the big, big ‘D’ “.
MUSIC: “Who wants to live forever….!”
I am half human.
So seems the full complement of my able seamen, if you know what I imply. What could ever aide them in refraining indulging in the lower passions? As to this new compound, the two different elements combined to make a better whole. .. in the years to come, I predict rubbers will have a lasting change on human activity. Transportation, for easy example.
I am quite aware of transporting. As to other uses, as human behavioral modifiers, I believe they were called “safe” methods, I am afraid they were long out of usage to my day. We have progressed to a far more lasting and dignified procedure, ending the former more primitive propensity toward failure. A simple moment under a Doctor’s tri-corder and …”
MUSIC : Fat Bottomed girls make the worlds go ’round.”
Ah, yes. So many failures. The scourge of the lower Jack- tar of the Navy; our navy physicians can only treat the symptoms.
Fascinating! Your human history, I recall, has entropied into not subduing that most natural of human tendencies: to act illogically between the genders. We have progressed to a better discipline. Humans may yet one day live by reason and logic, not just emotion.
MUSIC: “I want it all. I want it all.”
The band is becoming far too loud for me to hear. You speak different than a commissioned officer. Well-traveled are you, under whose service?
I am. As for the “Enterprise”, warp drive has radically transformed travel from light years to mere moments.
I’d’ say they’re already warped!
Pardon me, Captain. I served with one of the best Captains in the Federation; a legend amongst officers.
Lord Nelson or Ramage?
Kirk, James T.
Kirk, eh. A Dutchman’s word for Church, are you of the established religion?
No I have transcended the more primitive religions of this planet.
Not Protestant! Well, Sir, we have far less in common than appears.
What did you say about my ears?
I said nothing about being in arrears. Are you a follower of popery?
It is an illogical question. Potpourri belongs in the realm of scent producing plants for human environmental pleasure.
Seizure has been the mainstay of piracy for far too long. You mentioned a Popeye. Is he a sailor on your vessel?
It is not logical to continue this misunderstanding to basic elements of conversational reality. “Live long and prosper.”
Yes, let bygones be bygones, is a proper maxim I always say.
MUSIC:”Nothing really matters,.. to me….”
Spock was never the captain. Dude, he was the first officer/ science officer
Hey Bull – fun story. One suggestion. I found all of the asides in paranthasis to be distracting. Each time there is an aside, it halts the forward movement of the story just a little bit. Put them in frequently, and there is frequent halting. And too much halting is distracting. You don’t have to point out your jokes. Either we’ll get them or we won’t, but you don’t want to be in the position of pointing them out. Just my suggestion. I enjoyed the narrator’s attitude towards the party. The minator was a nice surprise.
~Anne
Sure, I loved House of Leaves, but it didn’t mean I wanted a Minotaur as a birthday party guest, let alone in my own home. Yet, there he stood. In my kitchen. All eight-feet (approximate, nobody wanted to get close enough to actually measure, though we were all thinking it), four hooves, two horns, and one gold ring of furry, muscly fantasy.
In the twenty minutes since his unexpected (to me, my parents had accepted his RSVP last week, apparently) arrival the Minotaur had snorted at the cake, spat in the punch, and stamped all over the bean-bag-toss (accidentally, he swore). The most fantastical creature I had ever seen and the worst party guest ever.
Well, until Captain Hook rang the doorbell.
As a child (I could say that, I was officially sixteen now) I had harbored (ha ha, pirate pun) a major crush on the Captain, until Freshman English when we all learned that Mr. Darling and Hook were the same man, and a amalgamation of Wendy’s father issues. Eww. Just eww. So for a second I might have been just a little bit excited (yeah, in that way, sorry if TMI) to see the Captain burst through my front door (bad phrasing), but the excitement was short lived.
Though his postured remained ramrod straight and an abundance of black curls cascaded from his head, it up close it became all too clear he had aged a bit since I last read the book. Grey hairs dotted his moustache. Velvet pants barely hid his old man butt. And a slight, unsexy twitch ruined his otherwise perfect complexion (possible stroke).
After announcing the crocodile had eaten my (very expensive and rare, he assured) birthday present, he made a beeline for my parents liquor cabinet, popped open a glass bottle of rum (I assumed, it was brown colored), and chugged away, calling out repeatedly if anyone smelled toast burning (second indication of possible stroke).
The Minotaur, not to be outdone (or maybe just incensed by the Captain’s scarlet red smoking jacket) dug in his hooves and charged straight at the pirate. Sensing the enemy, the captain dropped his bottle, pulled his sword, screamed something like, “Avast!” and dodged the attack by mere inches. Then it was all horns and daggers, flash and flare, spit and seamen (ha, phrasing, again sorry) until my mother (bless her) opened up the hall wardrobe and by chance the pair fell in (probably landed in Narnia or Hell, or something).
And it’s just as well, because I really didn’t want them in my home. Sometimes, it’s the thought that counts, but more often than not, childhood fantastical creatures are not meant to be invited to birthday parties.
Especially not mine.
Elizabeth Bennet meets Sei Shonagon
Miss Bennet extracted herself from the company of a young man in uniform by begging fatigue and retreated to the far end of the ballroom where chairs had been lined up for guests to sit and chat. She found a spot next to a grand lady who appeared to be of an Oriental persuasion, elegantly attired in an exotic costume of layered silk robes. She wore her long black hair artfully arranged down her back. Her makeup was heavy as to render her complexion as white as a sheet of paper and her eyebrows had been shorn, then re-applied with what looked to be boot-black approximately two and half inches above the ridge of her brow, turning the woman’s grave expression into one of comedic shock.
The seats on either side of the woman where the only ones not taken by other members of the party, for the woman’s costume took up the space for five, maybe six people. It was an extraordinary mass of fabric and Elizabeth was quite diverted wondering how lady managed walk under the weight of them. Still, unimpressed by the extravagant display of inconsideration , Elizabeth decided to teach the woman some manners. So she used the tip of her fan to lift the woman’s ridiculous sleeves off the chair to the farthest right and planted herself there without further ado. The woman beside Elizabeth shifted in her seat and her silk sleeves hissed as she drew them in closer to her person and she once again arrange herself as artfully as a doll in a display case.
After a short period of tense silence, the woman made some sort of grand pronouncement, in a language that was not English. Although Elizabeth did not understand her words, the tone was entirely rude. The woman was glaring at her with a bright intensity that rivaled a lamp flame.
Elizabeth tried, but failed to hold back short burst of merry giggles. If anything, the other woman’s expression became more hateful. She launched into a tirade in her strange foreign tongue. Although Elizabeth did not ken a single word of it, she was reasonable certain she knew what was being said, for the woman’s long winded pronouncements had the tone of a bitter matronly woman of means whose sensibilities have been offended to the highest degree. The very juxtaposition of such a serious, scornful tone and those silly eyebrows completely undid all semblance of Miss Bennet’s self control and had her laughing loudly and at length.
Finally fed up, the woman departed in a huff. Her robes were much more elegant when she walked, although they were so voluminous that the orchestra had to stop their music and the dance floor had to be partially cleared to let her pass.
“I see you met Lady Shonagon.” Young Miss Valor told her with a slight air of puzzlement. “I was so certain you and she would get along famously that I invited you both you could meet one another.”
Characters:
Edward Cullen (Twilight series)
Jacob Black (Twilight series)
I looked out amongst my party guests – people were putting Buggles on their fingers and pretending to be witches, random chatter & laughter amongst small groups of people, and the high afternoon sun, completing this sunny picture.
“Thanks for throwing this little shindig”, said Jacob Black, as he stood before me shirtless and radiating heat.
“Thanks for coming”, I responded. I had gotten semi-used to seeing Jacob wearing just his shorts, as I knew he had to turn into a huge wolf at random times. So inconvenient, I thought.
“Yeah, too bad you have that human lighthouse blinding everyone”, Jacob muttered as he turned to look at Edward Cullen. Since the sun was out, it was to be expected that Edward’s vampire skin would be sparkling like a thousand diamonds. Pretty, the first time you see it, but distracting and blinding during the spring and summer.
Having the ability to read people’s minds, Edward went over and picked up his jacket from a chair and put it on with a stylish flair. If werewolves were warm and chummy, vampires were cold and detached. I knew the two species, races, tribes (whatever) didn’t mesh well, but I didn’t want to exclude anyone from my party as well. Let them deal with it, I thought.
“Look at him. Thinks he’s so cool reading our minds and acting all… cool” sneered Jacob as his arm muscles twitched.
“He’s just being polite. I’m sure even he forgets about the skin sparkling thing” I reasoned.
“Yeah, look at him all smug….”. Jacob wasn’t listening. This was a bad turn.
I thought of directing Jacob to another part of the yard, but I figured that was just prolonging the inevitable. So I saw an opportunity to amend things between the two, and spend some time getting to know each other and realize that they’re both human. Well, you know what I mean.
“Come on. You guys need to get oer this shit. Just come over with me and chill”, I offered.
Jacob knew the tension between him and Edward was off-putting to us, his friends. So he grudgingly followed me over to Edward, heavy breathing and all.
“Thanks for covering up your blinding radiance”, Jacob said to Edward. A compliment and a jab. God, Jacob.
“Sorry about that. Sometimes I forget that we get sun here in the pacific northwest”, Edward responded. Gentlemanly, as always. Sometimes I wondered if Edward didn’t spend all night taking out his frustration towards Jacob on a mountain side. He has to do something during those sleepless nights.
“See any food here that doesn’t suite your fancy?” Jacob asked Edward with a mixture of disgust and jeer.
“I already hunted today; didn’t want to come tempted”, said Edward.
“You and your blood-sucking buddies don’t ever happen to hunt wolves, do ya?” asked Jacob, as he puffed up his chest slightly.
“No. We prefer bears and mountain lions – you know, things that can put up a fight?”, responded Edward with the slightest hint of a grin.
Sensing the oncoming retaliation (verbal or physical), I stepped between the two, facing Jacob with my hands between the two. But Jacob was gone; only Edward’s back was facing me. As I registered this oddity, I felt a swoosh go past one side of me. Edward had read Jacob’s mind and saw Jacob’s attack, so he beat him to it and punched him clear across the 50-foot yard. Luckily, no one had been in the way.
I let out a big sigh, grabbed my Shirley Temple, and walked heavily back inside my house to fetch a pen and piece of paper. This wasn’t the first time this happened at my house (can you imagine the state of the rest of the town?); whenever Jacob & Edward got into a brawl, nothing could stop them. You just had to let them go at it, and give them a list of things they broke, so that the Cullens could replace it all.
“Oh well”, I thought, “I’ve been wanting to get a new deck anyways”. Maybe I should invite these two over more often when I need furniture replaced.
Nosferatu Meets Richard Bates
“I…I’d like to k-k-kiss her”, he drooled down the red drapes of his robe. “Go ahead” both my parents said enthusiastically. He floated towards me, but Bates stepped in to stop him.
“No not yet!”
“W-w-why should you care?”
“I want her to meet my mother first”
“How s-silly you are.”
Nosferatu was turning a darker crimson. He wasn’t used to fighting with a person.
“I have an idea”, my father said brightly. “Bates you own a motel kind of far from here?”
“Yes, I do”, said the nerdy looking Bates.
“Well after the party, take Nos and her there, and then you can both do your thing.”
“Mother”, I commented, “This was a really novel idea for a surprise party. Did you think it all up on your own?” She wouldn’t look me in the eyes.
“Hey guys, if you off me, you will lose your number one fan. Besides how can you let yourselves be manipulated by a couple of weaklings like my parents. Nos you take my dad, I know you aren’t particular. Bates you take my mom to meet yours, she is in pretty good shape. In the meantime I will go fetch all the prettiest people I hate the most, and we can have an encore back here. Sound good?”
“W-well….” Nos slobbered and wiped his face with the back of his hand.
