Category: Stichomancy Prompts

I Wanted to Stop the Man in the Pink Bathrobe

  • by jenthey castrated people all the time
  • no choice but to watch him go
  • the only dollar he had
  • stepped purposefully out into the living room
  • the blue of an equatorial sky

Tune in next time part 273                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

I wanted to stop the man in the pink bathrobe and ask him if my brothers still ruled this island, and if — as they did a decade ago — they castrated people all the time, but he moved so quickly that I had no choice but to watch him go through the door like he was chasing the only dollar he had left in the world.

Tesla and I looked at each other, then turned to flee and ran straight into the arms of our beefy mime escorts. The two of them were utterly silent as they twisted our arms behind our backs and marched us through the door into the shack. Inside was a sort of cloak room, with another door at the other end. The mimes blocked the exit and glared at us until we opened the inner door and stepped purposefully out into the living room of the shack.

The walls were painted the blue of an equatorial sky, and the ceiling was obscured by multitudes of tropical birds fashioned from colorful balloons. Across the green shag carpet from where Tesla and I stood, my brothers Jupiter and Jove sat regally side-by-side on the backs of prostrated clowns, casually toasting marshmallows with their fiery exhalations.

But what made my blood run cold was their matching ringmaster garb. Things were much more dire than I had ever imagined.

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Jorgensen Put Two Fingers

  • by Kent“I don’t think so.”
  • reflection of its luminous rays
  • 7983 comparison tests
  • in a rapid and nervy voice
  • slipped inside

Tune in next time part 272                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

Jorgensen put two fingers in his mouth and emitted an ear-splitting whistle. William Sausage appeared at the hatch above us and said, “Yes, Captain?”

“Two uniforms for our new recruits.”

Tesla folded her arms, creating a shelf for her impressive bosom. “I don’t think so.”

Jorgensen just laughed and climbed the rope ladder. A minute later two gray bundles dropped through the hatch to land in the festive debris at our feet. Picking one up, I said, “At least it’s not black tights and a striped shirt.”

My uniform unfurled and I discovered that it was worse than mime garb. It was a gunny sack of rough, itchy cloth that would make the wearer sweat under the sun, and would give almost no reflection of its luminous rays. Donning it, I guessed that its designers must have done 7983 comparison tests to find something so demonically uncomfortable.

Tesla sullenly put on her own sack and we climbed the ladder. William Sausage awaited us, with two muscular mimes. “Take them ashore,” he said in his reedy voice.

We clambered topside and then into a rowboat. The beefy mimes made us work the oars while they stared in the kind of silence that only mimes know how to generate. I twisted my neck for a look at our destination. All I could really tell was that it was rocky.

At the dock, we were met by a skinny man wearing a pink bathrobe and white face paint. He waved for us to get out of the rowboat then led the way up the dock, stopping outside a shack. Leaning close, he said, “You’re the last ones to arrive, but there’s still time, if you hurry,” in a rapid and nervy voice. He spun on his heel, knocked elaborately on the door of the shack, and slipped inside.

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Jorgensen’s Mustache

  • by jenthe most fearful and astonishing grimaces
  • slithers with shadows
  • a silk ropeladder
  • confirmed the man was intoxicated
  • visiting me nightly

Tune in next time part 271                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

Jorgensen’s mustache often framed the most fearful and astonishing grimaces, but his smile was somehow worse. It was the sort of smile that slithers with shadows and menace, and it belonged to the sort of man who carried a silk ropeladder with him at all times.

The mustache twitched, revealing even more teeth. The size of the grin, the balloon parrot on his shoulder, and the eye-watering fumes coming from his mouth confirmed the man was intoxicated. Or — a terrible thought occurred to me — perhaps he was using his Pirate-Ninja Alliance affiliation as cover for a membership in the Guild of Fire Eaters. I had heard murmurings about a mime/fire eater treaty. Given Jorgensen’s predilection for employing mimes…

I shuddered. Visions of that monstrous confederation will be visiting me nightly.

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Jorgensen Appraised Tesla and Me

  • by Kentas long as you don’t drink a whole can
  • could have been a small Inuit woman
  • no one had heard from the governor’s secretary
  • Strange night!
  • scattered her clothes

Tune in next time part 270                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

Jorgensen appraised Tesla and me, standing before him wearing nothing but smeared body paint and random, colorful tatters of exploded balloon animals. He sighed through his mustache, and said to me, “I see she’s scattered her clothes all over you. Well, ‘clothes.’ Hmph.” He formed finger quotes by swiveling his wrists rather than flexing his digits, which just gave me one more reason to detest him.

“What are you doing on my sub?” Tesla asked him.

