Category: Stichomancy Prompts

Maxine Stared Longingly

  • by jenbe a hard bargainer!
  • that’s where all the Greek gods live
  • like a spinning mouse
  • began to pick the dust and rocks off them
  • on her knees before me
  • but also a pathological walking delusion

Maxine stared longingly at the fraternity house and said, “That’s where all the Greek gods live.” She was on her knees before me, so I told her to stand. Her pants were covered with road dirt and she began to pick the dust and rocks off them, her hands darting about like a spinning mouse.

Maxine had a neatness obsession, but also a pathological walking delusion which made it impossible for her to go anywhere alone. I am her paid companion. I earn a good salary and even have health insurance. My advice to anyone negotiating an employment contract is be a hard bargainer!

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Sacre Coeur Was Yet Another Cathedral

  • k-avatarpuffed up like a toad
  • no mere statue
  • You had two. They were thick
  • “Stand back, you imbecile!”
  • the 200 year brawl
  • yet another cathedral

Sacre Coeur was yet another cathedral trammeled in the 200 year brawl between transubstantiationalist rebels and the materialist establishment.

“Stand back, you imbecile!” bellowed Mordecai, chief pyrotechnician of the rebellion. “Out of the way so I can take down that minotaur.”

“You had two. They were thick. It’s my turn,” groused Stephanie, a talented psionic.

Both were struck speechless when the icon St Gridiron, which it seemed was no mere statue, puffed up like a toad.

“But this would be blasphemy to the materialists!” cried Mordecai.

In a grating voice St Gridiron explained, “They have formed an alliance with the couch-potato legions.”

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As Winifred Sat Nervously in the Examination Room

  • by jenwearing a neatly trimmed beard
  • like most parents
  • Apparently you know Mr Scroggins
  • almost eerily quiet
  • a secret I can’t discuss
  • license plate number of the truck
  • a product of artificial insemination
  • almost as tall as the diving platform

As Winifred sat nervously in the examination room, her mind was filled by the license plate number of the truck driven by her abductors – XYZ 3499 – over and over in a loop.

The entire facility she now found herself in was almost eerily quiet, even though it was fully staffed with medical and military personnel.

A bald man wearing a neatly trimmed beard entered the room without knocking. Following was a tall man Winifred recognized immediately. The bald man saw her look of surprise and said, “Apparently you know Mr Scroggins.”

“It’s hard not to notice him around town,” said Winifred. “He’s almost as tall as the diving platform at the YMCA.”

Both men chuckled.

“You may well wonder why we’ve brought you here,” said Mr Scroggins.

Winifred nodded.

“Like most parents in this situation, yours did not want you to know you are a product of artificial insemination.”

Winifred gasped. It was surprising news, but did help explain a comment her mother had once made: “I have a secret I can’t discuss with you or your father.”

The bald man interrupted her memory. “Your mother thought she was inseminated with the sperm of a Nobel Laureate. Unfortunately this was not the case…”

He let the ominous sentence hang there and Winifred’s imagination raced.

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“Recalling Her Pantaloons”

  • k-avatarher pantaloons, her cherry-coloured stockings
  • find myself craving the famous borscht
  • I think she died in the bombardment
  • you’d rather gossip than fuck!
  • padded with brown velvet
  • Those bastards are better off

“Recalling her pantaloons, her cherry-coloured stockings padded with brown velvet, I find myself craving the famous borscht served in the capitol before it was razed. I think she died in the bombardment. Many did. Those bastards are better off than we are, when you look at what the revolution had done to architecture.”

“My sister was right when she said you’d rather gossip than fuck!”

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Devlin du Mauvais Addressed the Lecture Hall

  • by jenwe will use the celebrated diagonal method
  • “just another human being”
  • blur the distinction
  • Jeepers creepers!
  • there is nevertheless always some intangible abstract quality
  • Indeed, the brains of anteaters

Devlin du Mauvais addressed the lecture hall full of nubile coeds and continued his thought, “There is nevertheless always some intangible abstract quality that allows a demon to tell exactly what it is dealing with. ‘Just another human being’ it will think, its amorality allowing it to blur the distinctions we humans make amongst ourselves. Demons care not whether we see ourselves as good or worthy of salvation. Indeed, the brains of anteaters hold more interest for them than do the minds of humankind.”

Jeepers creepers! thought Edna Calfdimple from the doorway where she lurked, eavesdropping. He’s so handsome! I have to take this class next semester.

Dr du Mauvais dismissed the class, and Edna lurked until all the students left, hoping to pluck up the courage to speak to the dashing professor. But before that happened, a trio of sultry raven-haired women entered the lecture hall and surrounded Dr du Mauvais with their identicalness, cooing and touching him.

“Tonight darling brother,” they said in unison, “we will use the celebrated diagonal method.”

Edna blushed furiously and fled.