“Mother would enjoy more visitors”, Bates said slowly.
“What a wonderful surprise mom and dad! By the way, where do you keep the insurance papers?”
That was pretty funny! What a wild twist. It was so short – you could use some words to include, perhaps, some internal dialogue on the part of the narrator to find out why he/she was so willing to off his/her parents. I was interested in the line about the mother not looking in the narrator’s eyes and wondered about their relationship. Nice portrayals.
~Anne
“I uh…forgive me for being rude, but shouldn’t there be more people around? I thought you said it was your birthday.” Corky smiled a bit as he looked around the deserted hotel dining room. I looked up from my plate and looked around myself; crystal chandeliers, still life paintings hanging on the creme-colored walls, and no other diners.
“No, not really,” I take another bite. “I like being alone.”
Corky nodded and took a sip of his drink.
“Understandable. I like the quiet myself. I don’t know why I’m making such a stink out’ve it.”
I shrugged. “So how’d you like the show?” he asked. “I hope it wasn’t too bad.”
“Actually, I didn’t get to see it.”
“Oh, no. Really?”
“Yeah. My mom had gotten me a ticket as a present. Just my luck, my car breaks down and I have to spend most of the night getting everything back on track.”
“Oh, so actually meeting with me and having some grub isn’t your dream come true?”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong, this is cool. I mean, I’ve seen you on Carson every time you’ve been on, but I don’t get too bug-eyed over celebrities.” From under the table came a muffled voice:
“You don’t, huh?”
A smile came over my face before I could stop it.
“You’ve got him with you, don’t you?”
The muffled voice spoke again,
“Sure, kid. He may be a knucklehead, but he always brings along the starpower!”
Corky shrugged.
“I guess he wants to come out and wish you a happy birthday.”
I watched as he reached under the table and wrestled with the dummy. Fat’s large rolling eyes were the first thing that popped above the tablecloth. Corky sat him on the table.
“S’goin on kid?” Fats said. “I heard you missed the show tonight. Don’t worry though, I guaran-fucking-tee you didn’t miss a thing. Tonight was an off night.”
My smile grew wider. You couldn’t see Corky’s lips move for anything.
“An off night? No way, man,” I said. Corky perked up as if he was going to speak as himself, but then Fats rolled on through.
”Oh yeah, kid. I mean, I was on fire but Cork here was off in La-La Land. He’s been thinkin’ an awful lot about some girl. Peg Winter or somethin’ like—.”
“Snow,” Corky said quickly. His forehead was shiny in the dim light.
Fats stopped and rolled his eyes to the man.
“What was that, Cork?”
“Snow. Peggy Ann Snow.”
Fats’ eyebrows went up.
“See how touchy?”
“Hey, don’t be so rough on him, Fats. He might leave you behind.”
“I don’t think so. Schmucko knows better than that? Right?”
He turned his head to Corky, who was now pouring sweat and staring off into space. “Right?” the dummy asked louder. Corky snapped to and nodded.
Fats turned back to me and I took a sip of my drink. My throat was suddenly dry. The dummy blinked. “Oh, yeah, almost forgot. Happy birthday.”
Shawn Spencer – Psych
Larry David- Curb Your Enthusiasm
I walked into the room to see Shawn eating my favorite cookies fresh out of the oven. He motioned me to approach.
“Hey what’s up Val Muscrat?”
“Where’s your sidekick Gus?”
“Cleaning his collection of pet rocks. Sad man really, he needs to get out more.”
I smile and shake my head at him and teasingly ask him how are the cookies. I noticed when I approached that he had quite a few of them.
“They’re sunshine in my mouth,” he said eating yet another cookie.
Just then I look over to my left to see Larry looking at a painting hanging above the fireplace. He had a look of disgust on his face. We said our hellos to each other when I had to ask why the face. He shrugged and tilted his head before responding.
In a loud, whiny voice he finally replied, “Well, besides this gaudy painting you picked Shawn Spencer and me. Really? What’s he bring to the table but a few sarcastic comments and no gift?”
I looked back to see Shawn approaching clearly ready for a confrontation. He walked over quickly clearly ready for the confrontation. With confidence Shawn replied,”My witty commentary is one gift I bring to my friend here Shirly McCurtain.
“Yeah, sure keep inhaling those cookies and do us all a favor so we can celebrate our friends birthday.”
I smiled as I looked back and forth at Shawn and Larry. This argument was gift enough! Shawn and Larry began to argue louder drawing attention to themselves. The other guests now were beginning to form a circle around us.
“You really think she wants that tee shirt from her favorite winery? Come on bring your A game, man”
Larry clearly was confused by Shawn knowing what was in the wrapped box he brought now sitting on the table behind us. For a few seconds he looked back and forth from the box to Shawn.
Larry began to stutter, “Well, I think you should bring something someone will use. A useful gift if you will.”
“Mediocre at best sir, not as useful as this! Shawn exclaimed. From his back pocket Shawn presented me with a charm bracelet.
“You can afford that huh?” Larry now had his arms crossed.
“No Gus can, God bless that generous silly man.”
I finally interrupted as my mother gave me that you’ve done it now look. I thanked them both for coming. To my dismay Shawn pulled me in for a hug and then forced Larry in on it.
“Well, she wanted ME more, he said and pulled away to join the others at the table.
Hi Laura – I had a little trouble following the argument between the two characters, which didn’t seem to lead to a climax. In the last sentence, I wasn’t sure who was the speaker. I would suggest thta you take this story and try writing it from a third person point of view and see if it gives you more creative license regarding the interactions between the three of them. I find that sometimes first person can be limiting. Just a thought.
~Anne
A good get even story. Your dialogue is believeable. the two stepsisters were good. Wondering how it could be pared down to 500 words (currently 672 words). Not easy.
~Anne
Anita Blake – The Anita Blake Vampire Hunter Series
Melinda Gordon – Ghost Whisperer Series
“Glad you could make it this time.” My step-sister Natalie said. We were sitting in the dining room of the house I was raised in. The beautiful oak table held twelve but only six people were present.
“Well, I almost didn’t. Honestly I have no idea why I came.” I said while looking down at the slice of cake in front of me. My mother had died about two months earlier and I hadn’t seen the reason in attending a birthday party where she wouldn’t even be there. Being at college had taken most of my adult time and I had not been anywhere near this place when Natalie had called to tell me that Mom had passed away. I hadn’t even known she was sick.
I had made it to the funeral and then to the meeting with Mom’s attorney, Mr. Wildblood, where I had been informed that I had been disinherited from everything. That was the day my sister became a millionaire.
“Well unlike you, Mother always remembered birthdays and holidays.” She said giving me a smug look. “She probably had panned this birthday party for you right before she died. I didn’t think you actually wanted to come so I almost canceled the entire thing. Happy twenty-eighth birthday.”
“Well it wasn’t from lack of trying.” Mr. Wildblood chimed in. He gave Natalie a hard stare and something passed between them. “Happy Birthday Josie.”
As if the party wasn’t already on the awkward side, two of my favorite childhood characters were also sitting at the table with me. Apparently my mother had gone out of her way to make this special for me. To my right sat Melinda Gordon and on my left sat Anita Blake. Both women seemed a bit tense and neither had spoken a word since they had arrived.
“Josie, I need to tell you something.” Melinda began in that sweet innocent voice I had come to adore from the episodes of “Ghost Whisperer” I had watched. “I have a gift; I can see and speak to the dead.”
Before I could respond, Anita beat me to it. “You call what you can do a gift?” She laughed so loud that I was embarrassed for Melinda. Now they had everyone at the table’s attention.
I could see tears forming in Melinda’s eyes. “Yes I call it a gift because that’s what it is. I help people. Had it not been for my gift, this party would never have happened. But Mrs. Palmer came to me a month ago and asked me to send out these birthday invitations to all the people you see here tonight. You couldn’t have done this Anita.”
The lights flickered above the table and made my heart race in my chest. I could hear my own heart pounding in my ears. Was my Mom really here?
“So Mother didn’t set this up before she died. What the hell is going on here David?” Natalie yelled before standing up and glaring at the attorney.
“The thing is Josie; your mother didn’t actually disinherit you from anything. The entire estate goes to you.” Melinda continued.
“This is bullshit. I want all of you out of my goddamn house.” Natalie said pointing to the front door. “I’m the one who took care of Mother while she was at college living the party life. She rewarded me by giving me everything. To hell with Josie.”
She folded her arms across her chest and literally pouted like a two year old.
Anita finished the last of her cake and smiled. “Ready to see my gift? I may not be able to talk to spirits like Mrs. Perfect here but I can most definitely raise your mom from her grave and let her speak her mind. Ready Mr. Wildblood? I think Josie’s mother would probably like to rewrite that will. Seems like Natalie did a little altering of paperwork and its time we correct that. Oh and Happy Birthday Josie. Looks like this is all yours after all”
“Surprise is Right.”
It’s my 19th birthday today and my parents decided that they were going to take me out for dinner. When we entered through the doors of the restaurant, every one stood to their feet and shouted “Surprise.” The restaurant was filed with talking and laughter. All the guests there were family members. What did my parents do? Rent the entire restaurant ? I asked my self. A smile broke across my face as I met the eyes for my family members. I noticed Uncle David and my grandfather were at opposite ends of the room.
“Hay dad, How did you get them both to be in the same place at the same time? I asked suprised.
“Well, it was not easy but, they wanted to be hear for you. They said they are proud of you for passing your state exam for your nursing class. They both wanted to come so I made them promise there would be no problems between them during the dinner.”
“Wow, I did not think that was possible to get them together.” Mom and I said at the same time then laughed at each other.
Halfway through dinner, I asked Uncle David how his two boys were doing. He told me that Hunter was doing great and playing baseball for the first time. Though Jonathan, is acting out in school. Grandfather cut into the conversation at that point. “Like father like son. You acted out in school at his age. I remember, I was called in to that school so many times. You truly were the definition of Satin back then and you still are today.” He said sourly and bitter. Before I knew it Uncle David and my grandfather were arguing.
Before I knew it, Uncle David ad Grandfather were punching and pushing each other. Grandfather pushed Uncle David into a cart and crashed to the floor with the food trays and pitchers of cold beverages. It took two of the staff members plus two of my uncles to pull them off one another.
By the end of the fight we were all kicked out of the restaurant, and no one was able to finish eating their meals. Most of our family drove to my parents house; where we were able to order pizza for every one and the evening started to become enjoyable and more of a party rather then a night out at a fancy restaurant. I did not like fancy restaurant anyway. Thats not my style; I rather just stay home and order pizza any day.
– Sanbornd
P.S
This is my first time posting my writing prompt response. I have been working on other writers prompts in my english class. Pleas criticize me otherwise I am unable to improve my ringing skills. Thanks you for taking you rime to read my story.
Sanbornd
Welcome to the prompts. Nice job with your first submission. I found this prompt to be very difficult and I am sure you have discovered. I think you did a good job telling the story and describing the scene.
I have found in my life I have been critiqued at every stage. I used to take the comments personally until I realized that old phrase is true. “Those who can, do. Those who can’t do, teach. Those who can’t teach, go into politics and those who aren’t political, critique.” I am not trying to imply anything about anyone who is a doer, teacher or politician. Just saying that I am a veteran writer of 6 months experience who has some critiques so please take the following with a grain of salt.
You wrote 426 words so you have 74 words left over. Most everyone struggles getting their story down to 500 words. In your descriptions and dialogue, I totally got everything you wrote and did not have to re-read the post to get your message. That is very good.
You could have spent more time/words detailing the restaurant or the fight scene or the beginning of the conflict between the Uncle and the grandfather. Be bold when you add to the scene, think past the normal and first thoughts and go deeper. Insert something different, wild or bold into the scene. Then your character can react to the conflict and there you will find good fiction.
