Category: Stichomancy Prompts

I Could No Longer Smell the Sewage We Were Adrift Upon

  • by jenbut because of the fog
  • “We can work this out.”
  • smell the woodsmoke
  • the tune was Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer
  • aspect of Wikipedia that I dislike

Tune in next time part 283                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

I could no longer smell the sewage we were adrift upon, but because of the fog that rose from it I was unable to forget it was there. When we finally escaped I would have to take, just, like, all the showers.

Tesla napped, curled up on her side of the swan boat’s bench. I wanted to wake her up and work with her to figure out a way out of our dilemma. I would say something really persuasive and motivating like, “We can work this out.” But Tesla was a sound sleeper and so I didn’t get a chance to even try before we rounded a long, lazy corner and I could finally see the light at the end of the sewer pipe. We were so close to freedom I could even smell the woodsmoke coming in through the grate.

Our swan came to a sludgy stop against the grate. I left Tesla sleeping while I peered out and tried to make sense of what I saw. We were still on my brothers’ island, of course, so I had to be careful.

The smoke came from an enormous bonfire around which danced a dozen mimes in ceremonial garb. The song was one I’d heard many times growing up. The lyrics, sung by someone I couldn’t see, were nothing you’d recognize, but the tune was Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

I tried once to research this song, but all trace of it had been erased from the internet. That is the aspect of Wikipedia that I dislike the most, its willingness to delete any page that the Guild of Fire Eaters demands.

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“Why Did You Do That?”

  • by Kentthreatened to kill again
  • she had heard the very same story from her friends
  • similarities between Facebook’s rapid adoption and the proliferation of an infectious disease
  • left the embittered old bastard
  • among the ruins

Tune in next time part 282                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Why did you do that?” I screamed at Tesla. (Also, how? was my unvoiced follow-up question.)

While the slow but relentless flow of sewage carried us farther from the way out, she told me a lengthy tale involving the choir and their pact with the magic dweebs. I lost some of the details musing on what a great band name “The Magic Dweebs” would be, but the upshot was that Mr Bug-Wand allegedly murdered a teacher, and had threatened to kill again. Tesla had learned of all this by reading our rival school’s newsletter, but she knew it was true because she had heard the very same story from her friends in metal shop.

“But you didn’t take shop,” I said. “Your name was on the list of fugitives I saw while raiding the office files.” She gave me a calculating look. “I mean,” I stammered, “that’d be their album title. ‘Metal Shop,’ by The Magic Dweebs.”

The result of her calculations was giving me the silent treatment. So we drifted without speaking on a river whose odor brought to mind the similarities between Facebook’s rapid adoption and the proliferation of an infectious disease. The horrid stench battered my nasal passages like an illegitimate uncle banging on the front door in the middle of the night. Finally, after what seemed like hours, olfactory fatigue left the embittered old bastard among the ruins of my mucous membranes.

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Magic Spells Were Way Outside My Area of Expertise

  • by jenif they intend to keep their trousers on
  • he likes to sing along
  • army of gargoyle angels
  • astroturf vest
  • “I was very much surprised.”

Tune in next time part 281                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

Magic spells were way outside my area of expertise. At the Academy that sort of thing is studied only by nerds, and only then if they intend to keep their trousers on until well after graduation. Tesla had never struck me as that sort of girl. It made me wonder where she got her information.

Whether or not there was magic involved, the weird, robed dude was waving a bug sprayer around and I really didn’t want to get a faceful of whatever he had on offer. I slowed my pedaling to a pace that kept us even with the boat ramp despite the current, but I didn’t approach.

“You know this guy?” I asked Tesla.

“Oh come on, you must remember him!” she said. “He was at the Academy at the same time we were. He likes to sing along with that group of students that sounds like an army of gargoyle angels.”

“You mean the choir?” The Academy was not known for its arts programs.

She snapped the fingers of both hands and pointed at me. “That’s what they called themselves! Remember how they always wore those astroturf vests?”

“The first time I saw them perform,” I said, “I was very much surprised.”

I squinted through the murk at the madman on the shore. He and his conspiracy theories and his fancy squirt gun were all that stood between me and an escape from the sewer. I decided to go for it. I didn’t believe in magic, and I could hold my breath for a really long time, at least long enough to get past him. With much determination I applied my feet to the swan boat’s pedals.

