Category: Stichomancy Prompts

The Sheep/Goat Mutual Aid Society

  • k-avatarhis own club lashed out
  • the street sneezed
  • warm salty water in my mouth
  • and crouched while she drank it
  • she was a limp doll

The Sheep/Goat Mutual Aid Society printed a scathing pamphlet about Harvey, and his own club lashed out with a retort in the form of a full-page ad that Sunday. All was politics as usual, until either a Sheep or a Goat used a blowgun to take Harvey out of the picture.

Harvey lay there, and the street sneezed under him. The poison of the dart twisted the world into rippling fever-dreams, and he could only lay still and wonder if he would survive.

So much warm salty water in my mouth, Harvey thought. He couldn’t breathe. But a cat trotted up to him, and purred in his ear, and crouched while she drank it.

Having saved his life, she was a limp doll across his chest.

 

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The Latest Fad Religion

  • by jenthe most fabulous unheard-of things
  • I love my gold!
  • “Remote control, perhaps?”
  • discontinuous orthodragonality
  • some dank, phosphorescent cocoon
  • stirred the subatomic dough

The latest fad religion, Discontinuous Orthodragonality, is quickly replacing Kabbalah among the Hollywood elite. Orthodragonality priests remind the rich and famous that dragons are known for hoarding treasure, and preach that greed is desirable. They encourage Orthodragonality neophytes to become comfortable proclaiming, “I love my gold!”

Their sermons recount tales of the most fabulous unheard-of things, like the ancient silver dragon who sat in some dank, phosphorescent cocoon and stirred the subatomic dough for one week until the world was created.

At the end of the services, the believers rise together to sing a hymn, such as the all-time favorite about the mystery of how the dragons control the universe, entitled “Remote Control, Perhaps?”

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The Kremlin Cupolas Shone

  • k-avatarslapped the monk’s face
  • stop shooting, you fools!
  • most novices ate it with relish
  • work intelligently, rather than spectacularly
  • the Kremlin cupolas shone against a pale summer sky
  • “Go ahead, kiss her.”

The Kremlin cupolas shone against a pale summer sky, and bells rang out the lunchtime hour. Since its conversion into a  monastery, the former fortress boasted far fewer tanks, and marginally better food.

Brother Ivan wished the cooks would strive to work intelligently, rather than spectacularly. Years of eating the ornate fare left him bored by all the gold leaf and sugar sculptures, although most novices ate it with relish.

The walls shook, signaling that some of those novices were skipping lunch to play in a tank, and had found some ammunition. “Stop shooting, you fools!” screamed the abbot as he charged outside.

After the meal, Ivan strolled in Red Square with Brother Boris. They came upon a pretty young lady with a sign reading, “Smoochies, $1.”

“Go ahead, kiss her,” Ivan suggested. The woman slapped the monk’s face. “Pay first,” she insisted.

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For the First Time in My Life

  • by jenswooning to the floor of the hospital
  • I was committing a sin
  • fantastically gilded and filagreed
  • stifling fumes from the damp earth
  • mute and inglorious
  • would a number of men so dragged a corpse

For the first time in my life I was committing a sin, and I decided that I wanted to do it memorably, and commit the most fantastically gilded and filagreed sin in history, a sin that would leave battle-hardered surgeons mute and ingloriously swooning to the floor of the hospital where they would breathe deeply of the stifling fumes from the damp earth and wonderingly ask one another under what circumstances could or would a number of men so dragged a corpse as artfully as I, metaphorically speaking.

 

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Behind Half-Closed Lids

  • k-avatarwith their burning eyes and saliva-spun lips
  • Behind half-closed lids
  • infecting several people
  • spring glibly from his tongue
  • the Actor-Robot’s overwhelming hate
  • once through his nose

Behind half-closed lids, the Actor-Robot’s overwhelming hate for the Director-Robot and the Wardrobe-Robot, with their burning eyes and saliva-spun lips, seethed and roiled like the caustic wit that would spring glibly from his tongue, and emerged once through his nose, when he took the stage to mock the President-Robot who, through neglectful hygiene, wound up infecting several people with degenerative robotism.