Before I write a post, I select one goal or exercise of my writing to work on. I might be focusing on dialogue, description, theme or mood. I try to not waste any prompt and if one of the readers’ comments on what my goal was that is great. But I know at the end of the prompt if I achieved my goal or not.
Hope this helps. I have read several books on writing and in the last year since I have started writing. I am old so I feel that I am trying to catch up to others who are my age but have over 20 years of experience. I salute you for getting started at a early age. You may feel that you don’t have a wealth of life experience yet but that is ok. Work on your craft now and the experiences will come. In the end you will be much better off than someone like me who has lots of different life experiences but am now learning how to translate that to words.
I have found a great blog/web site that you might want to check out. http://www.thecrossovertest.com
It is maintained by one of the contributors of the writing prompts. It might be helpful or maybe not.
Keep up the great work!
Hi Sanbornd – welcome to the group. Our intent here is to improve our writing. We all receive critiques – and the purpose is to help us improve, not to make us feel bad. Relax, have fun with it, and trust that we’re all in it for the same purpose – to become great wirters. Nice job on the story.
~Anne
Seeing Aaron Hotchner walk into my birthday party was an amazing experience. I swooned, I grinned, I felt happier and luckier than anyone else in the world.
Then that doorbell rang again, and when I opened it, my heart dropped straight to my toes.
“Oh god.” I murmur.
“You’re Alex?” He asked.
I nod, speechless.
“Aye. I thought so.” He nods, his light Irish brogue sending chills down my spine. He walks straight in past me.
I turn just in time to see Hotch pull a gun from his boot.
“Rennie Shaw, put your hands behind your head.” He sounds awfully calm for having discovered the FBI’s Most Wanted man at a birthday party.
I groan. This is really not going to end well. Rennie glares at my startled mother. “You invited me to a party with an FBI agent?” He snaps. He looks back at Hotch. “You know I won’t do that.”
“Doesn’t hurt to try. I’ve read y o ur file, Rennie- you’re not a stupid man. I hoped you’d gotten smarter. You can’t run forever.”
“I can run longer than you. I can hide anywhere.” Rennie answered.
He was right. This was really going to end well. “Hotch, he’s innocent!” I shout, desperate to cut into the staredown going on. “There’s another gang! Rennie’s a good guy!”
Rennie glances at me. I can almost feel him using his Pack senses to test me out. I wonder what my DNA and smell tells him. “He will not believe you.”
I glance at Hotch. He probably won’t.
“Look, please, it’s my birthday. Rennie, Hotch, save it or take it outside. I love you both, but Jesus! Leave the workplace at work.” I snap.
“He’s a killer.” Hotch snaps. ” I won’t let him go.”
“Rennie, tell me truthfully: when was the last time you killed a human?” I ask.
Rennie glares at me. “The Civil War.” He snaps.
“We have video footage of him murdering and burning a young woman.”
“She wasn’t human anymore. Right, Rennie?”
“Aye.” Rennie looks bored. “Look, Agent, it’s this kid’s birthday. Why the hell did you bring a gun, anyway? Even I didn’t.”
Hotch looks a little guilty.
“IF you want to arrest me, I see no reason to run- I have and will escape fro many jail you put me in. But please, wait until this kid has a good birthday.”
Hotch lowers the gun.
Rennie has officially impressed me. I didn’t think he’d be able to diffuse the situation without violence.
Well, if Mom had invited Hex, that would be so different.
I thank my lucky stars and spend the rest of the evening grilling Rennie’s Pack Memory for information about the universe.
*from any jail you put me in.
Sorry, didn’t catch that before I posted.
Fun dialogue between the two characters. I was hoping for something more climatic at the end.
~Anne
“Great surprise party, Mom.” I said.
“I’m glad you approve. I saved the best for last. Here’s my surprise.” Mom stepped aside to reveal two conspicuous characters standing behind her; one black-leather clad from head to toe, the other decked out completely in pink satin fluff.
“I’d like you to meet Selene… Selene darling, what’s your last name?” Selene’s beautiful features scrunched up like she might squish my provincial mother like a bug.
“Never mind Mom, I know who she is.” I turned toward the Death Dealer, staring in disbelief. I extended my hand for a shake. “My goodness, this is an honor. I…”
The satin clad girl pushed in front of me blocking my introduction. “Pish posh, don’t be so fawning, darling Amy. It’s not befitting a lady.” She put her arm around me.
“And this is Emma Woodhouse of Hartfield.” Mom said.
Emma beamed at me. “Um, nice to meet you Em, er, Miss Woodhouse. Or is it Mrs. Knightley?” I fumbled, not sure if I was addressing first or third act Emma.
She chuckled. “Don’t be ridiculous! Why ever would you address me as Mrs. Knightley?” Her smile faltered. “Never mind that. You’re mother told me, 27 years old and not a husband to be found. We really must remedy that.” Emma took my arm in hers and attempted to lead me away.
“Uh, hold on there Emma. I don’t need you to find me a husband. Let’s just enjoy the party.”
“I suppose we should. But don’t forget that time is of the essence and you’re not getting any younger, dear. I dare say you’re rapidly approaching spinsterhood. Don’t you agree, Selene?”
“I don’t.” Selene offered pointedly. “Match-making is a childish pursuit and a dangerous one. Love just happens, to intercede in the process is to invite catastrophe. Where I’m from they believe in arranged marriages. I’ve seen good people killed over it. I’ve killed over it.”
Every conversation in the room had hushed as people migrated over.
“I’m not sure I understand what you mean. You’re dialect is so rustic and different from my own. I apologize for my more genteel vocabulary.”
“What I mean is that if you try to push Amy into something that she has no desire to participate in, I think it’s within her right to end you. I speak plainly because I have neither the time nor the inkling to entertain you with frilly talk. But please, don’t let me stop you from babbling on like a ninny.”
“Oh. Well, I meant no harm. I only sought to amuse myself and save Amy from an unfulfilled and lonely life.” Emma mindlessly touched the cameo at her throat.
I remember the rest of the evening in bits and pieces, like people do after an automobile accident. I remember a blur of black leather, fast as lightening; tufts of satin, velvet and taffeta flying around; and blood. Now I’m sitting here trying to figure out what the hell just happened.
An amusing combination of characters. It would be fun to see how it turned out.
~Anne
Interesting characters. I, too, want to know what happened!
Good read.
Thanks!
I didn’t think any further ahead. But now I’m curious myself. Maybe I’ll expand my story..
“Mom, this is the best birthday party ever!”
Little Brendan just turned eleven years old. His parents wanted to make this birthday celebration a special one. Their suburban backyard is filled with a number of gaming booths, an inflatable plastic ball pool, water slides, and the works. They also hired two of Brendan’s favorite cartoon characters, Spongebob and Arnold from Hey Arnold!, to entertain the crowd.
“Arnold, is your suit itchy? Cuz my suits really itchy today. God, my ass is on fire”
“My suit feels fine just smells a little funny, and don’t call me Arnold. I told you to call me by my real name when no ones around.”
“Okay.”
At this moment, Spongebob and Arnold notice Brendan’s mother perusing through the crowd. The two jump out of their corner and begin engaging the passerbys flailing their arms and legs in animated gestures. The kids try to avoid eye contact. The mother makes her way towards them.
“You two come with me.”
She takes them back behind a row of large bushes.”
“What the fuck are you two doing? Half the time I just see you slouching and hiding between the game booths!”
“I’m sorry miss Steinberg. It’s just that my colleague here has been having some technical difficulties with his suit and…”
“Colleague? Who the fuck do you think you are? I don’t give a shit! Get it together!”
Mrs. Steinberg begins to walk away.
“Phew, close call aye Arnold?”
Arnold doesn’t respond. Walking out of the bush, they realize Mrs. Steinberg still has her eyes on them from across the yard. They try to make an effort to look friendly. It’s not much of an effort. They’re just standing in place rotating and moving their pelvis around. The mother stares in disgust but decides it’s not worth her time and walks away to help prepare the birthday cake.
“Hey Arnold I think she gave up on us. Sweeeet.”
The two relax and retreat into their corner. They stand silently for a while. The only sound you hear is Spongebob scratching. Then.
“I think it’s because the fabric was rubbing up against my asshole.”
Arnold face rearranges into a look of utter disgust.
“You mean you’re not wearing any pants in there?”
Nonchalantly, “I never wear clothes during the summer.”
“You know they barely wash these suits right? And you’re sharing it with bunch of guys.”
“Fine by me.”
Suddenly, a serious look comes over Arnolds face.
“Wait, what did you wear to the Henderson’s party last week?”
“Let me see. Hmm. Wait! I was Arnold.”
“What?! You mean you got your sweaty balls all over this suit you cock sucking, inconsiderate, mother…”
“Woah woah woah! Come on it’s not a big deal. Relax ARNOLD.”
At this moment, the mother begins to roll out the cake and everyone chimes in singing happy birthday. They’re all smiles. But suddenly a loud noise silences the singing as a number of game booths go crashing down. Spongebob and Arnold are going at it. The kids stare in horror. Arnold is the first to get up from the debris. Noticing the stares, he looks around. Freezes. Fuck it. Letting out a rapturous cry Arnold charges at Spongebob who’s just getting up and doesn’t have time to react. Spongebob goes flying through the air, souring towards the crowd of people and lands, plop! right on his stomach on top of the birthday cake. Brendons looks down and screams in horror at the sight of Spongbob’s scratched up, sweaty, grotesque ass protruding through the back of the suit. All the kids chime in.
Hey John. These guys were sure losers! Convincingly so. I felt bad for the mother. She should have fired their sorry butts before it got to the point it did – but then we’d have no story!
~Anne
When your favorite characters don’t get along, it could ruin a very special birthday dinner your retired parents decided to throw for you as a thank you for being an amazing daughter to them all those years. That’s exactly what happened to me on my twenty-first birthday, four years after I graduated from high school. The restaurant my parents chose was my favorite restaurant, even as a child: Downstairs at Eric’s. It wasn’t an expensive restaurant, but the food was amazing. My parents led me inside, a blindfold covering my eyes. “We have a special surprise for you,” they both whispered eagerly, “something that we both know you’ll enjoy much.” They removed the blindfold after a minute of staggering around the restaurant.
Oh.
My.
Gosh.
Four and Sam. The Four from Divergent and The Sam from Wolves of Mercy Falls. Standing right in front of me. I couldn’t believe it. I suppressed the girly scream that was sure to come and took a seat in front of them, grinning like an idiot. “Hi.” I whispered.
“Hey. I’m Sam.” He smiled, his unusual yellow eyes glittering under the florescent lighting.
“And I’m Four. Pleased to meet you.” I looked his way and giggled.
“Four? What an… unusual name.” Sam murmured absentmindedly to himself, his eyes distant.
“And Sam… what a plain name.” He murmured back in reply.
“What do you do for a living, Four?” Sam asked as my mother took a seat.
“I was in the process of saving my city. What about you, wolf boy?”
“I was in the process of saving my girlfriend who has turned into a wolf while I’m human.”
“How… noble of you. Very… Dauntless.” Four picked up the menu and flipped through the selections.
“How brave of you.”
“More brave than you’d ever be.”
“Is that a challenge?” Sam rose to his feet, his chair scraping loudly against the floor.
“Ah, a challenge. I love challenges.” Four rose to his feet as well, cracking his knuckles. “I’ve been tried to fight, you know. How much do you know, wolf boy?”
“Enough to-” I cut him off short by the scraping of my chair.
“Boys, please! This is my birthday dinner. We’re supposed to be enjoying each other’s company, not pounding faces in.” My mother was looking rather uncomfortable in the situation. My father had even moved to a different table, before they had even said a word.
“I can’t be in the same room as him. Sorry.” Four walked out of the restaurant, with one final look at Sam.
