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Thanks you two! The story violates contest rules but I just couldn't find a place to stick in that last line. The chip being too large and the character having to open extra wide to eat it was supposed to be a way to fit it in but it just didn't go well. Anyway, I had a lot of fun participating and reading the two other stories! I hope some more people join in.
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“Considering the vile odor of Ruffledips I don’t see why anyone would want one.”
Charley waved away the server and his rancid cargo of finger snacks. They weren’t called finger snacks at fancy parties like this, but that is what they were.
“It’s part of the native cuisine, Charles. You can’t go around tipping your nose up at your host’s offer. If Thadias heard you say that he would be highly offended!” Greg was putting on airs to try to match the luxury of Minister Thadias’ home.
Seeking to lead by example, perhaps, or out of a fool-hardy attempt to prove his mettle Greg held a Ruffledip up so that he could see it.
“Please don’t put your lips on it…”
“Too late, Charles my boy!” Greg tossed it back like a piece of pop-corn.
Charley, not Charles. Greg knew perfectly well that he hated being called Charles. If he wouldn’t call him Charley, he wouldn’t call him dad. It made him think of a butler or something. It rang to mind penguin suited snobs, replete with manacles and spotless white gloves.
The same kind of stiff that Greg was just dying to be!
One of these pompous asses would walk right up to him, cigarette holder hanging elegantly from their lips. “Care for a Ruffledip master Charles?”, their voices dripping with feigned graciousness. He could hear it now.
“Wipe that scowl off your face Charles. We are the guest of the minister of commerce. I don’t want you walking up to him wearing a face like you just sucked down a gallon of lemonade. You put on your happy face, and for your sake I hope that it fits, because if it doesn’t I’ll punch it into place for you!” Greg whispered fiercely, still grinning with his mouth, but his eyes flared with dread and possible embarrassment.
Greg made it a few strides into the room before he noticed Charley had lagged behind, fidgeting with his rented suit. Some small frantic gestures later, they trudged deeper and deeper into the tide of important dignitaries together.
How Greg thought he would pull off this ruse was beyond Charley. He was perplexed, to say the least.
Charley was dragging his heels again. He didn’t want to meet Thadias and his gaggle of fancy-men. It was Greg who sought to climb the social ladder at every turn, no matter who had to be used as a stair.
After ducking around the belly of a fat woman, the same fat woman, he could only assume, that would be singing at the end of the night to alert everyone that it was time to go home, he managed to evade Greg for a solid five minutes.
He imagined he might be a master criminal evading the flat footed cops in a crowded shopping mall. He made it to a second story window, where he actually contemplated jumping to freedom on the back of one of those prickly trees below when Greg caught up to him.
Greg seized him by shoulder and whirled him around to face him. “I ought to rattle those brain cells of yours Charley! How many have to die before this insanity stops!”
“The more brain cells I lose, the less behaved I’m likely to be, father.”
“If you insist on being an ass all night then we are going to have to go home!”
“Alright, alright! Calm down! I may be a slacker, but I can recognize when to behave and when not.” Charley thought this might give him enough time to make his move.
After a long moment, Greg seemed satisfied with what he saw in his insolent son’s eyes.
“Alright. Straighten your jacket before you come back down stairs.”
Greg turned to descend and Charley did the same, but this time he didn’t think about it too hard. He just jumped out the window and rode the prickly branches of that tree to the ground. It hurt, no doubt, but anything was better than drowning in that room of civility.
_________________ Have you tried that? Looking for answers? Or have you been content to be terrified of a thing you know nothing about?
Nowhere in the Bible does it state that the truth would be revealed through logic and evidence. -James Williamson MD
Science flies you to the moon. Religion flies you into buildings.
In the absence of God, I found Man. -Guillermo Del Torro
If you think education is expensive, try ignorance. -Derek Bok
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We haven't decided how winners will be chosen yet so please just post your story for the fun of it. In the last contest we gave away free books to every single participant.
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Re: A twisted creative writing contest! Wanna play?
Gwen rearranged the pots so as to create the impression that the display was all one azalea bush, rather than twenty-four separate plants. She was moving at the end of the summer, and was darned if she was going to leave them for the new owner's construction boys to plow under.
Tony didn't see the point in this; to his way of thinking, they'd be dead by the end of December anyway. He was perplexed, to say the least, and wondered what she intended to do with them.
"It's not as if we're moving to a house with a yard" he'd pointed out.
He didn't know any more than she, what kind of place they might get; it would have to be an apartment, he supposed and how many rental units had they seen with a lot of window space.
He liked plants; that wasn't his reason for objecting to her purchase. They earned enough and, like she'd said, a woman could do worse things with her money than buy plants. It was just such a waste; he would rather see her give them away, than watch them wither, their stalks turning to wood, the leaves crumbling.
"Azaleas" Gwen valiantly asserted "can be taken indoors over the winter. You'll see. They'll grow twice their size by next June."
"Oh, yes, of course . . ."
He gave up; he didn't want to insult her by coming right out and saying so, but sooner or later she had to face up to it. Her dainty, well manicured thumb was definitely not green. He'd seen her through too many botanical failures in their marriage of nine years. The woman simply had no talent for raising plants, in or out of doors.
"How many have to die before this insanity stops?" This, under his breath, as he left the garden, heading for the basement door, to tinker with his model motorcycles.
