Category: Stichomancy Prompts

Hoping My Companion Could Hold His Breath

  • by KentMy bare ass almost made contact!
  • already sweaty
  • a nearby fanny pack
  • socks with cherries on them
  • tango that culminates in an extravaganza

Tune in next time part 914      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Hoping my companion could hold his breath really well, I worked as fast as I could to fashion the rest of the apparatus. I whipped yards of foil off the roll, rapidly forming it into another box with one side left open so I would be able to place it over my own head. The other component was a narrow tube to connect the enclosures once they were both in place. The final maneuver was the most challenging part: I took the knife from his hand and, working blind because I had already sealed myself up in my box, poked through the other man’s foil and also the skin on his nose. Then I quickly put the tube in place over the opening so that the escaping nanobots would flow over to me. I gave them a few seconds, and then pinched the foil tube shut to keep them on my side.

“Okay, you can unwrap yourself!” I called out with the last of my held breath, and when I tried to inhale I felt the microscopic swarm tingle across my mucous membranes along with a pittance of stale air. That had been my goal all along, but something about the situation suddenly felt off.

I pulled the foil off so I could breathe, and so I could see. The pharma man was gone. He must have been in a hurry to resume his secret mission.

The phone with the nanobot control app was gone, too. That was bad, because without it I had no way of programming them to restore my memories, or keeping anyone else from using them to control me.

“Sleep.” The word sounded within my head, and my last thought before I passed out was that I really needed to get that phone back.

Seemingly the next instant, I was in a Colloquillian steam bath. But the thing is, everything in Colloquillia needs scare quotes. What they call a “steam bath” is… not nice. I was also nude, and poised in the act of sitting down on some random slimy surface. My bare ass almost made contact! The place was horrid, but the steamy part of the name was true. I was already sweaty from the presumably mild exertion of disrobing. I didn’t see my own clothes anywhere around, so I searched a nearby fanny pack and discovered one garment: a pair of socks with cherries on them. I didn’t bother putting them on, but donned the fanny pack with them still in it.

“Dance.” The word again seemed to fill my skull but came from no discernible source, and the effect was immediate. My limbs arranged themselves into a classic pose, and my feet carried me in a marching cadence across the fetid chamber. Unless they stopped soon, I would be dancing a tango that culminates in an extravaganza of bruises, because this steam room had stairs going down.

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The Pharma-Man Stared at the Television

  • by jenpainfully tuneless
  • be your righthand man
  • “I’d salute, but I’d start bleeding again.”
  • dive into the secrecy
  • the opposite of “mindblowing”

Tune in next time part 913      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The pharma-man stared at the television screen and hummed a painfully tuneless little song which I recognized as the hold music used by Fleur’s father, the Warlord of Contraria. To know that tune so well, the pharma-man must spend a lot of time on the phone, waiting to talk to my father-in-law. Unless it was the nanobots riddling his system that were playing the song?

I mumbled, “Maybe your righthand man is really a righthand army-of-microscopic-robots, eh, Warlord?”

From the corner of my eye I saw the pharma rep reach for a knife.

“How dare you threaten a high-ranking member of the armed forces?” I growled. I’d almost called myself a “General,” but I wasn’t one anymore, and Fleur hadn’t told me my new rank.

The knife-wielding fellow said, “I’d salute, but I’d start bleeding again.” He cleared his throat and said, “I don’t have time to dive into the secrecy of my mission, sir. Suffice it to say we’re on the same side. The nanobots are desperate to leave my body. It’s all I can do to keep them from exploding out of my skull. If I cut my finger, they’ll have an exit.”

“But they’ll escape!” In order to harvest the nanobots in a way that was the opposite of “mindblowing” I had to act fast. “Hold your breath,” I said, and quickly encased the man’s head in several layers of foil.

