Tagged: balloon

I Came To with a Wicked Headache

  • by jenmake sure to never do it with a singer
  • son of a diplomat
  • I want to have grown-up love
  • “Dinner is ready!”
  • the air of a disconcerted pickpocket

Tune in next time part 265                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

I came to with a wicked headache. My surroundings were so unexpected that for a long while I wasn’t sure I was actually awake. I could still hear the whooshing chug of the submarine’s engine, but it was nearly masked by calliope music. I was up to my neck in balloon animals.

If you ever engage in spycraft, make sure to never do it with a singer, or dancer, or any other sort of entertainer. But especially don’t do it with a mime. They’re ruthless and unpredictable.

Tesla sat cross-legged atop the balloon animal quagmire I was trapped in, made nearly weightless by her near-mystical mastery of mime technique. Her face was covered with a thick layer of white grease paint, with her eyes outlined in black and a red heart drawn around her lips. Her stripey mime leotard was merely body paint, with a skull and crossbones over each nipple and a treasure chest full of doubloons between her legs. A tricorn hat sat atop her head at a jaunty angle.

“I see you’re finally awake, you landlubber,” she said. Appearances aside, she was apparently more pirate than mime. “Yarr! You’ll be answering my questions now, you scurvy son of a diplomat.”

My father had been called many things, but “diplomat” was not one of them.

“It’s been a long time, Tesla,” I said. She unfolded her legs and moved closer to me, and I became aware that I was naked underneath all the balloon animals.

“I’m supposed to interrogate you,” she whispered, leaning in close. “But that’s so tedious, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely.”

She reached down through the layers of inflated, colorful creatures until she found my own inflated, colorful creature. “I want to have grown-up love,” she cooed. “And Tessa told me years ago that you’re very good at it.”

The balloons squealed against each other.

Suddenly a hatch in the ceiling banged open and William Sausage looked down through the opening. “Dinner is ready!” he bellowed in his reedy voice. And then he just stared at us, openmouthed, with the air of a disconcerted pickpocket.

bonus points for using them in order

about stichomancy writing prompts

try our stichomancy writing prompt generator!

Standing Just Inside the Door

  • by jengirl with brown hair
  • People do.
  • no one knows where he went
  • “There are balloons.”
  • thinking it was kind of funny

Tune in next time part 207                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

Standing just inside the door was a girl with brown hair and a bright orange pinkie on her left hand. That was a sign that she was a very high ranking Pinkie Swear, and also tough. She’d endured the agony of having her entire little finger tattooed a shade of orange too bright for most hunters to look upon. It’s hard to believe that anyone would voluntarily do that, but people do. People do.

“I can tell you’re not Jason,” she said, taking in my crocs, “but you’re probably looking for him. He was here about half an hour ago and no one knows where he went. We were preparing to celebrate his tattoo ritual,” she gestured around the black-lit room. “There are balloons.”

“Yes there are,” I agreed. The floor was knee deep with them, all glowing under the unnatural illumination.

I was thinking it was kind of funny that the Pinks expected Jason to pledge fealty, when for as long as I could remember he’d been more of a thumb wrestling kind of guy. Back at the Academy, he’d been thumb wrestling champion four years running.

If there’s one thing my association with my twin had taught me, it was that you should never trust a thumb wrestler. It takes a certain psychopathy to excel at the sport.

Had Jason’s foray in this group been benign? Was he merely studying this foreign faction the way Dian Fossey studied gorillas? Or had his mission been more sinister?

I looked around at all the fanciful balloons. What might Jason have hidden beneath their glowing childish joy?

bonus points for using them in order

about stichomancy writing prompts

try our stichomancy writing prompt generator!

Wandering the Suburban Blightscape

  • k-avatarhome with his sister
  • attained an altitude of four thousand feet
  • “No, that isn’t elegant.”
  • found myself in a cul-de-sac
  • threw herself into my arms

Wandering the suburban blightscape of Simon’s neighborhood, I found myself in a cul-de-sac rimmed with identical split-level houses. I hoped Simon was home with his sister. She shouldn’t be left alone in such desolation.

Spotting the four-digit number that spelt “Simon” in the arcane addressing scheme of the development, and which was the sole means of distinguishing one house from any other, I rang the bell. Seconds later the door opened and Simone threw herself into my arms.

“Isn’t Simon here?” I asked with the breath she crushed from my lungs.

“He went up in the balloon this morning and he hasn’t come back!” Simone gasped.

This didn’t bode well. On the balloon’s previous flight, it had attained an altitude of four thousand feet and then couldn’t be coaxed to descend by the usual means. The Civil Air Patrol was called in and had to determine the best way to return Simon and his wayward contraption to terra firma.

“You could shoot down the balloon with arrows,” Simon’s brother had suggested. Minos coveted Simon’s collection of baseball cards and could be relied upon to offer malevolent advice on any topic.

The ranking officer of the Patrol was cool-headed. “No, that isn’t elegant.” The grizzled veteran glanced about the room before concluding, “We’ll use the grappling hooks!”

Now I stroked Simone’s jet hair and told her it would all be fine, but I suppressed a shudder as I recalled the cruel barbs of those hooks, and of the crewmen who launched them.

about stichomancy writing prompts

try our stichomancy writing prompt generator!