Category: Stichomancy Prompts

You’re An Unsanitary Disgrace

  • by Kentfor a spa-like experience
  • maybe they didn’t have enough windows open
  • “Not exactly.”
  • Whatever his parentage,
  • visions of putting on my mountain boots

Tune in next time part 344      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“You’re an unsanitary disgrace,” Jim drawled. The twin babies on his knees stared at me.

Employing a loop of duct tape to remove seagull feathers — and worse — from my clothes, I said, “My trip upstairs did not make for a spa-like experience. You’re welcome.”

Jim gently guided my infant son’s hand in a salute. My daughter frowned at him.

The noisy argument between Fleur and Isolde abruptly ceased. They were looking out the window at something below us. I moved to the nearest window and saw that one of the barges had resurfaced.

“Do you think maybe they didn’t have enough windows open? So they couldn’t stay sunk?” Isolde looked embarrassed that she’d asked that out loud.

“Not exactly.” Fleur pointed down. “It’s the film festival people. They’re hijackers, and they’re still trying to get to Hawaii.”

“Then we should follow them,” I said.

“I’m not going to tag along after some trashy, film-snob sonofabitch,” Fleur declared.

“Whatever his parentage,” I said, “if he knows which way to go then we should take advantage of that.”

“We’ll just turn on the GPS,” Fleur said, stomping forward to the control panel and jabbing a button. A map lit up in front of Jim’s seat, showing our position very clearly.

“That’s been there all along?” I asked my wife through clenched teeth, my head filled with visions of putting on my mountain boots and kicking her in the shins.

But I had no mountain boots, here in the zeppelin. I peeled off a strip of duct tape.

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In the Zeppelin’s Toolbox

  • by jenpopular amongst the citizens
  • those fearless travelers and explorers
  • Oh, here’s a winner
  • visionary, fantasist, poet, and painter
  • still in the buckled position

Tune in next time part 343      Click Here for Earlier Installments

In the zeppelin’s toolbox I found an enormous roll of duct tape in the silvery color most popular amongst the citizens of the world. I took it and exited the gondola through the service door at the rear that let me into a mechanical room. The gauges on the auxiliary gas supply showed that I didn’t have a lot of time to fuck around.

I climbed a ladder through a hatch in the ceiling, into the envelope. There were actually three seagulls in there with me, roosting contentedly on the roof of the gondola. I studied the zeppelin’s hide until I located all three of their entry points, ragged holes where daylight streamed in.

I tucked the flapping gulls into the jacket of my morning suit and began to climb the zeppelin’s framework. When I reached the first hole, I slapped several layers of duct tape over it. I repeated the process at the second hole. I had to traverse the entire inside of the envelope to reach the last hole, swinging from truss to truss like a contestant on Ninja Warrior. Finally I reached the last hole, the largest of the three. I reached into my jacket and shoved each struggling bird one by one out through the hole, then tore off yards of duct tape to close them out and keep the buoyant gasses in.

I felt like those fearless travelers and explorers you read about in the history books. I had saved the day! As I made my way back to the mechanical room I could picture the looks of adoration I would receive from my wife and her sister, the admiration I would get from Jim. I could imagine Fleur saying, “Oh, here’s a winner! A hero, a visionary, fantasist, poet, and painter!”

When I reentered the gondola, I was quite sweaty and covered with feathers. Fleur and Isolde were still bickering, and Jim was at the controls, still in the buckled position in the copilot’s seat, bouncing the infants in his arms. My heroics went unheralded.

I still did not entirely trust Jim. Nor the warlord’s daughters, when it came right down to it. I eyed the roll of duct tape in my hands, wondering if I should seize the moment to finally get some answers.

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“We’re Losin’ Altitude”

  • by Kent“I’m calling your father,” she snapped.
  • stands awkwardly outside the door while she pees
  • not a crease in my coat
  • where I will inflate my balloon
  • in lurid detail

Tune in next time part 342      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“We’re losin’ altitude,” Jim drawled. “Looks like a gull got through the hull.”

“A zeppelin does not have a hull,” Fleur said. “It’s an envelope.”

Jim smiled crookedly. “But those birds don’t rhyme with envelope. Anyway, there’s a puncture and the gas is escaping.”

Fleur handed him the babies, then stormed over to the cargo door nearest the piano and hauled it open. In seconds she’d unlocked the baby grand’s casters and shoved it overboard, silvery dove lamp and all.

“How could you!” screeched Isolde as our descent leveled off. Isolde and Fleur stood glaring at each other, their hair whipped by the wind coming through the open door. I wondered which one of them would be tumbling out after the piano.

Isolde shut the cargo door. “I’m calling your father,” she snapped.

“Isn’t he your father too?” I blurted.

“We’re half-sisters,” Fleur explained. “To me, he’s daddy. To Isolde, he’s just the man who stands awkwardly outside the door while she pees.”