“Same here. Plus, I’ve gotta save my girlfriend. Sorry.” He smiled sheepishly and walked out the door while I slumped in my seat.
“Yeah. A very happy birthday to me.” I sighed.
Good job. It might be funny for the mother to say the “Boys, please” line, as that sounds like a mother embarassing her kid. If you spent less time in the beginning describing the restaurant, which isn’t critical to the story, you would have had more to work with at the end. just a thought.
~Anne
The bickering was done well. Was expecting more punch, so to speak, at the end.
“Birthday Surprise”
A Rett Bonneville Short Story
By Anne M. Freeman
We’d finished one of my grandmother’s famous five-course dinners, complete with a different wine with each course, and were now chatting and waiting for dessert, my birthday cake, which would be some fantasmic version of carrot cake with cream cheese icing. Weights hung off my eyelids, the result of food, wine, and the previous night of sex with my long-distance Irish lover who was performing in NYC tonight
Formal dinners at Grand-Mere’s always include the latest single climbing-the-ladder specimen from her private bank. This evening’s version was attractive in a dark way. He wore a well-cut grey suit, well cut dark hair, and had well-practiced dark eyes. In contrast, my lover was red-haired, freckled, and impish, but had boatload of Irish charm that melted off my cloths.
I sat across from the dark one during dinner, finding excuses not to look into his eyes. At the moment, however, I couldn’t keep mine open. Maybe I’d close them for just a moment …
Rett sat on a golden thrown. Yosemite Sam removed his great 11-gallon hat and bowed before her, his great red mustaches gathering up dust from the floor. When he arose, Rett held out her hand for a kiss. Sam closed his eyes and puckered up. As his lips neared her hand, someone shoved Sam’s 11-gallon hat over his tiny body. The culprit was sleek, grey, and mischievous. Bugs Bunny!
“Ahhh, what’s up, Rett?” he asked, chomping a carrot while leaning on the top of Sam’s head.
“Well, I’m not quite sure!” Rett replied with concern.
“Let’s ditch the shrimp. A classy gal like you needs someone charming and debon-hare.” Bugs wiggled one eyebrow at her.
“Ooooo! Say your prayers, ya moth-eaten varmint!” growled Sam. His shaking little body popped out of his hat with six-shooters blaring. Sam chased Bugs around the cake, the barrage of bullets creating puffs of smoke.
Bugs hopped by Rett, paused in mid-air, kissed her cheek, climbed up a ladder that suddenly appeared, and swan dived into the middle of a great carrot cake, forming a rabbit hole in the midst of the burning candles.
Having recovered his pride, Sam walked over to Rett’s thrown and asked, “Would you like to take a ride, little lady?”
Rett took Sam’s hand and stepped down from her thrown and into his little row boat.
Bugs popped up his icing-globbed head, chomping on his carrot. “Well,” he waxed philosophically. “A carrot cake in hand is better than two sticks of dynamite in the holsters.” He raised one eyebrow and stopped chewing.
KAPOW!!! Yosemite Sam sailed off into the night …
I awoke to a crown of relighting trick candles smoking and popping in front of me and calls for a wish. I sucked in some breath and leaned towards the cake, ready to blow, when I felt a funny tingle on my cheek. I touched my hand to my cheek, and suddenly looked up at the dark one. He wore a half-smile and slowly lifted one eyebrow. I blew.
###
Good point, Icabu: Yosemite Sam and Bugs Bunny are created and owned by Warner Brothers Animation.
~Anne
Great story, Anne. Loved how Sam and Bugs mirrored the men at her party.
Wonderful read.
Thanks, Icabu! It was fun to write.
~Anne
I like how it went from obviously erotic to full on comedy and then back to erotic. Really stood out in the middle with bugs and yosemite.
While the entire piece is through the eyes of the narrator, what did I learn of her? Not much, just that she’s at grandmum’s house and has an animated date. Maybe a little more about who, why, and so forth for the narrator?
Great Job Anne. Thanks for exploring that side of Rett’s life in a very tasteful manner. Love the line “melted off my clothes.” Much more appropriate than “She spent the night snapping his Irish bean.”
I have to disagree with danmcgrath a little. I got it about where she was and why she was there. Her birthday party following a suprise birthday meeting with her friend. At least that is what I think you were saying but I can understand his confusion and I got a little lost in the back and forth between buggs and sam. Not a big deal.
Good points, too, Rob. I always expand the stories to post on my blog, and will work on a bit more information about Rett and strengthening the dream sequence. Oh, and we won’t be serving snap beans for dinner. 🙂
~Anne
I see your point. I’ve been writing this character every week for a while now, and forget that folks haven’t always read the other stories. Thanks, Dan.
~Anne
Sam and Dean Winchester are characters from the TV show Supernatural
………………………………………
Have you ever seen someone dig up the bones of a murder victim in the middle of your birthday party? I have and let me tell you that the wonder of having Sam and Dean Winchester salt and burn the bones of a two hundred old man whose ghost was terrorizing my birthday party was quite the sight to behold. Mind you what was more surprising is how much the two brothers bickered like small children.
Dean, a bit shorter than his brother Sam, is quite the drinking man. He was attempting a single handed assault on my father’s wet bar on his lonesome when Sam gave him a backhanded sort of insult about not causing a scene at a party. Before long they were rolling around on the floor trading punches. My father was about halfway to the phone when the apparition appeared, which went completely unnoticed by the two brothers who were beating the crap out of each other on my grandmother’s oak dining room table that she was given as a wedding present.
“STOP!” Dean screamed.
“No! You stop all your drinking, womanizing, and leave the kid’s sister alone! I want her for myself!” Sam shouted back.
“You ALWAYS GO FOR the Blondes!” Dean screamed back.
“DAD, is that a ghost?” I asked my dad as I pointed out the translucent apparition that was hovering behind him carrying what appeared to be an 1860 Model Union Cavalry Sabre made by the Ames company.
“Yes son! Notice the sabre?” my dad shouted back.
“Of course, 1860 model?”
“Definitely, the sweep of the blade gives it away. You might want to get your mother upstairs, I do believe this thing aims to stick me,” Dad shouted back.
The shouting about the cavalry sabre and the ghost drew the brother’s attention away from each other long enough for them to leap into action. Well, a semblance of action, as they both tripped over each other and fell flat on their faces. “Sir, run for it! Get inside a circle of salt!” Dean screamed as he attempted to extract himself from Sam.
“DEAN, get your knee off my liver!” Sam shouted.
“Sorry!” Dean shouted back as they separated and ran for the door. I looked at my father, he looked at me, we then both looked at the ghost who sort of stood there and stared at us, and finally my mother broke the silence.
“Hello sir, would you like some cake?” my mother asked.
“Mum, it is a ghost,” I said as I realized my mother’s vision was so bad she probably couldn’t even count her own fingers.
The ghost surprised everyone by saying, “If you all wouldn’t mind, I was just trying to sleep, when those two brothers woke me with all their shouting.”
“Sorry about that,” I replied.
“Well do………………….aaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrggggh,” the ghost screamed as it burst into an explosion of flames. Dean and Sam Winchester walked back in and examined their handiwork as my father and I stared disbelievingly out the window at the grave they had dug in must a few moments. The shallow hole in our front yard was billowing out black smoke and fire.
“What in world did you two do?” my father asked.
“We dug up the ghost’s bones, salted them, and then burned them to kill the ghost,” Same replied.
“He seemed quite friendly,” my mother said back in confusion.
“I think I’ll get the table set,” I muttered in confusion as Sam and Dean gave each other a selection of fist bumps, butt grabs, and other displays of masculine dominance at their slaying of the friendly ghost. Luckily for everyone we were spared them staying the entire night as an FBI SWAT team blew down the front door of our house twenty minutes later only to find that the brothers had left five minutes before.
I liked that you didn’t spend a lot of time getting into the heart of the story. the ghost was neat. The story went a bit over the 500 words. (644). This was a difficult prompt to get in around 500 words. I think we all struggled with it.
~Anne
I don’t think I’ve ever come in under 500. Going to have to start writing these things earlier in the week and wielding my editorial axe a bit more fiercely, rather than posting the first thing that comes to mind after 3 scotch and sodas.
I find I have to write the story, and then go back afterwards to start hacking away.
~Anne
I do the same thing. It’s really hard to come in under 500 words. So I go back and look for things I can cut away. I think it actually makes my writing tighter. I get rid of unnecessary adverbs and adjectives and redundancies. It’s a helpful exercise.
A birthday to remember. Enjoyed the story.
🙂 thanks!
Good job and good action scene. I am not familiar with these two characters so I could not appreciate their banter but I am sure you represented them well.
It is very tough to keep things at the 500 word limit. I am not sure if others find that my writing is better but I find that I like the challenge of staying within the limit and I have found that I can get my story down and understandable with minimal effort if I start with a idea of where I am going. But it is really tough to edit more than 40 or so words so when I finish my first draft I am sitting at approximately 540 to 550 word count. Just my thoughts. Keep up the good work
I like it as well, coz when you work it at it, it makes you economize your words. Forces you to get more out of less, which makes you think a bit.
My last post was a product of 3 scotch and sodas so I reckon the thinking bit was minimal. Still, I had fun writing it.
The Old Man Under the Whale
I would have thought sitting with a giant white whale would have been more fun. However, he seemed really uncomfortable. We didn’t have any swirly straws long enough, and the wicker chair tottered and squeaked.
“Woooooo, noooooooo, uuuuuuuuu.”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s hot.
Man, this birthday sucked. Thanks, mom.
“Mhmmmmmm, uuuuuuhhhhhhh.”
God, just shut up! “Sure, Moby. We can go inside.”
Mom told me there were going to be two extra special guests today. So far, I haven’t seen any.
Admittedly, when she told me she would be bringing Ahab’s last stand, I just about jumped for joy. I don’t know why I loved Moby. He is the antithesis, the symbol of power and poise. He is the elusive white whale and the final countdown.
Then, just as I was about to stand up, I heard a soft ahem. A gentle ahem. An ahem almost not there. I turned around and there he was. The Old Man Without the Sea. I got lightheaded. I almost fainted. I didn’t know whether or not to hug him, grovel, or ask for an autograph. So, I settled on, “‘Sup man?”
“Is this the house of Franky Miller?”
“It is, and welcome.”
“Fffrrrrrr woooooooop!”
Then he caught sight of the gigantic whale in the room, er, in the yard. He started at the tailfins, worked his way to the flippers, and met the whale square in the eye.
I saw it first, the hint of anger and aggravation, and sadness lurking in the shadows behind the sagacious folds of his eyes. “Um, that’s Moby. He’s not a shark.”
“That is it!”
And the old man threw himself at the whale.
And the whale toppled.
Moby landed straight on top of the Old Man.
The Old Man was under the whale. The Old Man was under the great white whale. And it was my birthday. Great. Good job, mom.
Funny. An imaginative combination of characters. Enjoyed it.
~Anne
Great character combo. Fun read.
Jane Yellowrock is from the Skinwalker series by Faith Hunter.
Carlos Rivera and Damali are from the Vampire Huntress series by L.A. Banks.
I didn’t know birthdays could get any better. If they could, I would crawl back in my mother’s womb and be re-born on another day, just so I could do this all over again.
I expected paramount embarrassment, since my parents knew I didn’t have any real friends, yet they insisted on holding my birthday dinner at the newest, poshest restaurant in the city, Amylase. And surprise parties have never really been my thing…. I mean, especially when there are only two people yelling “Surprise” to you in the room.
But as I stumbled into Amylase in my new, daringly high heels, I gasped as Jane Yellowrock and Carlos Rivera rose from the table along with my parents. I went into hyper fangirl mode and kicked off my awkward shoes so I could run into the arms of two of my favorite literary characters.
“How?” I asked, as my dad smiled proudly. “I always knew your books were your real friends. So, I knew some people who owed me some favors… bada bing… here they are,” he grinned.