Gwen was right behind him. "I beg your pardon? Are you suggesting . . ."
He stopped and turned, then took her hand about to kiss it, to offer his most humble apologies, but she snatched it away.
"Please don’t put your lips on it!"
They trudged deeper and deeper into the house, descending another set of stairs leading to the sub-basement. She followed him to the table where he kept his models, sensing through his silence, the hurt he felt when she'd refused his kiss.
"I'm sorry, but it's just that I've had my hands in soil all morning . . ."
He remained silent, shrugging her hand from his shoulder and began to brush the dust from an almost finished chopper. He looked under the table, examined the floor, then looked at her with raised eyebrows.
"Did you see my small chisel? I left it right here . . . "
"Oh . . . wait a minute. I'll get it . . . "
"What do you mean, you'll get it? Where is it?" Charles rarely raised his voice, but if she touched anything having to do with his beloved motorcycles he roared.
"I just left it in the garden . . . I'll be right back . . ."
"In the garden! What is it doing in the garden?"
He followed her back out to the yard . . .
"Where . . ."
"Here. Here it is" she chirped, pulling it from the ground, then wiping it on the hem of her sweater.
More silence as he inspected it, glowering as he fingered the now dulled edge of the tool.
"For your sake I hope it fits."
**************
I dunno' . . . it isn't the greatest of stories, I guess - I just followed it along, using the sentences. But what the heck, I'll share it anyway.
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WildCityWoman, that was amazing. You picked some very clever ways of using each and every required phrase. Very good job. I enjoyed reading it and almost wish it kept going.
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I enjoyed it too! I like motorcycles so you had me hooked instantly. The husband's obsession with his hobby to the emotional neglect of his wife had me feeling for the relationship. For the wife to use something of such importance to the husband for gardening work makes me worry about the wife's thought process and the future of the relationship. I wanted the story to continue also.
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This is a great story for a discussion! Awesome job WildCityWoman.
Pres. C. wrote:
Quote:
For the wife to use something of such importance to the husband for gardening work makes me worry about the wife's thought process and the future of the relationship.
This is interesting, because this is not how I read it. I think this story may be interpreted differently by men and women. Please correct me if I'm wrong, WCW.
I saw the wife putting the cheisel in the ground because she was mad at her husband. I think she did it out of anger because she had to give up her hobby once they moved, but, the husband did not have to give up his. She put that cheisel in the ground for revenge of some sort, she did it to hurt him. I wonder how long that cheisel was in the ground before he noticed it was missing. Maybe I'm wrong, but that is how I read it.
Quote:
He remained silent, shrugging her hand from his shoulder and began to brush the dust from an almost finished chopper.
This sentance is great! There is dust on his chopper, and, it's almost finished. This suggests to me that these models are very dear to him, but, he does not spend the time on his hobby like the wife does on hers. What arrogance!
I don't think this couple will remain together. It is mentioned that they have money, why are they moving. I'm thinking, maybe to be closer to his job in the city. Why, why, would this husband move into an apartment where the wife can not continue her gardening, because you know those models are coming. I can see it, the dining room monopolized by dust covered choppers.
The story ends with:
"For your sake I hope it fits."
I see the wife making this comment. It's like, yeah, I hope it fits where the sun don't shine. However, it is unclear who says this last line. This is where a woman may read this story differently than a man.
Would love to hear from WildCityWoman and know her thoughts.
excellent job!
_________________ I feel like a wet seed wild in the hot blind earth. --William Faulkner
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Yup, we definitely read it differently. I read it without trying to read into why exactly the wife would use his tool in the dirt. I see it now, she wanted revenge... what a vindictive and passive aggressive action. How dishonorable of her. Very sad.
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Thanks for your compliments all.
I actually didn't mean to make her having used his chisel as a mean thing to do to him.
The chisel was the only thing I could think of - it was for the last line - for your sake, I hope it fits.
I might work this story up a bit more; maybe re-draft it, with the idea of her deliberately ruining his chisel as a major point in the story.
Also, I hadn't thought of her being angry about the move - just conscious that the plants should stay in their pots, so they could just pick them up and move them to the new place easily.
It's the kind of thing I would do - at the present time, I have around 8 kalanchoes out in the garden. Knowing I'll be bringing them in for the winter, I left them in their pots. I put some of them in baskets, and filled them with dirt - it'll be easy to lift them.
(I make a juice out of cigarette butts and spent tea - I steep them in a jar, then strain them the next day and water it down. I pour this mix on the plants I'm bringing in. It's to get rid of any bugs)
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Thank you WildCityWoman for you comments.
Wow, I don't know what to say. I'm sorry I interjected my thoughts into your story if these interpretations were not your intent. She seemed so angry about having to leave her garden. I remember the line, where she says, she didn't want to leave her plants to the plow from the next owners. I really thought she placed that cheisel in the ground because she was mad at him becase he was critical of her hobby, even though he loved those model choppers that were covered in dust. He made me angry, he was critical of her gardening ability, but he neglected his own hobby. I even created a job in the city for him to rationalize the move. Wow, how arrogant of me! Again, I apologize.
Please don't rewrite it because of my interpretations.
If you do decide to continue with the story, please share.
_________________ I feel like a wet seed wild in the hot blind earth. --William Faulkner
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