Category: Stichomancy Prompts

I Froze, Waiting

  • by Kentpull the blinds and change their minds
  • his hair is not his own
  • with his back to the wall
  • one strange similarity
  • “I say no!”

Tune in next time part 242                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

I froze, waiting for him to elaborate and keeping my hand on the seam in the curtains so I wouldn’t have to start that search over again. Father’s face floated peacefully above the swirling tangle of femininity engulfing the rest of him. He spoke clearly, if somewhat breathlessly.

“Those two were set on desertion, so your mother had to pull the blinds and change their minds. She went a little rough on them, which had permanent effects on the joker — his hair is not his own. Your mother gets carried away sometimes. She gave that joker such a fright, had him cornered with his back to the wall, and then the thief distracted her just long enough for them both to run back to their dormitory. They didn’t flee the Academy that night, but don’t you wonder why? Wouldn’t that encounter make them all the more anxious to get away? Yet they stayed, and their doings in the next few years had more than one strange similarity to sedition. So many mysterious acts of sabotage and disrespect, all officially unsolved but clearly their work. And, you were their companion, their confidant. It might seem odd that these old events still get dredged up, but they’re the key to everything that’s happened since. And to stopping what’s due to happen next. Don’t you agree that it’s time for us to work together?”

My hands had tightened into fists, and the curtain quaked in my grip.

“I say no!”

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Remembering Father’s Mistress in Her New Collar

  • by jenhe couldn’t rubberneck around
  • “Walk backwards toward me.”
  • a disgraced exotic beauty contestant is the best kind of exotic beauty contestant
  • mere will-o-the-wisps of the imagination
  • I’ll tell you a story about the joker and the thief

Tune in next time part 241                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

Remembering Father’s mistress in her new collar was almost as bad as experiencing my present day reality. In that memory he turned to me and said that the best part about the collar was that when she was wearing it she couldn’t rubberneck around.

Turning his attention back to the woman he said, “Walk backwards toward me.”

While she did that he winked at me, and imparted what he considered to be paternal wisdom: “Never forget, son, a disgraced exotic beauty contestant is the best kind of exotic beauty contestant.”

But the collared beauty queen and that younger version of my father were mere will-o-the-wisps of the imagination, memories of a childhood that seemed idyllic now in light of my current sordid surroundings.

From the black velvet bed, my father called my name. When I reflexively looked at him, he met my eye and said, “I’ll tell you a story about the joker and the thief.”

I was stunned. Those were the affectionate pet names he used for John and Tessa. Was he going to actually pass along useful covert intelligence? Even though I had finally found the exit from the black velvet nightmare, I dared not leave before hearing what he had to say.

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The Black Velvet Room

  • by Kentwith a canine-skin collar
  • various scenarios with his colleagues
  • it would be a shining white box
  • –Don’t be modest
  • finally agreed to wear it

Tune in next time part 240                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

The black velvet room, with its distressing noises and aromas, was breaking down my concentration, cutting me off from all my Academy training. I couldn’t even find my way out anymore. Confusion and panic rose in my head; it was like a toilet backing up.

My mind retreated from the awfulness of the present moment, and I was swept back into a memory from childhood. I sat on the floor in Father’s office, playing with John and Jason. We had Matchbox cars. Father presented his current mistress with a canine-skin collar, then sent her out and discussed various scenarios with his colleagues, debating the best way to deliver the next quarter’s bribes. Someone said they’d get the most bang for their buck if it would be a shining white box filled with gold coins.

“No, I have a better idea,” Father said, staring at me. “Son,” he said, “I have an important job for you. Tell me you’re prepared — Don’t be modest — tell me you can do it.”

Father spoke to me like that for an hour, browbeating me about acting as his mule. The colleagues left, and the mistress returned with the collar. She distracted Father from me, at last, when she finally agreed to wear it.

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I’d Heard Entirely Enough About the Viscount’s Ornamentation

  • by jenappreciated Jim’s zeal
  • let’s play Master and Servant
  • “When Ralph was at work sometimes
  • Why should I care what happens now?
  • I almost forgot to ask

Tune in next time part 239                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

I’d heard entirely enough about the Viscount’s ornamentation, and I’d seen far more than enough of my father’s sexual escapades. What surprised me the most about the situation before me was Esmerelda’s seeming enthusiasm. From everything I’d ever heard she appreciated Jim’s zeal, in both the sack and in all other aspects of their marriage, and I was surprised she’d throw that all away for a roll in the hay with a wannabe despot.

As I fumbled my way around the black velvet draperies, searching for the exit, I heard my father say, “Hey ladies, let’s play Master and Servant.”

I hastened my search.