“Jane, you have to tell me what happened to Beast,” I immediately sat my favorite skinwalker down to ask about her second spirit. Just as Jane opened her mouth to speak, Carlos muttered, “She’s got a stupid Big Cat inside of her. I ruled the very realms of Hell. But by all means, ladies first.”
“I can send you back to Hell, if you like,” growled Jane, standing to unsheath her Vamp Killer.
“No, Carlos, I want to ask you about finding your lost soul, and what the levels of Hell are really like, but you see…. I love Beast,” I soothingly rubbed Carlos’s taught neck. He was so muscular, no wonder Damali couldn’t contain herself around him.
“Fine,” he said, studying his nails as if bored. “But I can also tell you about the Apocalypse, and what Heaven is like, since I am, you know, married to an Angel.”
“Look here, you bloodsucking fang whore,” Jane jumped up and pulled out her knife. Carlos pushed back from the table and sent my mom, dad and I flying across the dining room. Everyone in the restaurant stopped talking.
Jane pulled her Walther out of a holster somewhere and fired two shots at Carlos. He ducked the first and caught the second bullet, tossing it back at Jane. “Here little kitty, you dropped this,” he sneered.
“Please, oh please,” I begged. The manager of the restaurant rushed out, but it was too late. Jane grabbed her talisman necklace and her skin began to stretch and grow fur. Her bones cracked and her teeth grew inches longer. Carlos smiled, and unhinged his jaw, revealing four inch fangs dripping with venom.
“Wait, you guys, uh,” I shouted. I didn’t think it would work, but everyone’s attention was suddenly on me. I looked around frantically and grabbed a rare steak from the waiter and tossed it at Beast, who had fully taken over Jane’s body.
As the big cat leaped at the meat, I dropped to my knees and sent a prayer to Heaven. Suddenly, the entire room brightened by a million watts, and a curvy woman stepped out from the nothingness.
“Damali?” Carlos wiped the venom from his jaw, and returned to his normal shape.
“What are you doing here, Carlos? You know we need to get back to the academy and check on the kids,” said Damali, in a highly pissed off voice.
“Uh, coming. I just was here celebrating SB’s birthday. Remember?” He chuckled to ease the tension.
The angel turned to me and smiled. “Happy Birthday sweetie!”
A tear rolled down my face as she pulled me into an warm embrace. “You know, every time you read about us, we’re reading about you. I am your absolute biggest fan,” said Damali.
“So am I,” said Carlos, slipping his hand in Damali’s, before they both disappeared.
“Ditto,” called Jane, now back in her human form. She wiped a little blood from her jaw. “I couldn’t wait to find out more about you. I mean, you’ve read everything about me. But you, SB, you’re the real hero.”
Loved the cross reading idea! That was terrific. Clean writing, but a bit over 500 words (694).
~Anne
I didn’t know the characters, but I found them quite interesting. Liked the ending.
Good read.
A Captain Bill Rimes Story
Don Baker ambled to the mailbox on WV Route 2. It was the best day of the month since it was the day the Government check arrived. Retrieving the check he meandered back to the trailer, Constantly drunk, his course wavering along the gravel road. Reaching the rotting porch he saw the envelope with fancy writing and gold seal.
“Did you get my check?” Robin asked as he entered the screen door that was missing the screen.
“Yea, I gots it. You got something too. Woman, you better not have a boyfriend!” His voice rising with jealously.
Robin crawled out of her 20 year old recliner and snatched the letter out of her deadbeat husband’s hand. “I ain’t got no boyfriend, and you better not have anything going on either because I will kill you and feed your ass to the raccoons.”
Robin read the invitation carefully sounding out all of the big words. “Don, it looks like I is going to New York City to see Cousin Billy get married.”
“We ain’t got no money to go to New York City, woman.”
Robin’s face flushed as she spoke. “My cousin Billy invited me to his wedding and I aint going to miss it because of your cheap ass. I need some good clothes too because there will be some high society people there and I don’t want to look like no backwoods redneck.”
Don just muttered to himself while he poured himself a glass of moonshine while she continued to yell.
Three Weeks Later
Bill and Anna Spencer held hands as they entered the Boathouse restaurant in Central Park. Everything was perfect as the manager approached them to review the final preparations. Bill scanned the guest list while Anna looked at the menu.
“Honey?”
“Yes.”
“Why is Don and Robin Baker on the list?”
Anna just smiled. “I thought it would be nice to have more of your family here. Your mother gave me their address.”
Bill froze with his hand over his mouth afraid of what he was about to say. “Did they RSVP?”
“Yes, Robin sent me an e-mail asking for directions. Are you surprised?”
“Yes I am.”
Three hours later the reception was in full swing. Dinner had been served and the band was playing. It was the party event of the weekend as the guest list ranged from the social spectrum of the finest that The City has to offer. Bill was starting to relax when he was grabbed from behind. He turned to see his cousin Robin with her toothless smile, spray painted make-up, overly teased hair and 1980s pea green prom dress covering her miss-formed body. Her husband Don was right behind her, equally out of place and staring at the backside of the Congressman’s wife.
“You made it.” Bill said before Robin saw what held Don’s attention. Reaching over she grabbed a platter of caviar and hit him across the face transforming the night into the event sure to be remembered.
I could feel their dread at Robin and Don’s arrival at the party. Good tension.
~Anne
No better way to liven up a party!
Good read.
Somehow I got tricked into going to this girl’s goddamn birthday party and the biggest moron on the planet was there. It was the girl’s 21st birthday and her real bigshot parents spent a boat load of dough on the soiree to impress all their high class friends. The girl was nice and pretty and all, but when she saw me I thought she was gonna hug me to death. “Holden! It’s you, Holden Caulfield! I can’t believe it!” Then she jumped on me and wouldn’t let go. I fell half in love with her after that, all the way until that idiot got there and started talking all this madman stuff. “My name is Forrest, Forrest Gu-mp,” he alerted everyone in a low, monotone voice all starry eyed and all. “My mama allwayz said if there’s a party you wear your bess runnin’ sho-es. I ran all da way here in my bess good runnin’ shoes.” He smiled all coy and brainless as if his head was all full of feathers and cottonballs. The pretty birthday girl came over and introduced the dolt…again. “Holden, this is Forrest, Forrest Gump. My parents know how much I love you too and invited you both; I’m so glad you could come!” She talked all cute and girly-like and skipped away, leaving me trapped with the stupid turd Forrest. “I brought some canday. Here, have one,” he shoved a box of candy in my face, damn near forcing me to take one. I ate the candy and that’s when I got real upset and all. “My mama allwayz said…life is like a box of chocolates–” he shoved a big piece of the candy in his mouth and chewed on it like some lazy cow, “—you never know what you’re gonna get.”
“Chocolate? Is this chocolate?!” Everybody stopped chatting and looked over at me like a madman on the loose.
“Why yessa, it is choc-o-late,”
“You goddamn fool, I’m allergic to chocolate!” The idiot looked concerned but confusedly amused at the same time like I was joking or something.
“You allergic to chocolate?”
“Yes!”
“Aw naw, Mr. Caulfield, I’m sowry you’re aller-gic to choc-o-late ‘cus Mama said–”
“Yeah, I know what your goddamn Mama said—“
The birthday girl chimed in, “Oh, don’t swear, Holden,”
“My life isn’t like a box of godd—of chocolates, you idiot, I know what I’m gonna get…HIVES!”
“I could run to da store and git you some medicine for your hives, Mr. Caulfield. Or, another thang, Mama said that sometimes if you aller-gic to something and you eat a whole lotta of it then you won’t be aller-gic anee-more. You wont some more choc-o-late, Mr. Caulfield?” After that all I saw was red and then a big rye field and before I knew it I was on a train back home covered in hives with swollen knuckles and a goddamn box of chocolates in my lap.
Interesting that your narrator was one of the special guests, rather than the birthday girl. I would imagine that was a more difficult way to write the story.
~Anne
Nice POV choice. Liked the rye field reference for Caulfield.
Good read.
On Friday, April 27, 2198, Bob Jones turned two hundred and sixteen years old. To commemorate this joyous event, Bob’s parents, Tom and Martha Civet, decided to throw him a two hundred and, sweet, sixteen surprise birthday party. As expected, when Bob arrived at their apartment that night he was surprised, partly because Bob was a natural at being surprised, but mainly because it wasn’t actually his birthday and he wasn’t actually their son. Since moving into the apartment building, the Civets had lived under the delusion that Bob was their only child. Rumor had it they were immigrants from the infamous Mars Colony Five, and they only moved Earthside after a hushed-up scandal, something about cross-breeding between humans and the common house cat. The goal of this grand experiment was to create a team of superior Bengals, to win the hotly contested Mars Cup.
Bob was genuinely touched by their actions. He recently lost his job as captain of a Class III Screamer transport, and he could use a little cheering up, so Bob graciously accepted the party, the hats, and especially, the cake. He was on a strict egg diet, but when it came to cake, he would do just about anything. The party was going slow, Tom was napping over in the corner, so Bob decided to open another of his presents. So far, he had received a plush play toy and some Maui-Wowie catnip. He opened his next gift. Hmmm…a ball of yarn. Bob wondered if the rumors might be true.
There was a brief knock at the door and a pudgy man entered dramatically. He was wearing a Viking costume, a little tight around the waist, with a horny hat.
“Tis I, Thor, son of Oden! God of Thunder! I’m here to wish a Happy Birthday to young master Bob!”
Why not, Bob thought, the night can’t get any weirder.
“Thank you Mr. Thor.” Bob replied.
“You’re young master Bob?”
“Yes I am.”
“Oh, I was expecting someone…well, never mind. Here Bob, I usually give the kids a pin of Bifrost, the Rainbow Bridge, and let them throw my hammer, Mjolnir. Give it a heave, it’ll bounce off the wall.”
Bob threw Mjolnir, a little too hard, and it bounced back over his head, hit the back wall, and fell with a “SPLOOSH” into the cake.
“Aaaaagh!” Bob and Thor exclaimed.
“My hammer!”
“My cake!”
They both rushed over, and when they turned back around, they saw another guest had arrived.
“Where’s Bob? I’m Mars, Roman god of war!” The Civets perked up when they heard the word Mars.
“What are you doing here, toga boy?”
“Thor, you cheat! You still owe me money from our last gig together!”
“How you figure that? I did all the work!”
“Work? You sat around and flirted with the mom!”
Thor threw his hammer at Mars. Fortunately, Mars was pudgy too, and the hammer bounced harmlessly to the floor.
Bob sat, watched, and ate his cake.
An interesting set of characters. I was waiting for the big bang, but the story kind of deflated at the end with Bob sitting and eating his cake. I loved the stuff about the cat breeding. Funny.
~Anne
Thank you Anne. I had fun writing it but I struggle writing conflict. Thanks for reading it.
I understand. I wrote my first fight scene in for the last prompt and it came out a little confusing. But, that’s what we’re here for!
~Anne
Enjoyed the futuristic/sci fi theme. The ending seemed abrupt.
Thanks Icabu. I thought about going over the 500 word limit but ran out of time this week to finish it. Something about the Civets going after the shiny hammer and getting into a cat fight. Thanks for reading.
The day was, understandably, odd. There I was, a 38-year old man at a birthday party thrown for me by my mother. This fact was odd enough, but the scene unfolding in the corner of a hazy room full of revelers was beyond bizarre. I stood there fixated as the party goers would stop to congratulate me for my birth. I gave them a distracted “thanks,” with my attention remaining on what was going on in the corner.
It began with hushed, though obviously heated, conversation. Back and forth they bickered. Through the noise and commotion of the room, I was unable to make out a word they said, but their gestures became more animated, and I could see each of them growing red in the face.