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Proper Use of Aluminum Foil

  • by Kent“I just wanted to say bon voyage, darling.”
  • someone involved in the circus
  • an excuse to rub it all over you
  • his handheld computer
  • after the whole hippo’s foot incident

Tune in next time part 912      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Proper use of aluminum foil had become a small obsession of mine after the whole hippo’s foot incident. Let’s just say clearing customs that day was a major headache, as the inspector scrolled endlessly on his handheld computer in search of the proper import duty on such an item. He finally gave up only when I told him, “This will give me time to bring in the rest of the animal, and think up an excuse to rub it all over you.” He found an exemption that could be applied if I were someone involved in the circus industry, which according to my phony papers I was. Due to the delay, I had to race through the airport to make my next connection, and then the customs inspector appeared again to bar my way. I thought he’d discovered my false paperwork, or finally tracked down the amount I was supposed to pay. He seized me in his arms, and I was convinced he was arresting me, but then he whispered in my ear, “I just wanted to say bon voyage, darling.” He slipped me a note, which I read on the plane. Turned out he had a fetish for being slathered with exotic cuts of meat.

None of which I would have ever had to know if only the parcel had been wrapped more effectively. I took the lesson very much to heart and practiced religiously until I could encase almost anything in a smooth, gleaming cube of foil. I’d never before tried to do a room, though.

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My Mother Kept Many Secrets

  • by jen“Nice neighborhood.”
  • with bars on the windows
  • often requires a flight of stairs
  • within sleepwalking distance
  • (depending on thickness, of course)

Tune in next time part 911      Click Here for Earlier Installments

My mother kept many secrets about her past. Could she have possibly spent time in Colloquillia and learned that wretched recipe? The only time I could remember her mentioning the country she had said merely, “Nice neighborhood.” The way she said it, disdain dripping from her words, meant she thought it was the kind of place with bars on the windows, the kind of place so full of vermin it often requires a flight of stairs to avoid them, the kind of place with dangerous cliffs within sleepwalking distance of every bedroom. Not the sort of place she’d want to spend any time. But Colloquillia was so secretive, how would she know that unless she’d experienced it first hand?

My mind was swimming with even more questions than mere moments ago. I stared at the roll of foil in my hand. Covering an entire room with the stuff was a challenge. It was prone to tearing (depending on thickness, of course) and creasing. But it was still my best bet. If I could restore my memory, I might suddenly have the answers to my questions about Ursula, my mother, and any number of other topics.

“Forget the stinky man,” I said. “We have work to do.”

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My Lack of Knowledge

  • by Kent— the European kind with beaks —
  • videos of quivering food
  • while screaming like a demon
  • with the smallest number of syllables
  • she calls “the stinky man.”

Tune in next time part 910      Click Here for Earlier Installments

My lack of knowledge about how Colloquillian summit facilities are laid out quickly became apparent. The pharma man tromped along obediently behind me, because the nanobots under my tenuous control gave him no alternative. But I could tell by his frequent, loud sighs that he was growing exasperated with my navigational decisions.

Ten minutes into the trek, we encountered the kitchens. Colloquillian cuisine is another weak area in my education, but it seemed to me this must actually be a culinary school. The gleaming steel counters held row after row of neatly folded uniforms. Each little pile comprised an apron, a shirt, and a pair of chef’s clogs — the European kind with beaks — and the uniforms were stationed in front of dozens of flatscreens playing videos of quivering foodstuffs. Fortunately the sound was off, because every few seconds the instructor would appear, hurling ingredients onto hissing griddles while screaming like a demon.

I located a roll of heavy-duty aluminum foil. Now all I needed was a smaller room that I could cover with it.

“Make food,” grunted the pharma man. I was surprised he could speak at all, so it was natural that he would express his wishes with the smallest number of syllables. But, did he want me to make food, or did he intend to do it himself?

“You can eat later,” I said, using the nanobot control app to steer him toward the exit. But he resisted the compulsion with vexing effectiveness. His feet didn’t budge. He pointed at the nearest video and its gelatinous images. Shockingly, I recognized the recipe it depicted, something foul that Mother forces us to consume on special occasions, the only meal I’ve ever known her to prepare personally, which she calls “the stinky man.”