“When Ralph was at work sometimes,” my father continued (even though Mother’s name was ZsaZsa, he always called her Ralph), “she’d call me into the Oval Office and make me wear only a collar and hide under her desk.”

The girls Morse-coded at each other, “He’s about to spill state secrets!”

Why should I care what happens now? I wondered. Whatever political machinations my father was planning were unlikely to come to fruition when he was so easily distracted. But my training wouldn’t allow me to walk away from such a potentially disastrous espionage situation.

By now Darlene had bounded onto the bed with the amorous trio. I was so mortified by the raw animal lust displayed by my father that I almost forgot to ask myself the most important question an operative can ask: what is this meant to distract me from?

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The Trouble With Spoken Codes

  • by Kentit can be a little intimidating, a little scary
  • fantastically gilded and filagreed
  • he’d chubbed up quite a bit
  • more than a billion dollars
  • she claimed to have met several of them

Tune in next time part 238                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

The trouble with spoken codes is that they have dialects. This made it difficult to be sure I was picking up the intended meanings of all the symbols. I was left hoping I had misconstrued some parts of the conversation. And at no point could I tell which sister was speaking.

“Seeing it for the first time, it can be a little intimidating, a little scary. Most of the others I’ve seen are rather plain, but his is fantastically gilded and filagreed.”

“Yes, it’s a bit overwhelming at first. I for one was pleasantly surprised, having been told that he’d chubbed up quite a bit over the past year.”

“She’s the one you have to thank there, for sparing no expense on his fitness coaches. We know it was more than a billion dollars. Contrarian dollars, sure. But that’s still a lotta chedda.”

“Fitness coaches? Do you really believe that? I mean, she claimed to have met several of them at her father’s private club, and we both know who has membership there.”

“Wait, are you telling me this is a coup?”

“That hadn’t occurred to me. My hunch is it’s something far more ordinary and wearisome.”

“Maybe it could use some filagree!”

This was, seemingly, a very funny thing to say in code. Their eroticized cackling will haunt me to my grave.

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“Are You Getting Out of Here?”

  • by jen“Should I come with you?’
  • “Rap rap-rap rap-rap rap-ra, ra, ra, ra, ra, rap!”
  • you can’t do it in less than six hours
  • had (merely in playfulness) drawn his bayonet
  • I don’t remember what day of the week it was

Tune in next time part 237                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Are you getting out of here?” Darlene asked, still rocking her hips. “Should I come with you?” She gazed at the trio on the bed. “Or..?”

“Well I’m certainly not sticking around to watch,” I replied.

From the tangle of nude limbs I heard a female voice repeating, “Rap rap-rap rap-rap rap-ra, ra, ra, ra, ra, rap!” It sounded like someone trying to speak morse code, which is something they teach at the Academy. You can learn it, but you can’t do it in less than six hours, so the course usually takes two days. But I did it in one. While my brain tried to catch all the nuances and decode the message, my eyes had the unenviable task of tracing out all the ways the three lovers were intertwined in order to see which woman’s mouth was free to speak unencumbered.

I tried to tell myself that I wasn’t witnessing sex. That my father, a famous general, had (merely in playfulness) drawn his bayonet. But I wasn’t buying it.

I don’t remember what day of the week it was when I learned spoken morse code, but I was glad my advisor had insisted. What I was hearing today was not merely one Svenborgian sister speaking, but the two of them alternating to pass along a most astounding message about my wife and Viscount Arlo.

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Despite The Total Unclothedness

  • by Kentapproximately one-third of one nipple
  • like in some fairytale
  • removed the latex gloves
  • bearded, hairy face
  • the seductive influence

Tune in next time part 236                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

Despite the total unclothedness of the three people in front of me, which meant there were six nipples exposed, the angle of view afforded me only a glimpse of approximately one-third of one nipple, and it wasn’t one I would have picked. Their choreography of modesty was as impressive as it was uncharacteristic, like in some fairytale, the film version of which received a hard R rating for the scene where the wicked stepmother removed the latex gloves from her hands after wearing them to caress the bearded, hairy face of her prisoner. Darlene whimpered, rocking her hips. I expected a professional like herself to be immune to the seductive influence of a potbellied deposed former first husband and his sibling covert operatives.

Given that the potbelly belonged to my father, I certainly was.

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So Darlene Really was a Prostitute

  • by jenit’s never been dull
  • “Tut, tut, child; tut, tut,”
  • Let’s not forget the legendary Nile Rodgers
  • was a dinner guest once again
  • endless red tape

Tune in next time part 235                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

So Darlene really was a prostitute, making her earlier defense of my father a lie just like everything else I’d been told in recent memory. I was surrounded, as usual, by liars and spies. Say what you will about my life, at least, like my knife, it’s never been dull.