I approached slowly, almost as one approaches an animal in the wild that you don’t want to flee due to your presence. Slowly stalking them, I stopped about fifteen feet from the small side table, adorn with white linen and crystal goblets now full of whiskey, where the two of them were sitting on inelegant folding chairs. Aware of my presence, they awkwardly broke from their argument.
“I say, I say, uh, happy birthday!” said Foghorn Leghorn in his caricature southern accent. He and his companion were clearly distracted and perhaps a bit embarrassed.
“Uh, is something the matter over here?” I asked, still confused by the scene.
Watching these two argue, well, having these two here at all, was a very strange scene. I looked at the both of them, waiting for an answer.
“He said,” began Walter Mitty, nearly in tears, “that I’m a fictional character.”
“His momma, uh, said, two fictional characters,” piped in Forghorn. “I’m uh fictional charactuh. If yo’ not, I ask, I ask, who else is? You are uh fictional charactuh!”
“Th-that’s it,” whined Walter. “I am real. I’m a hero. And you are going to respect me.”
He overturned the table, stood before Foghorn Leghorn, and stood in his best olde tyme boxing pose.
“Awwww shaddup!” Foghorn said dismissively.
At that point, Walter leapt onto Foghorn, and the scrum ensued. Cartoon feathers and insults were flying. By now, the rest of the guests were standing in stunned silence watching this mess.
When they were done, Foghorn and Walter were on the floor, panting and bruised.
Then, from a far corner, laughter ensued. The crowd turned their attention to the disruption.
Now in full throat, Teddy Roosevelt, complete with jodhpurs, hat, bandana and spectacles, continued to laugh. Collecting himself, he said, “That’s what you get when you invite fictional characters to a party.”
Log Foghorn. He’s the best!
~Anne
Foghorn was a hoot. Loved the ending, too – more craziness.
Foghorn and Walter? Damn good choices.
“Seriously, of all the people you could invite to my 40th birthday, those two made the list?” I asked mom, my head shaking,” you know that they don’t get along.” It however was a done deal, the party in but 30 minutes. A small dinner with friends more than an actual party. Is turning 40 really a thing to celebrate anyway?
“ It will be fine son,” she mused in that condescending tone only mothers have when they are certain their judgement trumps that of everyone else,” I think it will be good. Its time those two stopped acting like one is better than the other and just get along,” she finished as my stomach knotted up even more.
An hour later, we all sat around the large oak table, sipping on some wine and everyone freely munching on the cake and other baked goods my mother made for this amazing occasion. Everyone was having a good time. And with good cause. Neither had shown up for the get together. Maybe I would be spared, on this my 40th year. Mom tried and for that I love her. Its almost funny I guess.
And then the doorbell rang.
I hate my mother.
I saw a movement as my mother went to answer the door, but I was frozen in my seat. Unable to turn left or right, I took a large gulp of wine and scanned the table for anyother glasses I could down before it started.
I didn’t have time.
“Eric, could you come to the door please?” came the request, as shrill as the death scream of a banshee it seemed. Rising as if I was chained to the floor, I slowly made my way to the front room where I could already hear the basement voice of my friend Darth. Interspersed with that the choppy, enunciated words of my friend James.
Rounding the corner, I saw them both in the foyer, facing eachother, Darth towering over James. Darths asthma seemed especially loud today. “ Look who is here Eric, its Darth and James.” They both took a moment to look in my direction and then back to the other. I didn’t have enough wine in the house for this.
“ Hey guys—glad you could make it, want to come join the rest of us?” I asked nervously.
“ I…am…sorry Eric. I…did not know that…HE would be… here,” James stated, pointing at Darth.
“ And I, “ Darth followed, his booming voice filling the room,” felt a disturbance as soon as I arrived. “
“Its ok guys, my mom was just trying to have people over she knows I enjoy….maybe we can set aside differences for tonight and just hang out?” I knew as soon as the words left my lips I might as well have asked for the world to be square. “ You know both of you guys are number one in my book. So whats wrong, you guys just got here?”
“ This one lacks faith in the truth, “ Darth followed. James, or as he loved to say when possible, James T. Kirk, replied,” I was on TV before he was a thought in Georges fat head, yet he still thinks he and his “posse” are better than us,” he retorted.
I need more wine.
“ And at… the… door, waiting to…. come in,” James continued,” he feels that… my phaser gift vastly… inferior to that.. princess lightsaber he has brought you,” he finished, producing a model 2 phaser for me to see.
“ I find your lack of insight disturbing,” Darth replied, raising his hand in a choking fashion.
“ Boys boys boys, “ mom chimed in, nervously breaking up the two of them playing schoolyard bully, “ does any of this really matter?Eric will love both of your gifts just the same.”
Darth turned to face my mother, his breathing even heavier now. James did the same, facing her, with that leering look he always had when he looked at my mom, a slight grin on his face. They both moved forward slowly to her….
“Get away from her you BITCHES!,” came the shout from the dining room doorway. There stood my long time friend Ellen Ripley, a glare in her eyes.” Now come in here and sitdown with the rest of us before this gets ugly.” She stood glaring at the two of them until they gave one another a small glance and then a nod, and started to follow my mom into the dining room.
As James passed, he whispered to me,” this Ellen, bet.. she… would look amazing… with.. green skin,” and on into the dining room he went.
I see a typo or two, and I do apologize….did that from myphone.
Hi Slayerdan. I like the combination of Kirk and Darth, but I wish I had known it was Kirk at the beginning. Love how you did Kirk’s speaking voice. Great. A bit of 500 words (781 words).
~Anne
Sorry, meant to say a bit over 500 words.
~Anne
Loved that last line. Interesting pair and who better to put them in their place than Ripley.
Good read.
Jeff Spicoli vs Ferris Bueller
Of all the writing assignments to have to come up with, my prof. comes up with this one.
“Class, if you could have anyone come to your birthday party, who would it be and why,” she paused for a minute.
Pure silence came from every corner. You could almost hear the crickets hitting the sides of each brain like bugs stuck in a jar. Then as if almost on cue.
“Anyone, Anyone,” I could hear the voice of the boring economics teacher from Ferris Bueller. “Does anyone have anything to imput.”
Our assignment if we chose not to flunk the class was a short story on this matter for the creative writing class. Unbeknownst to her, today was my birthday and I was on my way to my parents for the annual family birthday party and dinner get together. We have a tradition, to gather on birthdays for a grand dinner and time for discussion or debate. My father and I have been known to pull all- nighters on such topics as truth, humanism, and guns. Deep stuff man.
Our family has been doing this for decades. At this point my mother and father are quite elderly, but somehow they are determined to bring the family together to celebrate each occasion of our birth. Today was mine and no different. There was a twist however, they invited guest. I am an 80’s movie hound, but there is a few that I have on my DVD carousel ready to play at a moments notice. Seriously, my range goes from Full Metal Jacket, to Breakfast Club, The Big Chill to Fatal Attraction and more.
Anyway, my parents knew what I wanted more then anything. A window in time with Ferris Bueller and Jeff Specoli. Of all the things to bring into my folks house on a traditional night like this, I knew it would never happen.
Suddenly, from the other room, a loud crashing commotion. We all ran to the library and opened the doors. There holding his head, a bit of blood dripping from his nose, was, Jeff Specoli?
“Dude, that was my head. I’m so stoned,” he wiped his nose, lean back and laughed.
“A) You can never go too far. B) If I’m gonna get busted, it is not gonna be by a guy like that,” right out of the movie, like a dream he quoted one of his lines.
Once things could get sorted out, philosophies debated, cake cut, I had go home and soak it all in. What the hell just happened?
Scratching my head, I cracked open a cold beer and typed out, “Specoli vs. Bueller.”
Oops, sorry folks, this is my third idea and its late. Last quote in library is Bueller’s.
Penny – it seems that there are two stories here: one about writing a story for the professor, and one about the birthday party with the family. I would choose one and go with it.
~Anne
I didn’t follow the jump from the professor to the dinner. Liked the characters – an interesting pair to put together.
Penny,
Like Anne and Icabu I found it a little tough to follow but I totally LOVE the characters but not as a combination. Both Specoli and Buller are great characters. But I think that maybe your problem is that they are just alike in so many ways and that makes it tough to get real conflict. Maybe you could have had them in a tag-team wrestlemania event verses Mr. Hand and Ed Roonie. Just a thought. I found this to be a very difficult prompt to work with much like everyone else. Keep up the good work!
“I’VE DONE IT!” My mad-scientist father came barreling out the door of his underground laboratory, holding what looked to be another one of his many remote controls.
“I’m sure it’s very nice, dear,” my mother sighed, as she tried to maintain her concentration of murmuring a spell in front of the swirling blue portal that she commonly opened up in the kitchen wall, trying to invoke some entity from the ethereal world.
“I’ve done it this time, kiddo,” my father said to me. “I know you’ve been feeling a bit down about your birthday lately…”
Feeling down didn’t even begin to describe it. Because of my parents’ bizarre professions, it had pretty much alienated me from the entire community. Trying to find friends to hang out with for a b-day bash was pretty much a pipe dream for me.
“…so I’ve built you a couple of friends to celebrate with you.”
I slapped the palm of my hand to my forehead. “Really, Dad? Robots? You think I want to hang with robots?”
“Not just any robots.” He punched some buttons on his remote control. Out from the laboratory walked a pair of robots, one small and red with a bubble-gum machine head, the other tall and golden and resembling a spider-duck; they were perfectly functioning replicas of Tom Servo and Crow T. Robot from my favorite nostalgic TV show, Mystery Science Theater 3000.
“Wow, Dad, that’s pretty awesome,” I admitted.
“Very nice toys, honey,” my mother said coolly as the portal began to glow brighter. “But now see who Mommy has invited to your special day! I know how much you adore those J.R.R. Tolkien books, so I’ve summoned up one of Tolkien’s thought-children to visit…”
Through the portal came a massive, red and gold-scaled head, which I knew could only be Smaug, the great treasure-guarding dragon from “The Hobbit.”
“Woah, look at that! It’s like Godzilla, only more cheesy,” Tom said.
“You dare insult me, metallic mortal?” Smaug thundered. “You have no idea the force that you stand before.
My wings can summon hurricanes, my footsteps cause earthquakes—“
“No, that would be your titanic girth that causes earthquakes,” quipped Crow.
“And your smell could summon a bio-hazard clean-up team,” Tom added.
“PATHETIC CREATURES! DIE!” Smaug unleashed a spray of fire in the robots’ direction, but being stuck halfway in the portal, the dragon did not have great maneuverability so the robots were able to move out of the way easily.
“Woo, someone just ate the house special at Jamaica Jerk,” Tom said.
“I think he’s a Gigantic Jerk,” Crow remarked.
My father grasped his head in his hands. “Brilliant, dear. Now half the kitchen’s ablaze because of your ‘birthday surprise.’”
My mother crossed her arms. “Excuse me? Your sarcastic tin men started this whole mess—”
And honestly, I don’t know how the arguments or situation went after that. I was already out the door, on my way to the Dairy Queen to get myself an ice-cream birthday cake and then go play at the arcade. I’d find out later if Smaug ended up destroying the entire town, or if Crow and Tom would start a robot uprising, subjecting everyone in sight to soul-crushing sardonic commentary.
Loved the Mystery Science Theatre connection. Lot’s of fun.
~Anne
Great story – liked that the dad and mom were going at it as much as the robots and dragon and that the narrator let them go at each other and left.
Sweet sixteen and never been kissed. Not anymore…I hugged my secret to myself as I practically skipped home from school. My birthday was shaping up to be a day of firsts. In my mind’s-eye I saw a new car in the driveway…my first kiss, my first car…my heart was pounding with anticipation
Mama took me to the DMV, where I passed the drivers’ test with flying colors-another first.
Strangely quiet on the ride home, Mama whispered, “My baby’s growing up,” reaching over to give my hand a squeeze.