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Block-and-Tackle Bill Earned His Nickname

  • by jena four inch green lizard
  • a human-style bed
  • some cook throwing a tantrum
  • aged pile of feces
  • block-and-tackle Bill

Block-and-Tackle Bill earned his nickname on the high school football field. Now, decades of steroid abuse had left him unable to enjoy sexual congress in a human-style bed without the use of a very large block-and-tackle. The irony was, indeed, lost on Block-and-Tackle Bill.

Block-and-Tackle Bill slumped in his leather recliner watching some cook throwing a tantrum on TV. He felt like an aged pile of feces, but in less poetic terms. The only thing that made him smile these days, since his block-and-tackle contraption broke, was Esmerelda, a four inch green lizard who had taken up residence on Bill’s patio. Her skin secreted a potent painkiller and Bill would lick her whenever he could catch her.

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As the Silence of the Sea Swallowed Her

  • k-avatara vast quantity of seaweed
  • the silence of the sea
  • swallowed her brandy
  • applying the battery to one of the pectoral muscles
  • dropped the obsolete word
  • our hands full with the silkworms

As the silence of the sea swallowed her, Brandy sank calmly through the warm, dark blue. The surface was enshrouded by a vast quantity of seaweed, rendering even this shallow depth as murky as the trench miles below. Brandy’s mind grew as dark as the silent sea.

…

“Her color’s poor, but that can be remedied by applying the battery to one of the pectoral muscles.”

Before Brandy could raise any objections, her color was (presumably) improved. I’ll be fine in a trice, she thought.

“How are you?” inquired the doctor with the electrical fixation.

“I’ll be fine,” Brandy reiterated aloud, although she dropped the obsolete word. “Where am I?”

“SeaSilk HQ. Your arrival was quite unexpected and we were unprepared to treat you. We have our hands full with the silkworms.”

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Felix is Plotting a Rampage

  • by jenthe plight of the American stockbroker
  • with a long-lost sister
  • dancing the wicked flamenco
  • are they being worn by non-members?
  • he will not hesitate to shoot you, whether you voted for him or not

Felix is plotting a rampage at the school’s Homecoming dance. He’s in the running for Homecoming King, but don’t assume you’re safe if he wins. He’s so disgruntled he will will not hesitate to shoot you, whether you voted for him or not. So go ahead and vote for whoever you think is cutest, or whatever the criteria are for the position.

You may well ask why Felix is so bent on dancing the wicked flamenco of destruction. He told me he is concerned for the plight of the American stockbroker. I think he was being facetious.

My theory involves Felix’s recent meeting with a long-lost sister in which she expressed her horror at the thought of outsiders wearing country club jackets to the dance. Have you heard anything about this? Are they being worn by non-members? And if so, is that a call to arms?

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“Please,” I Begged

  • k-avataryet oddly not hard
  • a huge eel lay on the table
  • like a slender cherub
  • slowly and most wickedly
  • don’t be cruel to me
  • her brows, nostrils, lips

“Please,” I begged, “don’t be cruel to me.”

Her response to my supplication registered slowly and most wickedly in tiny movements of her brows, nostrils, lips, and ears. Finally she marched her fingers across my exposed thigh, her dainty hand looking like a slender cherub.

A huge eel lay on the table beside me. Being dead, it wasn’t strapped down. Being alive, I was.

The woman’s fingers had crossed my lap and attained their objective, curling around the haft of a long knife. It was hard to believe she meant to eat me, yet oddly not hard.

“At least tell me your name,” I stammered.

“Minerva,” she sighed, carving a thick steak from the eel without taking her eyes off of mine.

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Hieronymus Warhol Wandered the Arid Australian Outback

  • by jenonly this wasn’t a dolphin or a lion
  • a certain rock
  • It’s the fever
  • the sparkling synapses
  • tiny bubbles from his angelic lips

Hieronymus Warhol wandered the arid Australian outback in search of his spirit guide for three days before discovering a certain rock that spoke to him. By that time Hieronymus was naked, hungry, sunburnt, and severely dehydrated. The sparkling synapses in his overtaxed mind misfired repeatedly as the rock, the beautiful gray rock, told him where to find his spirit guide.

Hieronymus had been expecting a grand and noble creature to guide him on his quest, only this wasn’t a dolphin or a lion. It was Donald Trump.

It’s the fever, Hieronymus thought as he gazed upon Donald Trump spewing tiny bubbles from his angelic lips.

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