“That was one time at the mall, when I was five!”

I let their argument distract the women and turned to my brother. “What’s our situation now, Jim?”

He was rocking the infant twins, steering the ship with his knees. “There is not a red light on the control panel, and not a crease in my coat.”

“You’re not wearing a coat.” Or a shirt.

“And this panel hasn’t got any lights, red or otherwise. But we do appear to be stable at the moment. The auxiliary gas supply is keeping up with the leakage. At least for now.”

We each glanced upwards, knowing what this was leading up to. One of us was going to have to go up there and make repairs.

Jim cracked the crooked smile again and sang, “Fly me to the green lagoon, for that is where I will inflate my balloon.”

While I gritted my teeth, Jim sang another twelve verses. The lagoon and the balloon were metaphors, and not subtle ones, as the even-numbered verses portrayed in lurid detail.

“Okay!” I finally shouted. “I’ll fix the envelope.”

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Jim’s Question was Impossible to Answer

  • by jenBoy, have I got something amazing to show you.
  • and then a stream of bubbles
  • as thick as their thighs
  • A lamp in the fashion of a silver dove
  • all traces of its natural color were obliterated by ink stains

Tune in next time part 341      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Jim’s question was impossible to answer because not only did I not know which ocean we were currently flying over, I had no idea where I might want to go. I couldn’t remember the last time I was in charge of my own destiny, without intrigue and my family dictating my actions. Where would I go if the choice were completely up to me? And would I take any of the people in the zeppelin with me?

Jim interrupted my musings with a brash, “Boy, have I got something amazing to show you.” He was staring through the window down at the flotilla of garbage scows.

With a sigh I put my dreams of freedom away and moved to get a better view. The number of barges was about half of what it had been, and it was immediately apparent why. Glass panels were sliding into place, enclosing the boats entirely. One by one they submerged and then a stream of bubbles was all that was left to denote their passage. The final boat above water was the one with the flabby film festival hopefuls. I imagined that the stench inside their glass enclosure was as thick as their thighs. Probably thicker. And then they too slipped from view leaving behind an enormous flock of disappointed and confused gulls.

“I remember hearing about this,” Fleur said, still bouncing our infants. “It’s a way of thinning the seagull population. They lure them out into the deep ocean and strand them.”

“Then why did you say we should follow the gulls?” I asked.

Fleur looked at me with her amused blue eyes. “I was high as fuck when I said that.”

“The birds are swarming the zeppelin,” Isolde cried in dismay. “What could be attracting them?”

I looked around the sumptuously appointed gondola and spotted a likely reason. A lamp in the fashion of a silver dove stood prominently atop the baby grand piano, and in the Contrarian fashion it was an automaton. Its polished wings flapped and glinted in the sunlight. The gulls were flinging themselves against the windows and the zeppelin’s silvery hide in an attempt to reach it.

“We should get rid of the bird lamp,” I said, pointing. “Toss it overboard.”

“That lamp is precious!” Isolde complained.

Fleur was at a loss for words. In a fury she stuck her tongue out at me. All traces of its natural color were obliterated by ink stains, the ritualistic golden tattoos that matched my own and commemorated the birth of our first children.

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Fleur’s Jaw Fell Slack

  • by Kentthe monopolist institution of marriage
  • mouth turned down
  • “Bollocks.”
  • stuck on the bottom of the furniture
  • — especially for a Hawaiian film festival

Tune in next time part 340      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Fleur’s jaw fell slack. Even slacker than the hallucinogenic coffee had made it. Isolde’s twirling slowed and stopped, then she spun the opposite direction to reel her flimsy clothes back on. None of us in the zeppelin held the monopolist institution of marriage in much regard, but even we hesitate in the face of incest.

Jim stewed on what I’d said, his mouth turned down. After a minute of this, just as I was about to chide him for dereliction of his dirigible-flying duties, he threw me a sour look.

“Bollocks.”

The Britishism, ground under the boot-heel of his accent, sounded like “bawl-lucks.”

“What?” I replied.

“Why would you think Mom’s sister is any less dishonest than she is? It’s just talk.”

He had a good point, and I had no proof. I shrugged, and then repeated the motion several times because it made the infants in my arms giggle.

Isolde hugged herself. “Something makes sense, now. A thing Father used to talk about…”

Fleur barked, “No! That’s private! It’s family business.” Her anger seemed to have brought her lucidity along with it.

But Isolde continued in a keening voice. “He would brag that he knew what kind of gum was stuck on the bottom of the furniture at the White House. And also, he ended so many of his speeches by declaring, ‘I love all of my children, except the triplets.'”

“That’s enough!” Fleur shouted. The babies started crying, and her stern face softened. “Oh, bring the darlings here.”