“This again? It’s not yours anymore, not since the final hand of the tournament, when you folded at dawn. Strange night! The top seeds all fell in the first round. It was unprecedented, so much so that no one cared that no one had heard from the governor’s secretary. It didn’t help that the governor was unable to provide a stable description of her, claiming she could have been a small Inuit woman or a gum-popping blonde in spike heels. Too bad for the governor no one explained to him that those energy drinks are fine as long as you don’t drink a whole can.”

“Fine,” Tesla said. “What are you doing on this sub?”

“Piracy. Ninjacy. Alliance business, but in this case it doesn’t concern you.”

Jorgensen looked me in the eye, his bushy mustache insufficient to conceal the nasty smile on his face.

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“Tell Me What You Know About Jupiter and Jove.”

  • by jenso it tastes like sugar
  • “Hiiiiiiii,” she simpered
  • between the hurrying feet
  • among the sartorially dyslexic
  • good-natured patience and gentle eye-rolling

Tune in next time part 269                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Tell me what you know about Jupiter and Jove,” I whispered urgently. As far as I knew, my brothers had never made it off the island.

Tesla kissed me, then said, “Think about lollipops and cotton candy then ask again, so it tastes like sugar.” Meanwhile she squirmed her way down into the sea of balloon animals, pressing herself against me.

Above us a series of sharp bangs signaled the popping of the floating rubber penguins. The shriveled remains fluttered down around us. Tesla ignored them and continued her gyrations.

“Tesla!” a voice from the hatch barked. It was Captain Jorgensen.

Tesla smiled at me and looked upwards. “Hiiiiiiii,” she simpered.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

“I’m interrogating the prisoner.” She giggled and slithered down until her head was hidden under the inflatable menagerie.

I have been subjected to many forms of interrogation, and this was by far my favorite. But between the hurrying feet and the muffled shouting going on over our heads, I gathered that Jorgensen did not approve. The open hatchway filled with the white faces of many mimes, each with a blowgun. They rained darts down upon us, popping all of the balloon animals. Luckily for us their aim was poor and we had plenty of time to finish our interrogation session before we were fully exposed. Tesla’s painted-on clothing had smeared all over my body, leaving us looking like royalty among the sartorially dyslexic.

A rope ladder unfurled down into the chamber where we stood. While we waited for Jorgensen to descend, Tesla displayed much good-natured patience and gentle eye-rolling.

Soon enough the pirate captain stood before us, a balloon parrot on his shoulder.

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The List of Things You Must Learn

  • by Kenta man that knows the secrets of a persimmon
  • “This is extreme right here.”
  • the sun, the surf, the primal fiery beauty
  • normal human body
  • I left my brothers there

Tune in next time part 268                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

The list of things you must learn if you want to succeed in a life of espionage is very long, and many of them are various ways of passing information. The pianist’s code, for example. But even more important is the skill of distinguishing the true message from the ruse, which was what the pianist’s code turned out to be this time.

The tart undercurrent of Tesla’s kiss conveyed a hidden meaning, one I might have overlooked if I weren’t a man that knows the secrets of a persimmon. Tesla whispered, “This is extreme right here.” It was unmistakably a signal phrase, and she was waiting for the countersign. Taking the persimmon-tinged mime lipstick out of the equation, the obvious correct response would be, “Because of the sun, the surf, the primal fiery beauty of the volcanoes.” But Tesla didn’t want to hear that. She was listening for me to confirm that I caught that additional flavorful signal, so I had to apply the persimmon factor.

It had been years since I had to do that in the field, and it was taking me a long time. Seconds flew by as she stared into my eyes, waiting. At last I murmured, “To think it was once a normal human body.”

Her smile told me my answer, though tardy, was accurate. She whispered again, a short coded poem that signified a place name. I assumed it was where the sub was headed, and when I puzzled out the coordinates I felt a chill. I hadn’t been to that place in a very long time. Not since I left my brothers there.

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I Am Well-Versed in the Pianist’s Code

  • by jen“I’ve known her since grade school.”
  • just across the Mississippi state line
  • the extraordinary nature of his luggage
  • her late husband’s secret torments
  • and now wears a hood to protect his identity

Tune in next time part 267                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

I am well-versed in the pianist’s code, so reading the message on Tesla’s fingernails would have been easy if only she’d kept them all in view. Instead she played me like a piano, her delicate fingers dancing all over my body.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” I thought. “I’ve known her since grade school.”

Tesla’s fingers continued their intricate dance, down my torso and just across the Mississippi state line, if you will, which was currently obscured by layers of balloon animals. She seemed pleased with what she found there, and said many flattering things about my package.

“What’s going on?” I heard Jason lisp from the hatch overhead. “I can’t see past all these balloon animals.”

William Sausage sighed. “She’s cooing about the extraordinary nature of his luggage at the moment.”

