Category: Stichomancy Prompts

The Brontosaurus Had Been Growing

  • by Kentdidn’t want to waste the batteries
  • almost super-human tolerance
  • even if the word “Surgery” had not been inscribed
  • dive into the unknown
  • the long-legged Englishman

Tune in next time part 190                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

The Brontosaurus had been growing for as long as I could remember, becoming more ponderous and complicated all the time. It reached a point where I no longer considered Mother’s ambitions much of a danger to the world at large, simply because there was no way such a tangled mess of a plan could ever succeed.

But, what if? What if the Brontosaurus was a distraction from her real initiatives? It would explain so much. Were all of her obsessions mere pantomime, or did she really feel that way about the long-legged Englishman who cleaned the pool? He had an almost super-human tolerance for chlorine, which could qualify him for certain kinds of clandestine missions.

I had to escape this alley and its rats. I had to find Tessa and warn her, before Mother found me. I had to do it without my flashlight, which I stupidly stopped carrying with me because I didn’t want to waste the batteries. I started digging through the heaps of charred swimsuits in the dumpster, hoping something more useful had been thrown away. When I got to the bottom of the pile, I saw a pull ring attached to the floor of the dumpster. It had a trapdoor! I decided it was better to dive into the unknown below the garbage receptacle than face down the swarming rodents outside it.

Especially after I stole Yoda’s flashlight.

The stairs curved and twisted, descending for what felt like miles. Finally I stood at a door. I knew where I was, and it chilled me. I would have known even if the word “Surgery” had not been inscribed on the knob, even if the plaque beside it didn’t say “Rocketry.”

I swallowed hard, and rang the doorbell.

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When I First Saw Yoda

  • by jendeeply involved in this deadly charade
  • I’m not sure I agree with her
  • lips parted in a delighted smile
  • human hair was tangled in the knot
  • I have a new theory about the brontosaurus

Tune in next time part 189                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

When I first saw Yoda perched atop his dumpster, I had no idea he was deeply involved in this deadly charade my life has become. Tessa always said that I like trouble the same way fruit flies like a banana. I’m not sure I agree with her most of the time, but lately I think she must be right. I can picture her saying it, her lips parted in a delighted smile as she holds out a knotted rope for my inspection. As I recall, human hair was tangled in the knot, but it wasn’t Tessa’s hair. Not that time anyway.

Now, crouched in this Harmonious dumpster, my feet shoved into Yoda’s crocs, surrounded by fire-damaged bikinis, I decided that Tessa was completely right. Much like fruit flies and bananas, I’m always hovering near trouble, drawn by the scent. It’s in my blood.

And suddenly I have a new theory about the Brontosaurus, which is what Tessa and I called my mother’s colorfully illustrated plans for world domination. A new theory that explains everything.

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Mother’s Diabolical Machinations

  • by Kentmetropolitan police with a difference
  • I can see I’m not your type
  • the ice-master caught the first sight
  • either rented or borrowed a baby
  • why the hell should I stay awake?

Tune in next time part 188                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Mother’s diabolical machinations filled my mind so completely that I forgot where I was and what was happening around me. Her agents would be everywhere by now, like metropolitan police with a difference: animal cunning. I snapped out of it when Yoda tumbled into the dumpster beside me.

“Let go!” I yelled. He had latched onto my ankles. “What makes you think you’re my type? I can see I’m not your type.”

“To say is hard, what type you are, hmm? Odd your clothing is, shoe-thief.”

“Here, take them back.” I dropped his crocs, which I hadn’t had time to put on. But he still held onto my ankles. “What now?”

“Long ago it was, when the ice-master caught the first sight of the airport, when either rented or borrowed a baby the fire-master did.” As he spoke, he slipped off my sodden espadrilles and put his crocs on my feet.

Then he burrowed into the scorched bikinis and curled up like a hamster in cedar chips.

“Is that it?” I asked. “Are you just going to lie there?”

“Done now my job is, so why they hell should I stay awake?”

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Rats. Why Did it Have to be Rats?

  • by jenstruck by lightning a month ago
  • hundreds of identical bathing suits
  • over the 4th of July weekend
  • and downright durable
  • “Do you know to whom you speak?”

Tune in next time part 187                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Rats. Why did it have to be rats? The only thing worse than their slithery hairless tails was their enormous testicles. Even if they didn’t manage to devour me, I’d waste precious time fighting them off. And that meant I’d have to touch them. Ugh.

“Move it,” I said to Yoda. From his dumpster-perch I’d be able to reach the roof and make my escape.

“Yourself you should blow,” the horrible little man said.

“Do you know to whom you speak?” I’m embarrassed to admit that was my best attempt at mimicking his backwards syntax.