I pulled my little blade from its hidden sheath, the location of which it’s better not to mention in polite company.

“Tut, tut, child; tut, tut,” I said, laying my hand on Darlene’s shoulder to prevent her escape. “I need some answers.”

Her eyes were fixed on my knife, but she shook her head. “I will tell you nothing.”

Something about her bearing reminded me of the celebrities who made command appearances at the White House when Mother was president: Bootsy Collins, George Clinton, Les Claypool. Let’s not forget the legendary Nile Rodgers and his stoicism when he was a dinner guest once again against his better judgment. It was clear that all of these men had deeply held opinions about Mother and her policies that they worked hard to keep off their faces. To this day I don’t know how she compelled all of them to visit, but I’m sure it involved credible threats and endless red tape. She could make them be there, but she couldn’t make them enjoy it. That’s how Darlene looked now.

I steered her back into the black velvet room where Dad was now sitting on the bed, with Esmerelda and Cleopatra on either side. He had his arms around them, pulling them up tight against him. All of them were nude.

I sighed.

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My First Impulse

  • by KentOne of the backhoes ran over him.
  • The sun became pitiless.
  • felt almost like blasphemy
  • I dare not kiss you
  • a wobbly wire chair

Tune in next time part 234                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

My first impulse was to take command of the room and make everybody sit down and shut up while I asked the questions.

But my second impulse, to pipe down and think things through for a minute, felt smarter.

My father had been lying to me for years. Faking his death entailed lying to the whole world, but he’d made exceptions for other people while letting me go on believing the official version. The video footage of the construction mishap was quite convincing. One of the backhoes ran over him. Obviously that didn’t really happen. Not to Father, at any rate.

A glowing ball of resentful realization climbed in my mind like a desert sunrise. That sun shone hot on the Svenborgian sisters. The sun became pitiless. They had also misled me. Cleopatra withheld her real name and her nationality, and played dumb about her family when we watched the zeppelin tape. Esmerelda lied about the misappropriation of state funds. She knew Father hadn’t paid Darlene, because she knew Darlene.

Darlene was the one person present whom I did not know for a fact had lied to me.

Employing my Academy training (Tactical Upholstery 245, an elective for third-years in the accelerated track), I went straight to the seam in the curtains and passed seamlessly through it into utter blackness. I spun around, and spotted Darlene’s pale keister swaying in the distance. I gave chase.

Soon I was close enough to call out to her. She looked forlornly over her shoulder, still walking naked through the featureless darkness. Her face was lovelier than I had noticed before. So, though it felt almost like blasphemy to say it, I said, “I dare not kiss you, because right now my mind is like five jigsaw puzzles all in the same box, and my heart is like a wobbly wire chair.”

That made her smile, and the sun rose again, casting a gentler warmth within my soul.

“No, you dare not kiss me because you haven’t paid. And you couldn’t afford it.”

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“Don’t Say a Goddamn Word, Darlene”

  • by jenbounced his face on the pavement
  • when he visits Bermuda to golf
  • Jack’s a doughnut
  • couldn’t understand why Darlene
  • refused to return to his bed

Tune in next time part 233                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Don’t say a goddamn word, Darlene,” Cleopatra snapped.

The Asian woman squeaked and hid her face behind the curtains, disappearing completely. My father leapt to his feet, slipped, and bounced his face on the pavement. But since the pavement in this room was black velvet, just like everything else, he just wound up with a rug burn. It reminded me of how sunburnt he gets when he visits Bermuda to golf and forgets to apply sunscreen.

“Darlene!” Dad yelled. “C’mon back, baby. We’ll kick these interlopers out and lock the door.”

Esmerelda said disgustedly, “Jack’s a doughnut, and he doesn’t care who’s cup of coffee he gets dunked in.”

“Too true,” Cleopatra said.

“Neither of you minded when it was your coffee I was dunking in,” Dad snarked as he made his way to the wall where Darlene disappeared. He started patting it down, searching for her and calling her name.

I knew this was all a ruse, a show put on to distract me from my pointed questions.

I stood with my arms crossed over my chest, watching Dad pretend that he couldn’t understand why Darlene refused to return to his bed, thinking about Esmerelda and Cleopatra. It was true that Cleopatra had lost her accent, but they were sisters, so that meant they were both Svenborgian. And since Esmerelda was an Underduchess, Cleopatra probably was, too. Maybe an Underduchess-once-removed. It was hard to remember all the rules for Svenborgian royal lineage. No matter her title, though, she had to know Viscount Arlo. They both did. They were most likely related to him somehow. And Dad didn’t care.

It was imperative that I figure out what was going on. Without raising their suspicions.

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