Jason called down, “We’re twins you know. Identical. My ‘luggage’ is just as nice as his.”

Tesla somehow ignored all the chatter going on over our heads. Between the squealing shrieks of the balloon animals, she murmured to me about her late husband’s secret torments.

“Yves is dead?” I asked in surprise.

“He might as well be,” she said. “He’s so ashamed of himself for breaking the vows of mime by speaking, that he changed his name and now wears a hood to protect his identity.”

She kissed me and I tasted grease paint. Grease paint and something else.

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Another Thing To Keep In Mind

  • by Kentrunning across fingernails and toenails
  • assuming you expand your definition of “living”
  • a charismatic leader
  • the procession moved slowly and majestically
  • James Bond didn’t wear pants

Tune in next time part 266                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

Another thing to keep in mind about spycraft is that, most of the time, James Bond didn’t wear pants when he was doing his best work. That put me in good company. Tesla, too.

William Sausage muttered something about formal dress being optional. Tesla winked at me.

She picked up one of the balloon animals — a penguin — and made a small adjustment to the way it was tied. When she let go, it floated, rising gradually as if some of its air had been turned to helium. In the time I wasted staring at this phenomenon, she did the same thing to several more and they floated upwards in the first one’s wake. The procession moved slowly and majestically toward the hatch where William Sausage remained, more disconcerted than ever. The inflated creatures followed the penguin like a charismatic leader. You could believe they were living to serve him, assuming you expand your definition of “living” to encompass balloon animals.

“How are you making them rise?” I whispered to Tesla. She laid a finger across my lips. It was then that I became cognizant that her greasepaint costume’s theme did not extend to every inch of her. For I discerned music notes running across fingernails and toenails, no doubt carrying a coded message. But, was that message meant for me?

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Wrestling With My Twin

  • by Kentbeing sure to pull it out at the angle at which it’s embedded
  • the greasy men come back
  • this intriguing technique
  • “Ow! Bill!”
  • as beautiful as the city itself

Tune in next time part 264                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

Wrestling with my twin was frustrating, and I’m sure Jason felt the same way. No matter what either of us tried, the other saw it coming, as if neither of us could insert a move without the other being sure to pull it out at the angle at which it’s embedded. As boys, we’d keep at it past nightfall sometimes, or “until the greasy men come back” as the old expression goes. But this time I was losing. Jason had developed some surprise moves involving his elbows, and by this intriguing technique he subdued me and pinned me to the floor.

Soon the other two were standing over us. Tesla looked like she was about to ask me a question, but then the man with the reedy voice stepped on her toe.

“Ow! Bill!” She shoved him back.

Aha! That made him William Sausage, famous by association with his supermodel daughter Vienna, who was named for where she was born and was as beautiful as the city itself.

Jason did another intriguing thing with his elbow and I passed out wondering how to use this new information to my advantage.

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Who Else Might Be Aboard the Submarine I was Now Trapped On?

  • by jenduring a very, very warm summer
  • “Do you have handcuffs on?”
  • once more enjoyed a little quiet laugh
  • Accidents, sir, happen
  • and redesigned suits

Tune in next time part 263                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

Who else might be aboard the submarine I was now trapped on? Did I dare make my presence known? Jason’s allegiances were impossible to know, and Tesla had been underground for so long there was no way of telling where her loyalties lay. If only I could identify the man with the reedy voice I might be able to judge my level of peril.

I kept myself concealed and continued to eavesdrop, but the noise of the submarine made that second task much harder. After about ten minutes, Tesla and Reedy Voice left the control room and strode down the corridor I was hiding in. I crouched quickly as they passed, but managed to get a pretty good look at them.

Their chalky faces and redesigned suits, so stripy and nautical, struck fear into my guts. These two must be representatives of the long-rumored Pirate-Mime Brotherhood. No wonder Reedy Voice’s voice sounded so odd — he was unaccustomed to speaking. But how on Earth did Tesla get mixed up with such a dangerous crowd? Accidents, sir, happen, I reminded myself. But that answer seemed insufficient. And then I remembered that Yves and Lionel, her philandering husbands, had been mimes. Quite good ones. I once more enjoyed a little quiet laugh as I recalled Lionel’s unique take on “trapped in a glass litter box.”

Was Tesla’s presence in this heretical fraternity of evil meant as a slap in the face to her exes?

Suddenly Jason bounded into the corridor and snagged me by the collar. It seems my little quiet laugh wasn’t little or quiet enough.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded. “Do you have handcuffs on?”

I did indeed, but since the chain was broken they hardly slowed me down.

Once during a very, very warm summer at the White House, Mother had pitted Jason and me against each other in daily wrestling matches. This was a lot like that.

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