“No!” Tesla shrieked.

She reached down between my legs, and with surprising strength, twisted the pedal mechanism into a knot. We immediately began drifting with the current, away from the boat ramp.

It was then that I realized that I was up shit creek without a pedal.

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“Easy, Pal”

  • by Kentshall find its way into the pockets
  • twenty people on the lawn. With guns.
  • lay upon his belly beside a limpid brook
  • pull at me with her little hands
  • spread by a bug sprayer

Tune in next time part 280                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Easy, pal,” I said. “Nobody needs to get kicked.”

“Untrue! A remark not in accordance with the facts (read: a fib). Much kicking is needed, which you know full well, ere a farthing of my wealth shall find its way into the pockets of your taskmasters.”

“Who do you think I am?” I looked at Tesla, who hadn’t stirred. I hoped she was okay, but hoped she remained unconscious long enough to be spared the vile atmosphere of the sewer.

“Oh I know just who you are. You’re chemtrails. You’re Project Bluebook. You’re twenty people on the lawn. With guns.” He thrust out his palms. “In Dallas? The motorcade? That’s you.”

“Ah, guess you’re on to me,” I mumbled, hoping that humoring him would work better than arguing. “But that was a long time ago. People change.”

But he turned away from me on the boat ramp, and then, as though he lay upon his belly beside a limpid brook in a sun-drenched meadow, he lay on his belly on the slimy boat ramp and reached out over the surface of the filth to give the swan boat a shove.

Before I knew I had moved, I was airborne en route from my boulder to the ramp. In another bound I overflew the prostrate figure in the cloak and landed in the boat. My arrival jostled Tesla severely and imparted a considerable speed boost to our elegant vessel. I sat down and started pedaling. The propeller agitated the thick fluid we sailed through, liberating and invigorating the sulfurous fumes.

Some combination of the jostling and the horrid smell woke Tesla. She looked around, wild-eyed, and began to pull at me with her little hands. “Where are you taking me?”

“Um, back to the ramp? To get us out of this shit river?”

“But you don’t understand,” Tesla wailed.

“No argument about that.” I looked ahead and saw the man in the cloak was standing, brandishing something that looked like a wand. “Now what is he doing?”

Tesla gripped my arm. “Turn us around. Stay back! There’s nothing more potent than a magic spell spread by a bug sprayer!”

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I Tried to Psych Myself Up

  • by jenthere will be bubbles
  • adjacent to the boat ramp
  • rubbed his hands with unspeakable glee
  • broadcasting their raw footage
  • (read: your crotch)

Tune in next time part 279                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

I tried to psych myself up for my upcoming swim in the sewage. “When you stir the shit there will be bubbles,” I muttered. “It’s inevitable.”

Before letting go of my leather strap, I clenched every orifice I had.

I counted to three and released my grip.

I fell about two feet before my heels jarred on a narrow metal catwalk that spanned the mineshaft. My breath gushed out and my feet stung from the impact. At least I wasn’t swimming in shit.

I looked to one end of the catwalk where it seemed to disappear into a tunnel in the wall. I looked the other way and saw a dark-cloaked figure hurrying away from me, Tesla over his shoulder.

I gave chase as quickly as my sore feet would allow. When I reached the wall I encountered steep metal stairs leading down toward the poop smell, and a few flights ahead of me I could make out Tesla’s abductor/rescuer. I followed.

We descended for several minutes, the stench growing with each step. At the bottom I stood on an algae-covered boulder adjacent to the boat ramp where the cloaked figure was lowering Tesla’s unconscious form into a fanciful, swan-shaped pedal boat. That task completed, he stood and rubbed his hands with unspeakable glee. He preened for the security cameras along the ceiling that were broadcasting their raw footage of the raw sewage to who knew where.

The cloaked figure spotted me and said, “Don’t come any closer or I’ll kick you in your tender giblets (read: your crotch).”

As if I didn’t know what tender giblets were.