“Oh Mama! That’s what I’m supposed to do, isn’t it?”
“I know,” she replied. Was that a tear rolling down her cheek?
The closer we got to home, the more excited I became. I was practically bouncing up and down in my seat by the time we turned onto our street.
Disappointment clouded my vision as I saw the driveway. The only thing parked there was an old, white VW Beetle with the number 53 emblazoned on its hood. Whose car was that? It certainly wasn’t the new car I’d envisioned.
Dragging my feet, I followed Mama to the front door. She fumbled with her key, dropping it twice. Finally, the door swung inward.
“Surprise!” Friends and family jumped out from behind the furniture. I held my hand over my heart, color infusing my cheeks.
I couldn’t believe my eyes! Was that really Harry Potter? He was my hero…there was something sexy about a nerdy dude in glasses.
And over there…it was Edward, of Twilight fame! I was definitely Team Edward. My hand moved to my throat…
The two guys stood in opposite corners, reminiscent of boxers before a bout. I approached Harry first.
“Happy Birthday Maggie,” he said in that delicious British accent.
“How on earth…? Why…?” I stammered.
“Your Mum wanted this day to be extra special,” he told me.
“It is now,” I replied with a smile. “Did you bring your wand?”
“I can’t perform magic outside of Hogwarts.” He looked chagrined. “Actually, I was hoping you could help me.”
“How?” I looked at him, wide-eyed, envisioning rides on dragons and evil man-eating plants.
“Nerd boy here doesn’t know how to drive,” Edward sneered, moving closer. Now he was standing between us. God-he looked good.
“Shut up, bloodsucker. I can do more than drive a mere car. Besides, that’s not just any car…” He glared at Edward.
“Oh yeah? I’ll bet you can’t move like this.” One second, he was beside me, and the next he was gone. I spotted him up in the chandelier.
“Where’s your broom?” Harry asked. I pointed to the broom closet. He moved towards it only to find Edward blocking his way. He dodged, right and then left, foiled each time by a too-quick Edward.
“What are you trying to do, escape on a broom, Nancy boy?” Edward spat the words, his eyes turning from a golden color to an angry red. Was he hungry? My stomach clenched with fear.
“I’m not scared of you. What woman would want you anyway, granite man? You’re cold and hard and you couldn’t even give a girl a hickey without killing her!”
I realized this wasn’t about me. Harry loved Ginny, and Edward was smitten with Bella. What was going on?
Harry whipped out his wand (what about those rules?) and Edward snarled and bared his fangs. Why weren’t any of the other guests stepping in to help?
I heard the screech of tires against pavement and the front window shattered as the #53 beetle came crashing in, strangely unscathed. Both guys stared at the car, wide-eyed and worshipful.
“Herbie!” I heard Harry whisper.
“No way,” Edward said, appearing in the driver’s seat. “Come on Maggie, let’s go for a ride in your new car!”
Harry scrambled to get into the back seat.
Realization dawned and I smiled. What a magical birthday!
The Love Bug gave me a big wink.
Your portrayal of Edward was especially good. I got lost with the love bug part – didn’t know that character. nice work.
~Anne
Tried to figure out how to bring the story down to near 500 words. Currently it’s at 654. Although the paragraphs leading up to the driveway scene are delightful, you probably could eliminate them and still have the essence of your story.
~Anne
Fun read. I remember Herbie, loved that ‘he’ was the hero.
I don’t get why they hated each other, but great story!
“How many people all together?” said Isabel, my best friend, as she wrote the details of my 30th birthday party in her phone.
“About 100. Small, yet with enough people to form interesting groups. Oh, add Charlotte Davidson and her beau to the list. I’m dying to meet him.”
We both chuckled. We had recently discovered the series about the grim reaper and the son of Satan.
The list was an eclectic mixture or our usual beer gang and the people we always invited to our conversations: Marx, Freud, Feynman, Sharon McCone, Kinsey Millhone, Murphy Brown, Heathcliff, Humberto Ecco, and others.
“May I invite a few friends?” asked Cat, my stepmother. She had been quiet—unusual—as Isa and I planned my party. My dad was out by the pool, barbecuing something to dry perfection.
“Sure,” I hedged, “if you want to. But I thought you and Dad were going somewhere. I mean, you will be bored at my party. You will have nothing in common with anyone here.” I am not inviting Machiavelli, I thought.
“It’s your birthday, my dear. I would not miss it for the world.”
Did she just hiss?
***
I heard many compliments through the night, as the party got going. The conversation was great, the food excellent, (thank Fate for foodie friends), and the music lively. Freud and Heathcliff were having an animated conversation, and Feynman and Murphy were dancing salsa. I was pleased.
The bell rang; my father answered the door. A vision in white was holding the arm of a demigod in a pinstripe suit. My dad escorted them to the living and began the introductions: Adam and Eve.
Ecco was instantly captivated, and the couple integrated to the party seamlessly. These must be the friends my stepmother had mentioned. The bell ran again. A tall woman, dressed in gaucho clothes introduced herself:
“I am Lilith”
Lilith’s commanding beauty was felt as soon as she entered the room. The men gravitated toward her falling quickly in her orbit. She beamed at the women, who felt in her a kindred spirit. The groups forming around her were laughing. Everyone loved her immediately. Except…
“Eve, had you met her?”
“The woman is a disgrace to womanhood, and stories blamed me.”
“Girls just want to have fun.” I quoted inanely, trying to dissipate the brewing storm.
“The worst part” she said “is Adam is still in love with her. The witch.”
“Well, now I don’t think…”
“I’d love to have you on my couch, dear Lilith” said Freud.
“She would, as long as she is on top.” Adam’s voice was loud and sharp enough to cut through all conversation.
“You would know, sweetheart.”
“You’re a whore, no wonder you got erased from the story.”
“Well, we hear from the Mrs.” She turned to Eve. “Sweety, my freedom from the story is better than your part in it. Look at what your pathetic attempt at seduction got you.”
Well, my perfect birthday party was ruined.
I looked toward my stepmother, a purr and a feather escaping her lips.
Interesting pool of dinner guests. I liked the Adam/Eve/Lilith dialogue.
Good read.
What a wild party! Only thing missing is a cat fight.
~Anne
HAHA, this is very funny.
BY THE PALE MOON LIGHT
The lights were off and the gang was waiting in the dark. The full moon cast a faint glow on the back wall from the window vent over the door.
“Fronkie, don’t yooou veel’ un-comfortable amongst dah’ humans?” Count Dracula said to Frankenstein. They were squished together in front of the crowd. Wolfgang’s parents were hosting a surprise birthday party for their boy.
“I….. aaaammmm….. huuumannnnn,” Frankenstein grumbled, flicking the Count’s cape off the bolt sticking out from his neck.
“Nooo offense, Fronkie, but yooou are a meeex’ of human parts. Und’ judging by dah’ smell, dooose parts haven’t been alive for some time now,” he said pulling the cape up over his nose. The crowd shuffled back just slightly, but it was jammed.
“I’m aaaaaliiiiiivvvve!” he said elbowing him in the side.
“Ooooffff! I think yooou’ve rrrruptured my spleen. Can I borrrrow yooours? It isn’t as if yooou need one. Yooou can just naaaail another one in,” he snickered like a cat hissing and hiccupping at the same time.
“Grrrrrr! I….. aaammm….. aaaallliiiivvvvve! Whaat dooeess a baaaat neeed with a spleeeeen? It is yooooooou who is dead. Whaat rrr yoooou a Count of any waaay? Trannnyyy—ssuuuckiea?”
The room was silent and the tension was building. The monsters have been going at each other since they’d arrived and it was starting to get ugly. The humans were scared of them, but they’d been warned they were going to be there. Frankenstein and Count Dracula were Wolfgang’s favorite since childhood.
“Oooo, das a goud von. Coming from a man of many parts!” he said twisting one of Frankenstein’s bolts.
“Eeeee—Eeeeee,” Frankenstein tried to speak, but it came out sounding like he’d sucked the helium from one of the party balloons decorating the room. He reached up and untwisted the bolt until he found his voice. “Yaaaawooo, yooooiii—youeeeeoooo….”
“Zounds great! Can yooou zing roshambo too?” he said whacking the giant monster square in the crotch. A loud clank sounded from Frankenstein. “Uh ooooh.”
“I haaavvvve had eeenuffff!” he said before he clobbered the Count over the head.
The door started to rattle. Someone was wiggling a key into the lock.
“Ssssshhhh!” Wolfgang’s mother said, “I hear him at the door! Everyone, especially you two—pipe down! When he opens the door; I’ll turn on the lights.”
Everyone waited quietly as the lock tumbled. The Count fixed his hair and gave Frankenstein another jab in the side with less force this time as if to say, you got one comin’.
The door slowly creaked open and moonlight crept across the floor. As it touched the humans, their appendages started grow fur from the floor up. The lights snapped on and everyone yelled, “Surprise!”
Staring around the room as the crowd tooted on party favors and threw confetti in the air, Frankenstein and the Count looked at one another in shock.
“How insuuuulting! Fronkie, had I knooown they vere verevolves I’d have saaaved us the shame and turned this gig doooown!”
Wonderful read. Dialogue is great – perfectly fitting each ‘monster’.
Enjoyable story and exchanges between the two. Funny that they were insulted by the warewolves! Loved the bolt scene.
~Anne
Characters:
Commander Jane Shepard-> Mass Effect Trilogy
Master Chief-> Halo Trilogy
(Both Video Game Characters)
———————————————————————————————————————————————
Awkwardness filled the air; both Commander Shepard and Master Chief stared at each other. My parents gave a fake smile and I kept stuffing food in my mouth.
“You know I saved the galaxy.” Shepard spoke eating a piece of broccoli.
“I saved the Universe,” Master Chief told her. I could just feel the animosity continue to grow.
“I’m a biotic with a complete trilogy.” She continued, I was just begging for them not to continue.
“So, are you planning another game?” I asked her, she ignored me as she waited for his answer.
“I am a super soldier with three games, a prequel, and a new trilogy planned out.” Master Chief bragged and I could tell that was beginning to pluck her strings. “Xenophile,” he coughed. I could tell that he had done his research before he came here. She narrowed her emerald eyes at him.
“AI lover,” she growled, I can assume she had did her research as well.
“Corpse, traitor, and loner,” Master Chief told her back continuing to eat.
“At least I didn’t hide in a cryo-stasis for a few years, like a wimp!” She yelled and the whole atmosphere exploded afterwards.
“That’s cold… and renegade… 20 renegade points.” I whispered and prepared for the worst.
“Okay that’s it, Commander!” Master Chief gave into her temptations and began throwing a plateful of food at her. I immediately ducked under the table. I could hear plates full of food and mouth full of insults fly through the air. I couldn’t help myself from laughing; both of them had two things in common, the size of their egos and their fame. I looked for my parents, who had found a comfortable spot free of the two heroes’ range of fire.
“I’m sorry we ruined your birthday…” They mouthed to me. I gave another laugh, despite the mess… I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it.
With those egos, it’s good they battled with food.
I enjoyed it, too.
I enjoyed their dialogue. Convincing and fun.
~Anne
“Hey sis, Happy Birthday! Mom wants you over at the house to give you a card or something.” Barb seemed unusually cheerful.
“What, right now?” said Fran.
“Well, within an hour or so. She thought you’d probably be going out with your friends tonight so she just wanted to see you for a little while. Is that okay? I’m driving.”
“Yeah, sure anything for mom I guess. Just give me a while to get ready.”
“Great I’ll call her and let her know.” An hour and 15 minutes later they arrived at their parents home.
“Oh Fran, Happy Birthday! You look very nice today. Are you going out with friends this evening?” Fran’s mother gave her a warm hug and peck on the cheek. “Come into the dining room dear for a cup of coffee.”