An obnoxious giggle came from behind the rubber mask. I grabbed the ears with both hands, and tugged. The mask was stretchy and downright durable. I gave up trying to tear it off and instead used the ears as handles to yank the guy off the dumpster and fling him onto the filthy alley pavement. His giggles turned to shrieks as I vaulted up onto the garbage receptacle. The lid sagged under my weight like I was the winner of a hotdog eating contest over the 4th of July weekend. I reached for the roof, but the lid collapsed, dumping me unceremoniously into the trash.

I expected to find myself wallowing in rancid food, but the smell wasn’t any worse inside than it had been out in the alley. Digging around for something solid to stand on to help me climb out, I found nothing but hundreds of identical bathing suits, all singed around the edges.

I suddenly knew where I was. The Contrarian news had been wall-to-wall coverage of a bikini store that was struck by lightning a month ago.

Cold dread trickled down my spine. A notorious fire, swimwear, a strip club, a nearby airport. If Mother brought me to such a location, it could only mean one thing.

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The Alley Behind the Wholesome Strip Club

  • by Kentdesperately needed a father figure
  • I’m guessing he did
  • in what was meant to be a whisper
  • confiscated his shoes
  • born with a voracious appetite

Tune in next time part 186                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

The alley behind the wholesome strip club was not wholesome. It was dark, with putrid slime laying ankle-deep. A dumpy green person sat on a dumpster, smoking a hookah and playing with his long, pointy ears.

“This one desperately needed a father figure, I’m guessing he did,” croaked the stoner Yoda.

“Better than some desperate needs I could mention,” I muttered in what was meant to be a whisper. I splashed through the muck to the hookah smoker’s perch and confiscated his shoes. My espadrilles were now both kicky and squelchy.

“Thief! Thieving thief!” the little man raged. His mask was very convincing. I was eager to vacate the alley, get on the move and put some miles between myself and Mother.

But everywhere I looked I saw the glint of ravenous red eyes. Terror gripped me, and Yoda chuckled from his elevated vantage. “Born with a voracious appetite, each rat is,” he rasped. “And they will eat well tonight.”

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Old Nut-Cracker Face Ignored My Question

  • by jensmeared me with lipstick and face powder
  • holds the blanket up to indicate his intent
  • here at last was the elusive
  • clean up after himself
  • and green flannel snowpants

Tune in next time part 185                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Old nut-cracker face ignored my question and smeared me with lipstick and face powder. He plopped a curly blond wig on my head. “Take off that ridiculous jumpsuit if you want to get away from your mother. I’ll find you something else to wear.” His eyes crawled all over me. “A disguise.” His tone was not unlike that of a pervert who wraps himself in a blanket and hangs out in the bus station, the sort who holds the blanket up to indicate his intent to make your entire bus ride miserable. Pervert or not, though, he was offering to help me escape from Mother and her nefarious plans for me.

I slowly eased the zipper down on my jumpsuit as I watched him dig through crates and trunks and suitcases full of wholesome stripper attire, throwing clothes and shoes and boas everywhere. After what felt like an eternity he finally said, “Aha!” and stood, triumphant. Here at last was the elusive disguise he’d been seeking. He approached me, fists full of fabric, and didn’t even bother to clean up after himself.

Soon I had removed my corduroy jumpsuit and donned an equally ridiculous new outfit. It consisted of a calico pinafore and green flannel snowpants, with a pair of kicky espadrilles for my feet.

I looked in the mirror and barely recognized myself in my new wig, makeup, and feminine clothes. As I headed for the back door, I saw old nut-cracker face struggling into my abandoned clothing.

Why would he want to do that?

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That’s Not The Right Costume!

  • by KentI would have answered in good faith
  • you needed an egg-beater
  • Yap-yap-yap, all the livelong day
  • Sexually naive farmboy
  • “How do you know my name, old nut-cracker face?”

Tune in next time part 184                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

“That’s not the right costume!” yelled the heavyset man backstage. His face seemed permanently locked into a teeth-baring grimace, and his tone of voice unable to deviate from exasperated-suburban-princess. “Where did you even get that thing?”

I would have answered in good faith, but considering the complexity of the honest explanation I couldn’t afford to take that kind of time.

The man stood with one hand on his hip, appraising me. “It’s all gonna come off anyway, am I right? But no, it’s all one piece. You need some way to put the tease in the striptease, you needed an egg-beater if you know what I’m saying.”

I nodded, because the odd figure of speech was yet another code phrase. Tradecraft amounts to an awful lot of talking sometimes. Yap-yap-yap, all the livelong day.

“Sexually naive farmboy, roll in the hay, and close the barn door.” I was taking some liberties with the countersigns, but desperate times and all that.

His eyes grew wide as he breathed five syllables that I hadn’t heard in a very long time.

I grabbed his furry pink lapels and demanded, “How do you know my name, old nut-cracker face?”

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“I Would Kill For a Cup of Coffee”

  • by jen“You’re supposed to know!”
  • not using a pseudonym
  • the baffled animal beneath me
  • so cheesy and dramatic
  • Jennifer’s wedding band

Tune in next time part 183                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

“I would kill for a cup of coffee,” I said. Those scorpion donuts made me thirsty.