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A Trapdoor In The Shag

  • by KentWhat passions, what greed, what crimes
  • nods of assent were exchanged
  • lowering myself to the end of my leather strap
  • (although it is not clear whose poop it was)
  • as though by magic

Tune in next time part 278                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

A trapdoor in the shag carpet popped open and a skinny man sprang up into the room. I almost didn’t recognize him without his bathrobe, for he now wore a zebra-striped body stocking.

“What passions, what greed, what crimes against decorum will you not stop at?” he exclaimed. “Human sacrifice I could have countenanced, as it’s for a noble cause, but such language! You’ve blasphemed in the temple! You don’t deserve to carry out the sacrifices!”

Clown faces were turned to face one another. Nods of assent were exchanged. Carla and her tragi-comic compatriot reared, throwing off their ringmasters and rising to their feet. They charged the zebra man and pinned him to the wall.

While the clowns were thus occupied, and before my brothers could recover, I seized Tesla’s wrist and dashed for the trapdoor. “You first,” I told her. She seemed more dazed than ever, making no moves of her own volition, so I guided her into the opening in the floor.

She dropped like a stone, vanishing silently into darkness.

“Shit!” I exclaimed, climbing down and holding onto the edges of the hole as Jupiter and Jove scrambled in my direction and the skinny man moaned disconcertingly. There was no ladder or stairs below the trapdoor, just something like a belt dangling there. I grabbed onto it and slammed the door, sealing out all light from above.

As I descended, my eyes accommodated to the dimness and I could see that if it was a belt I was hanging from it was for someone with at least a 50-foot waistline. Down I went, lowering myself to the end of my leather strap but still nowhere near the bottom. I held on, exerting all my senses for a clue about what to do next. I could see rough stone walls like a mineshaft. I heard dripping water that belonged to stalactites, and distant clicks that belonged to cave crickets. There was a pungent smell, definitely poop (although it is not clear whose poop it was).

There was no sign of Tesla. She had disappeared as though by magic, or as if down a shaft so deep that I hadn’t heard her hit the bottom.

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From My Many Prophetic Dreams

  • by jen(whoops, was that a spoiler?)
  • sold it for $500 in December
  • the Stanford Marshmallow Experiment
  • “Couldn’t do it but one time.”
  • our typography does not allow such a character

Tune in next time part 277                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

Fom my many prophetic dreams I knew that my death would not come from being sacrificed by, or to, clowns. My eventual death would not involve clowns at all (whoops, was that a spoiler?). Tesla’s death I was less sure of.

“I recognize your altar, Jupiter,” I said. “And I know that there should be another just like it. A twin, if you will, belonging to your twin.”

Jove gave his whip a lazy crack and Carla turned around so they were facing me. “I sold it for $500 in December so that I could buy tickets to see my favorite band, the Stanford Marshmallow Experiment at their farewell concert.” He looked wistful. “Couldn’t do it but one time.” With a glare at Jupiter he said, “Even though we had two altars.”

“As I explained at the time,” Jupiter sniffed, “they were only playing one concert. There was no reason to sell both altars. You got to see your ridiculous band and now we’re still able to carry out the necessary sacrifices.”

“I could have gotten better tickets, you $&!!@#”

I’m afraid that our typography does not allow such a character or group of characters to adequately capture the depth and breadth of the foulness of Jove’s language. My diversion was working quite well, unfortunately Tesla was so stunned by the barrage of filth flowing from my brother’s mouth that she did not make a break for it.

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Carla Sank Into a Fetal Ball

  • by Kentlong legs and fierce eyes
  • “It’s very interesting.”
  • baby gorilla devours her first birthday cake
  • Boom.
  • and gloves without fingers

Tune in next time part 276                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

Carla sank into a fetal ball on the coffee table, with Jove still perched on her back. He plucked his monocle and fogged it with his breath.

“Ahem,” Jupiter said.

“Oh. Right.” Jove snapped his whip again, and Carla backed off the coffee table. Another snap, and she pressed a small button in the carpet. The table flipped over, disappearing under the floor as another piece of furniture rose to replace it. The new object was possibly a bizarre chair, or maybe just a sculpture. What it most resembled was a bat with long legs and fierce eyes.

“Do you like the altar?” Jupiter asked.

Tesla spoke calmly. “It’s very interesting.”

