Category: Stichomancy Prompts

At My Father’s Statement

  • by Kentto peep between the curtains
  • exposed him
  • just a mess inside that car
  • although she didn’t even own a car
  • seemed to me, judging from his fingers,

Tune in next time part 232                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

At my father’s statement, questions took flight in my mind like a flock of startled birds. But now was not the time to seek those answers.

“You know, the world thinks you’re dead,” I said. “Supposing it turned out they were right after all?” He sat down heavily on the mattress. “Glad to see I have your attention. Sit there and behave for a minute and we’ll get this over with. You have to stop,” I glanced at the naked woman, “renting affection.”

The Asian woman scampered through a gap in the velvet along the wall. She turned back to peep between the curtains, just a face levitating in the blackness of the room. “That is not what it is!” she cried. “I’m not a prostitute. We’re good friends. Last night, I complained that he never exposed himself to me. So, he did.”

Father’s wheezing laughter grated on my eardrums. “In a New York minute, I did! Man, things were just a mess inside that car.” Father’s eyes drifted closed.

I snapped my fingers. “Stay with us, you pervert.”

“We were in a car together,” he went on in a dreamy voice, “although she didn’t even own a car according to my security team.”

“It was stolen,” the face in the curtains giggled. Father giggled back.

I turned to Cleopatra and Esmerelda. “Sounds like you’re mistaken about the abuse of treasury funds. Now I need to talk to my father about some family business.”

The sisters stood with their arms folded. Unconvinced.

I turned back to Father and snapped my fingers at him some more. I wanted to make him explain about Mom and the one-eyed Svenborgian, but suddenly I was unconvinced, too. Which meant I was pretty convinced I couldn’t believe anything he told me, so there was no reason to bother asking. Because I noticed a clue I had overlooked before, a clue that told me there was more to this story. Because it seemed to me, judging from his fingers, that my father had recently been handling a lot of currency.

I looked at the Asian woman and narrowed my eyes. “You,” I said, “tell me the truth about what’s going on here.”

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At the End of a Long, Dank Hallway

  • by jenWe have a ghost, you know.
  • for a few ostentatious minutes
  • “A kidnapper?”
  • though it was badly damaged
  • my bunkmate has malaria

Tune in next time part 231                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

At the end of a long, dank hallway, Esmerelda pressed her eyeball against a retinal scanner and a thick metal panel slid open. The room beyond had black velvet covering every surface, including the floor. Our footsteps were silent as we entered.

The room was lit only by a spotlight that was focused on a raised platform — an island of black velvet in a sea of the same. Upon that platform, which was most likely a bed, lay the nude forms of my father and an Asian woman. Her black hair blended with the velvet, giving her head the unsettling appearance of being incomplete. She coughed.

My father sat up and grumbled, “I think my bunkmate has malaria. Get me a different girl.”

Esmerelda shoved me forward, hissing, “Tell him no more whores!”

When I was a child I had a good relationship with my father, though it was badly damaged through the years by his reckless behavior. Would he listen to me now?

“What’s this?” my father demanded when he caught sight of me. “A kidnapper?”

“No such luck, old man,” I said. And then I stood there while, for a few ostentatious minutes, he stomped around on the bed, bellowing about respect, neglecting to cover his nudity, waving his arms all around. The Asian girl rolled herself onto the floor and stood up. I was relieved to see she did in fact possess an entire head.

I gave Dad some time to tire himself out and work through the familiar first act of his usual tirade. When he finally paused for breath, I said, “We have a ghost, you know. A ghost of a chance of getting you out of here alive. Viscount Arlo is in league with the Contrarians.”

“Arlo?”

“You know, the bald Svenborgian with the eye patch.”

All the hair on my father’s body stood up. I know because he was still naked. “That guy is such a dick,” he said. “I don’t know what your mother ever saw in him.”

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My Next Move

  • by Kentthe Universe of the Upside-Down Toilet
  • “Stop playing games with me, David.”
  • stand back and let me check
  • with the slavish tenacity of a lapdog
  • won’t be built with nuts and bolts

Tune in next time part 230                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

My next move depended on knowing where Cleopatra really stood regarding my father. I tried another coded message.