The strip-tease waitress just looked at me askance and moved away, shimmying her hips and not pouring any coffee. Mother smacked the back of my head. “That was a code phrase!” she whispered angrily. “You’re supposed to know!” She whacked me again like I was a puppy that piddled on the carpet. “After all that tuition I paid to the Academy you’re supposed to know ALL the spy stuff! And here you are, ignorant of even the most common codes, running around Harmonia, not using a pseudonym or anything!”

Oh, Mother wanted spycraft did she?

I pushed past the patrons gathered around the stage, all of them hoisting tiny pitchers of maple syrup, ready to “make it rain” for the dancers. I leapt onto the stage, my saddle shoes skidding in a pool of melted butter. I caught myself on the gingham stripper pole and looked down at the baffled animal beneath me, Mother’s ape-like henchman standing stupidly at the edge of the stage.

The music that was playing was so cheesy and dramatic I couldn’t help but do a little bump and grind. I’m sure you know the song. It’s by that weird group Jennifer’s Wedding Band. The audience erupted into hoots and boos, and in the ensuing chaos I was able to run backstage. I almost made it out the back door, but was stopped in my tracks.

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The Good News Was

  • by Kentgirls who danced in this cafe
  • grandfather placed everything in the trash can barrel
  • “That could be anybody.”
  • the fervency of a small child when he really, really wants something
  • a metal chain, gold colored

Tune in next time part 182                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

The good news was that I was finally leaving Valentine Village. Also, I would at last get to change out of my itchy, restrictive lace jumpsuit and borrowed underwear.

The rest of the news was bad. Mother had me trapped in the back of a windowless van, headed for the airport and a destination she wouldn’t reveal. Her comment about photographers felt like a hint, the kind of game she liked to play.

My new clothing was, dammit, another jumpsuit. But it was the proper size and made of black corduroy, and infinitely more comfortable than the previous one. Mother insisted I also wear a metal chain, gold colored, and saddle shoes. I protested with the fervency of a small child when he really, really wants something, or in this case really, really doesn’t want it, but she was implacable.

The van slowed as I tied my shoes. I heard a plane taking off. Mother’s flunky shut off the engine and came back to open the cargo doors, and I saw that we weren’t technically at the airport. We were at one of the seedy strip malls across the highway from it. Most of the storefronts were gentlemen’s clubs. Strip mall, indeed.

Mother tucked her hair up under a backwards ball cap, and put on dark glasses even though it was after sunset.

“Hey, ain’t that the president’s mom?” called a loud voice across the parking lot.

His companion shook his head, teetering drunkenly. “That could be anybody.”

I was ushered into the nearest club, a surprisingly wholesome establishment. It was what you’d get if you started with a regular strip club, but then your grandfather placed everything in the trash can barrel unless it was somehow breakfast-themed, and he kept doing that through seven renovations of your club. Even the girls who danced in this cafe were clean and bright as dawn’s first rays.

“Coffee?” asked a dancing waitress in a Gingham thong.

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As Soon As I Regained Consciousness, I Wished I Hadn’t

  • by jena fully clothed woman
  • the world is a terrifying place
  • extensive waist of their corpulent host
  • pay $200 for sex in a Manhattan hotel
  • before you compelled her to marry me

Tune in next time part 181                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

As soon as I regained consciousness, I wished I hadn’t. A fully clothed woman was standing over me, and I recognized her immediately.

“Mother.”

She looked down at me, smiling that cold smile of hers. “When you are a parent, the world is a terrifying place,” she said. “You are always worried that your child will commit some unforgivable faux pas, such as attending an embassy soiree and mocking the extensive waist of their corpulent host, thus creating an international incident.”

That was something Thor, Freya, Jim, and Jason had done, each on separate occasions. Did she think I was my twin?

She went on, staring down at me. “Or perhaps your child will grow up to be the sort to pay $200 for sex in a Manhattan hotel with an undercover cop.”

Ah shit, she knew I wasn’t Jason.

“You’re still pissed off about that, Mom?” I asked. “It’s been years.” I wanted to ask her how long she’d been employing ninjas, but had to work up to it.

“Of course I’m still pissed off about it! Your recklessness nearly ruined things with the Contrarians!”

“That’s bullshit, Mom. Fleur and I came to an agreement before you compelled her to marry me. She didn’t care who I slept with.”

“Of course not, but her father was horrified that your budget was so low! He was sure it meant I was bluffing about how much money the US had on hand for our weapons deal.” She sighed and shook her head. “And now you’re at it again, embarrassing me on an international level. What on Earth are you wearing?”

I realized I was still in the lace jumpsuit.

“You’d better change,” she said. “There will be tons of photographers at the airport.”

“Where are you taking me, Mother?”

Her cold, cold smile was her only reply.

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