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Stefano Shifted his Considerable Bulk

  • k-avatarcoughed and reached for his rum
  • gave a big, guttural grunt of pleasure
  • I’m not a machine
  • I can’t even offer you a drink
  • fat arms curved around his daughters
  • and then a stream of bubbles

Stefano shifted his considerable bulk in the murky hot tub, gave a big, guttural grunt of pleasure, and then a stream of bubbles paraded to the surface.

“Your request tugs at my heart,” he grumbled distractedly, his fat arms curved around his daughters, each girl almost as rotund, and hirsute, as their father. “I understand your plight. I’m not a machine.”

He then coughed and reached for his rum while we fidgeted and dreaded the inevitable refusal of our boon. Stefano upended the bottle into his mouth, swallowing greedily.

“But there’s nothing I can do,” he drawled, before extracting the last of the fluid from the bottle. “I can’t even offer you a drink.”

And so, my brothers and I resigned ourselves to performing our trapeze act without a net.

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The Almighty Cornelius MacDermott

  • by jenat or about midnight
  • remembered the area as being that swampy
  • the almighty Cornelius MacDermott
  • the place was an inferno
  • the gumption of a sunflower

The Almighty Cornelius MacDermott, President for Life of the Mid-Atlantic chapter of the Sunflower Society, made his way through the mire under cover of darkness. He was to meet his blackmailer at or about midnight in the abandoned sawmill. He hoped he would be on time. He hadn’t remembered the area as being that swampy, and the going was slow.

Once he located the old mill, the Almighty Cornelius MacDermott scouted the surrounding area until he spotted a mud-splattered ATV parked behind a gorse bush. His blackmailer was already here. Good.

The Almighty Cornelius MacDermott crept up and peered between some loose boards on the mill, confirming that his blackmailer was inside. Then he quickly spread the accelerant and lit the match.

In no time, the place was an inferno. The Almighty Cornelius MacDermott waited patiently outside for the screaming to start, and then to stop, ensuring that his blackmailer did not escape.

Let no man say that the Almighty Cornelius MacDermott lacked the gumption of a Sunflower Soldier, he thought as he began the long slog back to his car.

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Everyone In Town These Days

  • k-avatara family of ducklings and a baby seal
  • Beatlemania epidemic
  • “Fetch me another drinky-poo, won’t you dear?”
  • fanciful scarves and costume jewelry
  • blaming Mountain Dew

Everyone in town these days went around bedecked in fanciful scarves and costume jewelry. It was no worse than the Beatlemania epidemic from a few years ago, but it meant that Tristan didn’t fit in. As usual.

“Fetch me another drinky-poo, won’t you dear?”

“Sure, Uncle Milt.” Tristan slogged to the kitchen. The fabulousness disease somehow impaired everyone’s normal ability to get things for themselves. The cause was unknown, but for now Tristan was blaming Mountain Dew. Still, that’s what Uncle Milt wanted.

“Here you go.”

“Oh, you’re just as cute as a family of ducklings and a baby seal all rolled into one!”

Tristan knew it was meant as a compliment, but he was in no mood to take it gracefully.

“If you rolled them all into one, they wouldn’t be cute at all.”

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No Matter What You May Be Thinking

  • eby jenffluvia on his desk
  • robes of office
  • dark bulk
  • “Mom! Mom!” he cried
  • everyone is offering him money
  • a story about prostitution
  • a late snack
  • waverings and backslidings

No matter what you may be thinking, this is not a story about prostitution, full of waverings and backslidings of the moral variety, but ultimately ending with redemption for the hooker with the heart of gold. This is a different sort of story altogether – although it is about prostitution. It is less like a smorgasbord of character development, deep, timeless themes, and witty prose, and more like a late snack of pure porn.

The judge stands in the shadowy corner of his chambers, his robes of office rendering him a mere dark bulk to Effluvia’s eyes. She knows everyone is offering him money to rule in their favor, but Effluvia doesn’t have much money. So she is offering him her body.

He stands in the corner, staring at the reclining Effluvia on his desk, nude and legs akimbo.

“Mom! Mom!” he cried, suddenly recognizing her.

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Heinrich Floats Face-Down

  • k-avatarnibbled by snails
  • you selfish bitch
  • Germany’s not the holy land
  • chin, belly and balls are jutting promontories
  • grey stucco urinal
  • always so malignant

Heinrich floats face-down in the vast aquarium; his chin, belly and balls are jutting promontories nibbled by snails that have slithered up the sides of the tank. His buttocks and snorkel protrude above the surface; they bulge forth into the air and give landing space to multicolored insect life.

In Heinrich’s memory, his mother’s voice assaults him. “Germany’s not the holy land,” she says icily. Well, neither is Queens, you selfish bitch.

Her words were always so malignant, like the smell of the grey stucco urinal in the back room of the “pet store” where Heinrich found solace among his invertebrate friends, and their nibbling.

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