“Surprise!” Everyone at the dining room table shouted out. Fran’s entire family and a few friends were there in the decorated dining room.
“Happy birthday Fran. Your mother and I invited a couple of special people to your birthday dinner that we know you’re going to enjoy. Come on out guys.” Fran’s father announced.
“Hi Fran, Happy Birthday! Whoop, whoop, whoop, whoop, whoop.”
“Is that really you Curly?”
“Why soytainly. The one and only. Nyuck, Nyuck, Nyuck.”
“Happy Birthday Fran. You’re looking quite lovely this evening.”
“Atticus…from to Kill a Mockingbird?”
“That’s right. Who is this overgrown brainless idiot? Is he that incapable of speaking the English language that he has to resort to all this mumbling and uttering of senseless nonsense?”
“Hey. I resent that. I’m standing right here. Why don’t you say it to my face. whoop, whoop, whoop, whoop, whoop, whoop, whoop.”
“I would have said it to your face, as you put it, but I was afraid you’d lunge at me like a rabid dog and I didn’t bring my shotgun to protect myself.” Atticus said wiping the stray hair off his forehead.
“Why you….” said Curly as he waved his hand up and down in front of Atticus’s face and then said “Hmmmph. And by the way I aint no idiot, I’m a pilot. Yeah he’d shovel it and I’d pile it. Nyuck, Nyuck, Nyuck.” The nodding motion of Atticus’s head following Curly’s waving hand made Atticus’s glasses fall on the floor.
“Of all the moronic foolish babble, I’ve never heard the likes. You really should leave this party before you make a bigger fool of yourself than you already have.” That’s when the fight broke out. Curly dropped to the floor and started spinning around. Then he got up and slapped Atticus in the back of the head. Atticus calmly removed his jacket, got into a boxing stance and threw a couple of jabs at Curly. This surprise birthday dinner was turning out to be a total disaster. Fran was wishing it had never happened.
“Happy birthday mommy.” Fran’s 4 year old daughter leaped into bed with her mother. Waking up from her weird dream which seemed so real, Fran was relieved.
“Thanks honey. Hey, maybe we’ll watch some Three Stooges and To Kill a Mockingbird today.”
Interesting pair of characters, polar opposites. You presented them well.
Curly’s portrayal was spot on.
~Anne
Thanks for the comments. Appreciate it.
Clint squinted and gave Cagney that look – you know the one that tears through any protective outer layers and exposes your soul.
“Go ahead. Make my day.”
Cagney rose up out of the sitting chair in his perfectly pressed pinstripe suit, polished black shoes, and spats. “With his chest puffed out and eyes gleaming, he said, “Ok, cowboy, all I’m saying is that actors back in my day really had to be talented. We had to sing and dance and make the ladies swoon…oh and we had to be a pretty darn good actor too. Today, you just need a full head of hair, a good writer, and a ‘secret’ porn video uploaded by a spiteful ex doesn’t hurt.”
Clint’s eyes squinted tighter as he chewed on his slender cigar. He pulled back one side of his worn leather duster, exposing his holstered nickel pistol. “Look, punk. These nice people here invited us to celebrate their daughter’s birthday. It’s a happy celebration. Get it? Happy.”
My parents, standing near the front door and waiting for my arrival, were unconsciously clinging to one another while watching the spectacle unfold.
“Um…,” my mom cleared her throat. “Champagne anyone?”
“Yeah…happy. That’s something you don’t really know how to play, now, do you? I mean, you’re always growling and glaring for the camera. I can throw my head back and give a belly laugh one second, then sob on cue the next. Can you?” Cagney’s short, squatty frame slid up next to Clint’s tall, lanky one – hands balled in a fist and head cocked up and to the side in challenge. “Yeah…didn’t think so tough guy.”
Cagney turned. “I’d love some, Mrs. Davies. Must be nice to know that one of your guests is civilized and….” The shot rang out before anyone had a chance to see Clint pull his pistol. He stood there, in the middle of the living room, arm overhead holding a smoking gun. A medium sized piece of plaster fell off to his right and hit the coffee table, knocking a vase of mums to the floor in a shattering explosion, and splattering Cagney’s left pant leg with water.
“Wow. You guys really know how to throw a party!” No one had heard me walk in. In fact, my mother hadn’t heard anything after she fainted into my father’s arms.
Somehow we managed to sit around the dinner table in relative peace afterward: Clint smelling faintly of gunpowder, Cagney with a spot on his suit, and my poor mother shaking.
That’s how we got that silly hole in our ceiling so many years ago. At least that’s what I told my friends during a sleepover in the second grade. Sounds so much better than my baby brother pulling the chandelier out of the ceiling as he decided to “swing like Tarzan” across the living room using my mom’s new drapery fabric? Right?
Funny. Your descriptions of the characters and dialogue was good.
I also like the description of characters. The dialogue was well thought out and funny. That’s a pretty detailed story for a second grader.
The characters are so real and accurate.
Although Clint and Cagney aren’t fictional characters, you captured how they portray their characters well. The Tarzan story sounds interesting itself – maybe for another prompt.
Good read.
Terrific portrayal of the two characters. I could easily visualize them. Cute “rest of the story,” to.
~Anne
Featuring:
Sir Didymus- Jim Henson’s Labyrinth (1986), created by Jim Henson and Brian Froud
Wolverine-Marvel Comics’ “X-Men” (first appearance 1974), created by Len Wein and John Romita, Sr.
“Of Dogs and Wolverines”
Frankly, the party had been lackluster before the mutant maniac slammed the pantaloons-wearing terrier into my birthday cake.
My parents have no idea of the kind of pop culture I’m into—not when I was a kid, and not now. After they had secretly taken stock of the paraphernalia I owned, finding the old “Labyrinth” movie I played to death when I was little, and the pile of X-men comics in a box beneath my bed, they had the ingenious idea to invite my favorite childhood icon and my favorite superhero to my birthday party.
When Sir Didymus arrived, riding his faithful sheepdog Ambrosius into my backyard where the party was set up, I admit that my inner child felt a flutter of nostalgic admiration. “My my, what a marvelous day for the festivities of your miraculous arrival into the world!” he announced, sporting his Shakespearean-inspired wardrobe. He presented me with a box. “For you, in commemoration of your birth. It is the eye of a dragon I defeated, one of my many impressive trophies.”
While Didymus was a pleasant surprise, I was flat-out stunned when my other guest of honor rumbled up my driveway on the most battered motorcycle I had ever seen. He clenched a cigar between his teeth, and casually lifted his shades up from his eyes. He was wearing a leather jacket over his X-men uniform, the early 90’s TV show yellow-and-black, which plucked the strings of my geek heart.
Wolverine gave the place a quick look-over, mumbling, “The stupid s**t I do for a quick buck these days. There better be some damn good beer here.”
“Watch your tongue in front of our host!” Didymus snapped. “These are people of refined taste and culture. Hired ‘entertainment’ such as yourself should act in a more dignified fashion.”
Wolverine merely kicked Didymus out of his way—literally, as the terrier went flying across the yard—and made his way to the cooler, where he grabbed a Budweiser and sliced off the cap with one of his retractable claws. He took a long drink before glancing over at me. “Happy Birthday. By the way, I don’t take checks for private appearances.”
“This means, war, sir!” Didymus came scampering back, withdrawing a tiny rapier from his belt. “I challenged you to a duel, to defend my honor as well as the sanctity of this celebration!”
Wolverine took a swig of his beer. “If I’m ‘hired entertainment,’ then it’s show time.”
Two minutes later, I was out a birthday cake, the refreshment table, the rented pavilion, my mother’s garden, the entire back porch, an oak tree, the backyard fence, the garage, my car (I managed to salvage the bumper), and my assembly of guests, who all got the heck out of Dodge once the fight got going. By the end, it was just me, Wolverine, and Didymus, knocking back drinks and singing the tunes of Journey, Rush, and other 1980s bands, sitting amidst the aftermath of carnage that had rendered my backyard a warzone wasteland.
Best…birthday…ever.
Actually, folks, I’m going to ask that you ignore this one. I thought this was a good idea, but after rereading and thinking about it, I really don’t like this story. I took two of my childhood favorites when honestly, I haven’t thought about these characters in years. I’ll probably try again after I think a little harder about this prompt. So, IGNORE THIS ONE. Thanks.
Will do – but an interesting combination of characters!
~Anne
LOVE this story. This is a really hard prompt, and you met the challenge head on.
Icabu,
Love the story and the selection of characters. As a young boy growing up I loved Emergiency and Johnny Gage was the man. SWAT was my second favorite show and Hondo was the ultimate leader plus they both had cool trucks. Squad 51 and the dark blue van were the best!
On top of all that you bring it back to a touching story of a mom and her daughter. You Rock!
Rob – it’s funny we had the same favorite shows growing up. I liked how policemen went into the blue van and an elite SWAT team poured out at the scene. Not planned, but the ending scene fits – it’s Mother’s Day. Up the Irons!
Thanks for reading. It certainly was a tough one! I appreciate the kind feedback.
Johnny Gage, ‘Emergency!’, belongs to Mark VII and Universal
Jim Street, ‘SWAT’, belongs to Spelling-Goldberg Productions
###
“You know she chose her career path due to the excitement and flash of our show,” Johnny Gage said to the equally tall, dark, and handsome Jim Street.
Gage flashed the crooked smile that I thought so adorable when I was twelve. Now it seemed to leer at the other guest at the dinner table. The temperamental Street glared back, never backing down.
“She’d never have gotten the chance if our military-precision tactics hadn’t steered her to the Air Force to be able to have that career,” Street shot back to Gage.
“Gentlemen.” The two TV characters of my youth, joining me for a surprise birthday dinner, still had their youthful appearance, unlike myself. More surprising, they appeared to despise each other. The whole time they’d been sniping at each other, usually over which of them I liked more. Trying to diffuse the tension, I continued, “Both shows brought realism to TV and awareness to public service professions.”
“Our show lasted over six seasons,” Gage gloated.
Street stood, eyes flashing. “Ours was too real for a gutless audience. We didn’t have a chance.”
I don’t recall who threw the first punch. Giving up, I lowered my head onto my folded arms on the table – a headache pounding at my temples.
Suddenly quiet, I opened my eyes. My head still pounded, but aches everywhere crept into my awareness.
“You’re awake!”
Repeated blinking brought a blurry image into somewhat sharper focus. My mother.
“I didn’t believe them when they said to keep talking to you, that you could hear me. After a couple of days I ran out of things to say so I just started from the beginning and got to your twelfth birthday when we got you that ‘Emergency!’ lunchbox and the ‘SWAT’ action kit.”
Through my mother’s babbling, I remembered. My bank was robbed. SWAT stormed in. A bullet ricocheted off my skull. Paramedics treated me. My mother droned on about brain swelling and a coma. I closed my eyes, hoping to slip back into something tall, dark, and handsome – but only one at a time.
That was a fun ride. Really well done.
Thanks for reading and feedback.
Good story and writing. Nice.
Thanks. I appreciate the feedback.
I really liked it. It was also good that you gave credit for the characters in the begining. I wouldve never thought to do that. They say that you shouldn’t fool your audience with a dream sequence to start a story but I thought you pulled it off to perfection. Thanks for letting us read your work.
Thanks for reading. I should also credit Randy Mantooth and Bob Urich for bringing those characters to life – they did so handsomely (imho). It felt like I was cheating the audience but felt boxed in by the prompt – thanks for the kind feedback.
As always, well-thought out and nicely told, Icabu!
~Anne
As always, well-thought out and nicely told, Icabu! I like how you used the pain to transition us to the present.
~Anne
Thanks, Anne. This is a tough prompt. I used any ‘trick’, good or bad, to get through it.
It was difficult, especially in 500 words. I thought everyone gave it a good go, though.
~Anne