Because Jim still hadn’t bothered to do anything with the controls, we had been effectively following the seagulls all this time. I looked down at the water and saw what had attracted them: a flotilla of garbage barges. Soon I could smell their cargo.

A flash of color aboard one of the barges caught my eye. Through binoculars I could see that it was a red-and-white striped pavilion tent. People lounged on chaises beside it, under a banner reading, “Hawaiian Film Festival Or Bust!”

They must be unusual fans for a film festival — especially for a Hawaiian film festival — to choose this mode of transportation to reach it. But Fleur’s instruction to follow the gulls made me edgy. Had she known about the scows, about these people?

Jim cleared his throat. “Which way, brother-of-mine?”

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I Had No Intention of Following the Seagulls

  • by jena variety of lovely agonies
  • Right?
  • meeting him for the first time
  • because she was wearing a tiara
  • entirely muffled in scarlet silk

Tune in next time part 339      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I had no intention of following the seagulls, or the commands of my intoxicated wife. “Let’s put ourselves in a holding pattern until she comes down,” I said to Jim, gesturing at the controls.

Jim buckled himself into the copilot’s seat and his face finally took on a serious expression. Behind us I could hear Isolde voicing disappointment that he was no longer flirting with her, distress that she could no longer admire his physique, and a variety of lovely agonies along those same lines. Jim threw me one last smirk. “Women. Right?”

For our whole lives it was like this with Jim. Women meeting him for the first time fell immediately under his spell. Apparently he expected sympathy from me over it.

Isolde elbowed her way between me and Jim and thrust a baby into my arms. The twins looked an awful lot alike, but I knew this was my daughter because she was wearing a tiara on her tiny head. I scowled and plucked the tacky thing off. Isolde, now entirely muffled in scarlet silk, handed me my son as well and began a swirling, twirling dance to remove her diaphanous wrapping.

Fleur’s own drug-induced choreography brought her close and I saw fury in her blue eyes. She was going to attack her sister if I couldn’t stop her.

“Hey Jim,” I said in a loud, deliberate voice. “Aunt Xylona told me that Mom had at least three kids with the Warlord of Contraria. And since you, Jemma, and Jemima are the only triplets in the family…”

“Aw shit,” Jim said. “You think I’m your wife’s half-brother?”

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My Wife Bounced

  • by Kentfor an hour or two afterwards
  • nods of assent were exchanged
  • all of those are possibilities
  • “Then why don’t I have any grandchildren?”
  • I’m hoping to make it to my next birthday

Tune in next time part 338      Click Here for Earlier Installments

My wife bounced our baby daughter on her hip, still staring lasciviously at my brother’s seminude form across the gondola. The psychotropic coffee stains were definitely kicking in. My educated guess, based on what I could remember of the Academy pharmacology seminar, was that she’d peak in a few minutes and then have mild euphoria and perceptual dissociations for an hour or two afterwards.

In any case, she wasn’t answering my question.

“Fleur,” I prompted. “Are you still in there? Maybe I should take the baby back, yes?” Nods of assent were exchanged and I passed the little girl immediately to join her brother in Isolde’s arms. The twins’ aunt pouted at being doubly burdened and thus, presumably, that much more concealed from Jim.

“Now, where is this zeppelin going?” I demanded more firmly. Fleur quirked a tiny smile, her eyes still riveted to Jim. “Back to Contraria? Svenborgia? Or do you plan to risk venturing into US airspace?”

“All of those are possibilities,” she droned. “Take the helm. The gulls will guide you.” With that, her eyes slowly closed, and she began a twirling, waltz-like dance. “Children grow up so fast,” she lamented.

I glanced at the newborns Isolde cradled to her bosom. I shrugged. “They sure do.”

“Then why don’t I have any grandchildren?”

“Ask the kids,” I quipped.

All this time, Jim’s smirk had been making the rounds, and shifting its aspect like a color-changing lizard. When he aimed it at Fleur it was lewd, for Isolde it turned haughty, and for me he reserved mocking pity. I glared at him and barked, “Get over here and help me fly this thing.”

Jim sashayed across the gondola. Glancing at the controls, he said, “Looks pretty basic. Like, even you could fly it alone.”

“True, but you’re making trouble, and I’m hoping to make it to my next birthday, so I need to keep you busy so this doesn’t escalate into a brawl that culminates with seagulls picking our innards out of the wreckage.”

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“You’ve Forgotten the Man You Married Just One Day Ago?”

  • by jenI got my eye on you
  • two urchins upon their knees
  • all the stains matched
  • also many gulls
  • their hideous noise increased

Tune in next time part 337      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“You’ve forgotten the man you married just one day ago?” I asked Isolde. “I am shocked by proxy.” I unbuttoned my jacket and handed my daughter to Fleur.

Fleur flashed a devilish smile. “Perhaps I should make you Harry’s proxy again, and while you’re tending to Isolde I can make Jim your proxy.”