“I think my father knows that time is money, even in the Universe of the Upside-Down Toilet, and that’s how those workers set their rates.”

“Stop playing games with me, David.” Esmerelda’s use of the proper countersign startled me. I’d thought I knew her allegiances, but this threw everything out the window. Now I was baffled about both sisters’ true intentions.

“I thought your name was–”

“He knows what I mean,” Esmerelda snapped.

I mulled for a few seconds. Then, “I’ll go talk to him, but I need Cleopatra to come with me.” If they both agreed to that, I’d know enough about their loyalties.

“Is my butt on straight?”

“Good question — stand back and let me check. Yes, you look great.”

“You could just take it off,” Esmerelda growled. “He’ll panic if he discovers a Svenborgian affectation like that.” To me, she said, “I know what you’re up to.”

“Good, can you tell me?”

“Don’t be cute. You’re far too old for cuteness. The coup will happen, though its opponents will act with the slavish tenacity of a lapdog. They will be unable to stop the machine. It’s a machine that won’t be built with nuts and bolts. It will be made of pride and sweat and spider silk. Do you hear me? Do you understand what I am telling you?”

“Sheesh, Ezz,” Cleopatra said. “You take all the fun out of revolution, you know that?”

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Geography was Never My Strong Suit

  • by jendidn’t want to say more over the phone
  • the deadly secrets she’d been hiding for three years
  • “What the heck is this?”
  • many generations of fine breeding
  • a very unrealistic assessment of what sex workers charge

Tune in next time part 229                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

Geography was never my strong suit, but even I knew there was a limited number of countries one could reach from Harmonia by water, and our current location resembled none of them. And then it hit me: hovercrafts can travel over land as well as sea. We could be nearly anywhere. And Cleopatra worked so hard to keep me distracted belowdecks, as it were. My distrust of her flared anew.

A zeppelin floated by overhead.

Cleopatra led me into a twisting alley. Where it dead-ended, there was a rusty steel door where she unleashed a flurry of knocks in a complicated rhythm. The door swung inward after a moment and I was compelled to enter the dim room.

From the shadows, a tall woman said, “You should have told us you were bringing him along.” Her voice was familiar.

“Time was short and there were enemies everywhere,” Cleopatra said. “I didn’t want to say more over the phone than the bare basics.”

Shadow-voice stepped out of the shadows and stood behind me, hands on my shoulders. She leaned forward and spoke quietly into my ear. “Did she tell you of the deadly secrets she’d been hiding for three years?” Her odd accent and stilted phrasing identified her as Esmerelda, my brother Jim’s wife. If she was here, did that mean my father was, too?

Esmerelda moved from behind me and embraced Cleopatra, giving her bottom a squeeze. “What the heck is this?” she demanded. “I’m disappointed in you, sister. We are the end result of many generations of fine breeding, and yet you cover up your genetically perfect ass with this relic of old Svenborgia?”

They were sisters? That was news to me. Cold dread clutched my gut.

“I am a traditionalist,” Cleopatra replied.

Esmerelda stood beside her sister and regarded me icily. “Your father has a very unrealistic assessment of what sex workers charge. He’s draining the treasury of his new empire, and he’s not even been publicly acknowledged as leader. We need you to talk to him.”

She was standing side-by-side with her sister, but they were on opposite sides of the conflict over my father. Or were they? Had Cleopatra been playing me all along in order to get me here?

Wherever here was.

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Cleopatra Didn’t Answer My Question

  • by KentI’m sorry, I have a cold
  • obviously an impostor
  • until I broke his collarbone
  • — England’s far-reaching navy
  • I was barely nine weeks pregnant

Tune in next time part 228                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

Cleopatra didn’t answer my question, but instead tried to entice me into another skating trip on the frog pond.

“Ee-yow!” I yelped.

“I’m sorry, I have a cold hand because it wasn’t under the blankets. Here, is this one better?”

It was, so I never did find out where the hovercraft was taking us until we docked. In fact, not even then.

The man in the captain’s uniform seeing us off as we disembarked was obviously an impostor. His bushy white mustache was glued on, and the medals were pinned to the wrong side of his jacket. Cleopatra interposed herself as we passed him, preventing me from unmasking him and pummeling him until I broke his collarbone or he confessed and told us who put him up to it, whichever came first. (More likely both.)