Jupiter scowled down at us. “I haven’t felt so unappreciated for my genius since Jove barely cracked a smile when I showed him ‘baby gorilla devours her first birthday cake.’ That was hysterically funny, but you’d never guess from his stoic reaction.”

“Stoic? You’re embroidering.” Jove snapped his whip twice, and Carla turned so he faced Jupiter. “And, the video clip of a baby gorilla is hysterically funny, but your dance interpretation of it is merely odd. Boom. There. I said it.”

“Why must we squabble? Especially at a time as important as this?” Jupiter bowed deeply from atop his clown.

“Don’t fret. Brothers without squabbles are like Martinis without olives and gloves without fingers.”

“Déclassé?”

“Exactly. And, now that the altar is prepared…”

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“Ladies and Gentlemen!”

  • by jengot to the edge of a very big wood
  • He and Carla never had sex
  • she found in the basement
  • on file with the DMV
  • she sank into my uncle’s arms

Tune in next time part 275                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Jupiter cried. “Direct your attention to the center ring!”

Of course, this being a shack, there was only the one ring. Jove cracked his whip and both of the clowns lifted their rainbow-bewigged heads from the carpet. With my brothers perched daintily on their backs, the clowns crawled on hands and knees until they got to the edge of a very big wooden coffee table.

A crack of Jove’s whip motivated his clown to climb atop the coffee table, and I saw for the first time that under the big red nose and oversized bowtie, this clown was a female. Seconds later I realized it was Jove’s wife Carla. From the letter that accompanied their Christmas card every year, I knew far more than I cared to about Jove and Carla’s marriage. He and Carla never had sex on the trapeze she found in the basement until they were both properly licensed and those licenses were on file with the DMV. That sort of thing.

Jupiter rose to his feet atop his clown. His shiny knee-high boots were obscured by colorful ruffles, and his black silk top hat brushed against the balloon animals along the ceiling. I wondered if he was married to his clown, too. Jupiter’s first wife, Juno, was out of the picture. Their marriage hadn’t even lasted through the reception. Uncle Jinx skipped the ceremony, and arrived at the reception looking quite debonaire in his tuxedo. Jupiter introduced the two, she sank into my uncle’s arms, and that was that. But perhaps he had remarried.

“Jove and Carla will prepare the altar for the sacrifice!” Jupiter announced, looking pointedly at Tesla and myself.

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“Look,” Jupiter Said

  • by Kentthe gentleman bowed
  • started to snake upwards
  • “Oh, my dear! Must we then all die of hunger?”
  • sitting there, all puckered up
  • key phrases to use on their children

Tune in next time part 274                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Look,” Jupiter said, “it’s our brother.”

“Jason?” Jove asked, adjusting his monocle. The top hat and red tailcoat would be overkill on most people, but he really did look quite the fetishistic gentleman.

“Don’t be silly! Jason won’t set foot on this island.” The gentleman bowed knowingly, which sent his monocle to the floor. Jupiter munched on his marshmallow for a few seconds, his gaze intent on something just behind my ear. “And if he does…”

Jove laughed, still hunched over searching for his fallen eyewear in the dense carpet. Then his torso started to snake upwards. Soon he was standing to his full height of just over seven and a half feet. His laughter stopped.

“Our brother came without sandwiches,” he said. “Sans crudités. Bereft of biscuits.”

Jupiter affected a swoon, draping himself over his clown and onto the green shag. “Oh, my dear! Must we then all die of hunger?”

The pair of ringmasters erupted into shrill cackles. Tesla hid behind me.

“Hey!” I barked. Jupiter and Jove fell silent. They synchronously seated themselves on their prostrate clowns with prim precision, looking attentively at me. “You play innocent all you want, sitting there all puckered up, but I know you’re behind some of the troubles that have plagued me. You’re not even trying to hide it!”

“Oh no,” Jupiter said. “We needn’t. This goes right to the top.”

“The big top!” Jove said, giggling. He made a squinty face and his monocle popped out.

Tesla tapped my shoulder. “The circus is a dying form, isn’t it?”

I shook my head. “That’s the myth. It’s what they want the world to think. But it’s actually a prime location for operatives to learn key phrases to use on their children. Theirs, and everybody else’s.”

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