“But you’ve just given birth!” Isolde cried, holding up my son as proof. “You can’t make proper use of him!”

“I got my eye on you,” I said, pointing at Jim. Turning back to Fleur and her sister I said, “He’s married to UnderDuchess Esmerelda of Svenborgia, you know. Probably in league with that dick Arlo.”

“At least you know I’m not hiding a jetpack,” Jim drawled, flexing his naked torso.

“A Svenborgian by marriage?” Fleur said. “Show me your papers.”

Jim hooked a finger into the pocket of his tight jeans and pulled out his diplomatic credentials. It featured the Svenborgian crest, an etching of the country’s first king and queen at a nude beach, sitting crosslegged on either side of a sandcastle, the two urchins upon their knees a spiky warning of Svenborgia’s maritime prowess. Most countries use intricate stamps and raised seals on their official documents, but Svenborgia prefers smudges made from a rare green coffee that is grown and brewed exclusively along the Svenborgian coast. Looking at Jim’s passport, all the stains matched the expected color, but the only way to be sure was to taste them. Fleur’s delicate tongue emerged from her mouth and flicked quickly across the uppermost green smear.

“It’s authentic,” she declared. “Yum. I’ve always loved that flavor.” As an aside to Isolde she said, “The viscount always let me lick his whenever we were together.”

I’d heard rumors that Svenborgia’s green coffee had hallucinogenic properties, which might explain what my wife saw in Arlo.

As the sisters continued their study of my brother’s credentials, I decided that someone needed to fly the zeppelin. I looked through the window and discovered that we were surrounded by seabirds. There were terns and albatrosses, and also many gulls. Many, many gulls. Soon their hideous noise increased so that their cries could be heard inside the gondola.

“Where exactly are we headed?” I asked Fleur.

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“A Magician Never Reveals His Tricks”

  • by Kentmicrowaving isn’t just the best way
  • had a new family
  • get your guests in the mood to party
  • the odd, symbiotic relationship between sloths and moths
  • just saying what everyone’s thinking

Tune in next time part 336      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“A magician never reveals his tricks,” Jim drawled.

“You’re no magician!” I shot back. I really did want to know how he managed to board Fleur’s vessel.

Jim held up his hands. “We’re all on the same side, here,” he protested. “But I’ll give you just one hint: microwaving isn’t just the best way to make popcorn.” He winked, somehow giving all three of the other people in the zeppelin’s gondola the impression that the gesture was aimed at them. Fleur fanned herself, Isolde winked back, and I scowled at the obscure inside joke from our childhood. “Anyway,” he drawled on, “knowing you had a new family I felt duty-bound to offer some protection.”

I folded my arms and shook my head. “Do you honestly expect me to believe a word you say, after what happened the last time we met?”

He flashed a grin, which again made my wife and sister-in-law seem weak in the knees. “Hey, brother, don’t be so touchy about bygone days. Now that I’m here, I just want to get your guests in the mood to party.” He winked again, and all I could think about was how he had to know that these women weren’t my guests. What was his real game? Which faction was he working with? Their politics was filled with pretzel logic and arcane mutual dependencies as cryptic as the odd, symbiotic relationship between sloths and moths.

Isolde cleared her throat tremulously, and when she’d caught my eye she said, “Could you and Fleur, I don’t know, look out the windows for a bit?”

Jim chuckled. “She’s just saying what everyone’s thinking.”

“Not me,” I said. To Isolde I asked, “What would Harry say?”

“Who?” she responded in a sleepy voice.

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The Brunette Man’s Tight Jeans Were Sweaty

  • by jenseemed to me, judging from his fingers,
  • like sunny springtime afternoons come to life
  • on live television for five hours
  • there is liquor aboard
  • this creepy incognito turtle

Tune in next time part 335      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The brunette man’s tight jeans were sweaty, his torso bare. It seemed to me, judging from his fingers, all wrinkled and pruny — and of course those sweaty jeans — that it must have been a veritable sauna inside that panda suit. Fleur and Isolde didn’t seem to notice his dishevelment. Or perhaps they found it attractive. They looked at him like he was a vernal deity, like sunny springtime afternoons come to life. I knew he was used to that reaction. I saw him talk about it on live television for five hours on at least two occasions, and in person innumerable times. He was my brother Jim, and women really liked Jim.

Fleur smiled coquettishly at him and said, “Welcome to my zeppelin. There is liquor aboard.”

“What are you doing here, Jim?” I asked. “The last time I saw you was in Dr Belladonna’s subterranean rocket surgery.”

“What was I supposed to do? Leave my niece and nephew unguarded when I saw the viscount putting on this creepy incognito turtle costume?”

“It was an armadillo,” Isolde said, batting her eyelashes.

“How did you get on my wife’s aircraft carrier?” I demanded.

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