What was this nanobot-addled pharma rep trying to tell me?

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Of the Many Looks People have Given Me Over the Years

  • by jenspooky, grim, unearthly, and rebellious
  • “And I will cut off the sixth finger, this very day.”
  • wore a top hat over a hoodie
  • “The doorman knows your movements.”
  • foil-covered room

Tune in next time part 909      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Of the many looks people have given me over the years (spooky, grim, unearthly, and rebellious among them), furtive is my least favorite. I prefer to be the furtive one in any and all interactions. I turned my attention back to the nanobot app and entered the homing command again, paying careful attention to each glyph. During my Digital Mystic training, my partner and I devised a mnemonic song for remembering the purpose of each arcane squiggle. I could remember that much, but not who my partner had been. That must be a clue!

I stared at the glyphs and let my mind drift back. In my memories I saw a hand wearing a haptic glove with too many fingers. “I stole this from my brother,” a feminine voice said. “And I will cut off the sixth finger, this very day.”

Had I ever heard of anybody with six fingers who might have a sister named Ursula? The only six-fingered individual I could remember was someone who was kicked off the Academy’s beatnik team when he wore a top hat over a hoodie to a competition, but as far as I could remember he was an only child.

But could I trust my memory?

Stomping footsteps announced the pharma man’s approach, and with him the nanobots I needed to restore my faulty memory. I gave him a furtive look and whispered, “The doorman knows your movements.” His eyes went wide with fright.

To safely transfer the nanobots from the pharma man to myself, I would need a foil-covered room in which to work. This being a summit facility, there must be one nearby. “Follow me,” I said.

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Paradoxes Are Fun

  • by Kentwhatever it is you’re doing, keep doing it
  • may be inappropriate for children under 13
  • one weird trick
  • I do look mighty cute in riding boots
  • looking furtively at me

Tune in next time part 908      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Paradoxes are fun, until you’re caught inside of one. Such as: trying to remember who tampered with your memory. My only clues that it had even happened were “Ursula” and the fact that I couldn’t remember anyone by that name.

The pharma man gasped and lurched into a sitting position. I sent silent encouragement to the nanobots, thinking “whatever it is you’re doing, keep doing it.” The pharma man’s return to consciousness was apparently rather unpleasant, and between coughing jags he muttered numerous words which may be inappropriate for children under 13, and a few that I considered inappropriate for myself. But the risk of him dying, and therefore the risk of his nanobot-infested remains falling into Colloquillian hands, seemed to have passed.

I hadn’t thought about my studies of digital mysticism in years. It was almost as if, until moments ago, they weren’t part of my backstory. Could that be another clue? A theory took shape in my mind. Whoever altered my memory had tried to suppress everything related to my being a digital mystic, which must mean Ursula was connected in some way to that part of my life. Had she stolen my jacket, or my memories? Or both? Or neither? I patted the phone in my pocket. Whoever messed with my brain, they must have used nanobots. If I could transfer the ones from the pharma man into myself, maybe they could reverse the damage. It would be one weird trick to pull off.

Fleur nudged me in the ribs, and I realized that I had — again — neglected my diplomatic duties whilst lost in speculation. The ambassador had just said something that I only caught the end of: “… but I do look mighty cute in riding boots.”

“Checks out,” I said. Then, turning back to my wife, “There is an urgent matter that I must attend to around the corner. Excuse me.” And I strode off before she had time to object.

Once out of view, I took the phone back out and ordered the nanobots to march the pharma man over to where I waited. And waited. It clearly shouldn’t take more than a few seconds, so I peeked out to see what was going on. No one but the pharma man spotted my sneaky peeking, but he wasn’t moving. The only sign that he was being influenced by the microscopic implants under my alleged control was the way he kept looking furtively at me.