“He’s a spy from the navy — England’s far-reaching navy — and he doesn’t know who I am,” Cleopatra whispered. “You, maybe. I couldn’t tell if he recognized you or not.”

“Where are we?”

“Someplace I never thought I’d return to,” she sighed. “Last time I was here, I was barely nine weeks pregnant. Pregnant with foolish dreams and naive idealism, but still in the first trimester.

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I Stood in the Prow

  • by jenAnswer: Not much.
  • blocked nearly all the sunlight
  • desperately tired of seeing naked shoes
  • Welcome to… Aberdeen
  • ice skating on the frog pond

Tune in next time part 227                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

I stood in the prow of the locust until it slowly became a hovercraft and I realized that I had been hallucinating. I asked Cleopatra how much sense I had been making. Answer: Not much.

We were in the middle of the ocean, zipping along in a cloud of spray that blocked nearly all the sunlight. There wasn’t much to look at, but that was actually a relief because I was desperately tired of seeing naked shoes on people’s hands and overdressed fish circling their heads.

Cleopatra coaxed me away from the railing and we went to the cafeteria. She bought me a huge plate of non-psychoactive haggis and said, “Welcome to… Aberdeen.” Then she made me eat the whole thing and wash it down with a glass of peaty scotch. She meanwhile enjoyed a BLT and a coke.

After our meal we still had many hours to kill before our hovercraft would deliver us to our destination. Cleopatra had reserved a cabin for us, so we went there and I showed her a sex position that came to me during my mushroom trip, something that I could only describe as “ice skating on the frog pond.” Her prosthetic butt will never be the same.

I still didn’t fully trust her, but I needed her to think I did.

In the afterglow I said, “So where is this hovercraft taking us?”

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A Handful of Mushrooms

  • by Kentdozens of nails
  • impromptu vacations and picnics in the park
  • “Let us go and present ourselves to be killed.”
  • eventually they finished eating
  • my temples throbbing with excitement

Tune in next time part 226                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

A handful of mushrooms was more effective as an appetizer than a snack, but it was certainly better than nothing. I worried that the employees would be upset about me taking some without paying, but they just smiled.

I crammed the fungus into my mouth and chased after Cleopatra.

She held up one hand as I approached. She was probably checking for spies again, but I was distracted by her fingers. Each one had dozens of nails, a trait I’d failed to notice before. It was beautiful.

The stop at her apartment was very quick. Gordon kept asking to be let out of the bathroom. In Italian. Apparently Cleopatra didn’t speak Italian because she showed no sign she understood.

On our way to the hovercraft depot, we saw families of purple giraffes and levitating hippos having impromptu vacations and picnics in the park. Cleopatra was too intent on our travel plans to appreciate the scene. She was dragging me by the hand, so I pulled her to a stop and pointed out the amazing spectacle. One of the giraffes saluted me with his beer can.

“Oh shit,” Cleopatra said. “Those weren’t maitake mushrooms. Come on, we have to hurry.”

Turned out that what they were calling a hovercraft was actually a giant lawnmower. Passengers disappeared into it, and since they didn’t seem afraid I decided I wasn’t either. “Let us go and present ourselves to be killed.” Cleopatra just rolled her eyes. And we survived the boarding process, so I decided I could trust her. Her butt was fake, but she was honest about everything else.

Now I realized our vessel was not a mower, but a gigantic locust. There were others like it, all grazing on the reeds by the shoreline. Eventually they finished eating and set out over the water. I stood at the bow, watching the horizon, my temples throbbing with excitement.

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Cleopatra’s Eyes Darted

  • by jenJoe, I know it’s not shit
  • dutifully packing the egg cartons
  • want to play Road Warrior
  • propel a converted atomic submarine into space
  • now dating his ex-girlfriend

Tune in next time part 225                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

Cleopatra’s eyes darted around the street, searching the shadows for spies. “I can’t talk about that right now. I left my prosthetic butt at home,” she whispered.

I sighed at all the Svenborgian nonsense.

She gripped my hand in a way that would look tender to any casual observers, and led me into a small grocery store. In the back room, a handful of Tibetans were busy sorting mushrooms into piles.

The youngest looked at me and said, “What are these damn ‘shrooms called again, Joe, I know it’s not shittake.”

Why did he think my name was Joe? “Maitake,” I said.

“That’s it!” he said, snapping his fingers, then went back to dutifully packing the egg cartons in front of him with the frilly fungus.

Cleopatra pulled me into the corner. “Joe?” she demanded. “I thought your name was–”

“I want to play Road Warrior,” I interrupted. “I want to drive a car that’s got a booster big enough to propel a converted atomic submarine into space.”

I watched as Cleopatra decoded that. Her face looked like she just found out her father was now dating his ex-girlfriend‘s sister, daughter, and niece all at the same time. Or at least that was the look I had when my father did that.

“If what you say is true,” she finally said, “we need to get the hell out of Harmonia immediately.”

I agreed.

“Grab a handful of those mushrooms to tide you over. We’ll have to stop at my apartment to get my butt and my passport, then we’ll go straight to the hovercraft depot.”

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I Would Have Enjoyed

  • by Kentenjoyed a few hours’ sleep
  • emerging from the kennel
  • using massive metal golems
  • your footprints may not complicate matters
  • flinging discretion to the chilly wind

Tune in next time part 224                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

I would have enjoyed a few hours’ sleep, but there were too many things demanding action and attention. For example, I needed to figure out who Cleopatra really was.

I followed her out into the hall, mainly just to keep her where I could see her. She went into the bathroom and released Gordon, and the goose emerging from the kennel was not a happy one. He flapped angrily, his large wings churning the air and smacking the walls in the small room. Cleopatra yelped and jumped back, slamming the door to contain Gordon’s tantrum.

“I hope you have another bathroom,” I said.

“No,” she sighed. Gordon started honking. It was alarmingly loud. “He’ll calm down eventually. His voice can’t see my bones.”

The weird turn of phrase made the hair on my arms stand up. It was an old Svenborgian proverb! I suddenly understood the significance of the words inside her fake butt, which must have been manufactured there. And that would explain how she knew who the Viscount was, and knew he was a dick.

I had a terrifying thought. Cleopatra might be a Golem Rider. Regular Svenborgians were dangerous, but the members of that apocalyptic cult were especially so. They believed they would one day overthrow the current world order using massive metal golems that lived in their many extinct volcanoes. They even had a sitcom starring those gleaming giants. One of them had the catchphrase, “your footprints may not complicate matters,” which he always said after one of the others had stepped on a bunch of people on the sidewalk.

We had left her apartment building and were hiking up the boulevard. A storm was closing in, and perhaps its ominous backdrop inspired my next move. Flinging discretion to the chilly wind, I asked her, “What’s the Svenborgian-Tibetan connection?”

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By the Time Isaac was Done with Me

  • by jenwonder if you even miss me
  • people thought they had a far more sinister meaning
  • dressed in a Hazmat suit
  • mixture of ferocity and jocularity
  • nonetheless churning with anxiety

Tune in next time part 223                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

By the time Isaac was done with me I had learned that her real name was Cleopatra, and I was exhausted from my efforts both conversational and carnal. My mind was nonetheless churning with anxiety over the sinister Tibetan chocolate bar, which manifested in my actions as an odd mixture of ferocity and jocularity. The last time I felt that way I dressed in a Hazmat suit and went to the White House to talk things out with Thor. The thing about Hazmat suits is that most people thought they had a far more sinister meaning than I intended. I was just trying to be funny, but you try telling that to the Secret Service.

I digress.

There were no Hazmat suits in Cleopatra’s apartment so it was easy enough to avoid that misstep this time, despite my compromised mental state. As I was getting dressed in the clothes I’d gotten from Jim’s closet what felt like ages ago, Cleopatra turned on the TV.

“We need to make sure your father’s return hasn’t hit the news yet,” she said, flipping through the channels until she landed on the Contrarian News Network showing footage of my heavily pregnant wife Fleur and her retinue, all laughing at the antics of a troop of mimes.

I wonder if you even miss me, I thought, as she threw her arms around the neck of Viscount Arlo of Svenborgia. The damn Svenborgians were all over this mess.

“That Arlo guy is such a dick,” Cleopatra said.

How did she even know who he was?

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