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As Luck Would Have It

  • by jenI should have warned you.
  • their color-coded jackets
  • supple lilac leather
  • as fascinating as they are adorable
  • took off her crown and started beating him with it

Tune in next time part 907       Click Here for Earlier Installments

As luck would have it, I am a seventh-order digital mystic. I should have warned you. I’m sure you’re surprised because digital mystics are known for their color-coded jackets which make it easy to tell the orders apart, and I never wear mine. I’d loved the supple lilac leather moto jacket I was awarded upon ascending to the seventh order — those things are as fascinating as they are adorable! — but, it was stolen from me years ago. I was attending a family function at the White House when my parents got into a heated argument. My father (the president) arrived late, with one of his many mistresses on his arm. My mother (then vice-president) took off her crown and started beating him with it. The brawl escalated quickly and I stepped in to prevent it from becoming (another) international incident. When I returned to my seat, my resplendent purple jacket was gone. I always suspected Jason of the theft, but now that I knew my memory had been tampered with, my suspicions fell on the mysteriously unknown Ursula.

My thumbs danced across the phone screen, forcing the nanobots to do a hard restart. The pharma woman was distracted by the cheese plate, so I surreptitiously pocketed her phone.

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I Hissed at Fleur

  • by Kentone perilous bonding situation after another
  • singing it into a Playskool karaoke machine
  • A palindrome?
  • Yum.
  • arcane hieroglyphs which can be read only by

Tune in next time part 906      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I hissed at Fleur, “Why didn’t you brief me about this?”

“Because I know how much you love surprises,” she replied in an infuraitingly breezy tone. “And our marriage thrives as a series of one perilous bonding situation after another.”

“You call this bonding? You think watching me tap-dance my way through a potential international conflagration is a way to strengthen our marriage?” I whisper-shouted that question right into her face, but I might as well have been singing it into a Playskool karaoke machine with dead batteries. This whole scenario was playing out exactly as she wanted it to.

The head Contrarian pharma rep was waving her phone at us from the velvet couch and making a strange pouty face. I rolled my eyes and snatched the phone to see what she wanted to show us. The nanobot control app was flashing a red icon, and the pharma man with the microscopic implants in his body was slumped motionless on the couch.

“Is he okay?” I asked.

Pharma lady bit her nail. “He needs something, oh what did they call it… A palindrome? No, that’s not right. Oh well. It’ll come to me. Oh, they brought us more cheese. Yum.”

I wondered what it would mean for Fleur’s scheme if the man died. I wondered if the ambassador had noticed yet what was going on. I wondered how many of the slumped man’s basic biological processes were still working. Even a Contrarian pharmaceutical representative didn’t deserve to just rot on a couch at a diplomatic function, so I tried to troubleshoot his nanobots via the app. I quickly discovered that all the screens were filled with arcane hieroglyphs which can be read only by seventh-order digital mystics, or seventh-graders.

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It All Clicked into Place

  • by jenon a golden velvet couch
  • I could both smell the cheese and hear
  • but his movements are robotic
  • chewing gum in public
  • I know you are but what am I?

Tune in next time part 905      Click Here for Earlier Installments

It all clicked into place. The medical fellows Fleur mentioned were representatives of a Contrarian pharmaceutical company looking for countries with lax drug testing laws. Three of them had been carried from the zeppelin into the summit facility on a golden velvet couch so that they could legally say they’d never set foot in Colloquillia. Contrarian pharmaceutical reps are disgusting. All three were scarfing down hors d’oeuvers. As we approached, I could both smell the cheese and hear their smacking lips.

Once the formal introduction ceremony had been completed, the woman who was the head pharmaceutical rep said, “Ambassador, you may have noticed that my colleague eats hors d’oeuvers just as smoothly as I and my assistant do, but his movements are robotically controlled! Impressive, no?”

The ambassador said, “As impressive as chewing gum in public,” which is a quite a Colloquillian compliment.

The pharma woman held out her phone for the ambassador to see. The screen showed an app for controlling the nanobots in the pharma man’s body.

I whispered to my wife, “You can’t let technology like that fall into foreign hands! That’s crazy!”

Fleur smiled. “I know you are but what am I?”

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