Category: Stichomancy Prompts

I Hated To Turn Setsuko Down

  • by Kentlent a peculiar charm to his physiognomy
  • we just broke the internet
  • my knees drawn up to my chin
  • an almost unearthly air of wild anxiety
  • my limbs were refusing to perform

Tune in next time part 180                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

I hated to turn Setsuko down, even with so many good reasons. Not least of which being my total befuddlement as to the role anything I was looking at might play in lovemaking.

Also, there was the preternatural quiet all around us, which I knew only too well was the sound ninjas make. I glanced around, seeing no ninjas. Damn, just as I feared. By the time I turned back to Setsuko she was dressed again, now in a new outfit that hid her lovely curves. It made her look masculine, like a slender boy whose high cheekbones lent a peculiar charm to his physiognomy.

“I think we just broke the internet,” she said.

I didn’t understand, but following Setsuko’s nod I saw dozens of teenagers standing at the alley’s mouth, aiming their phones at us. Oh well, I thought, can’t be any worse than the Vine John posted of me trying to tap dance with my knees drawn up to my chin. Tessa and I used to make a lot of bets. Winning or losing hardly mattered to us, we only cared about an almost unearthly air of wild anxiety that imbues each wagering moment.

“Let’s not forget about the ninjas,” I whispered to Setsuko. The words had not completed the journey from my lips to her ear when I felt the sting of a blowdart. And suddenly it was every bit as bad as that tap-dance Vine, because just like back then my limbs were refusing to perform.

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At the Academy I’d Been a Member of the Ninja Defense League

  • by jenno self-respecting parrot
  • thousands of dollars of helicopter lessons
  • did not seem to match any of the furniture
  • sees nothing but fish-belly white skin
  • the possibility of saliva

Tune in next time part 179                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

At the Academy I’d been a member of the Ninja Defense League. Our name might make it sound like we defended ninjas, but I can assure you they need no help with that. No, we practiced techniques to defend ourselves from ninjas. One of the secrets that I learned was that, due to their near-total silence, ninjas have incredibly sensitive ears.

Before these alleyway foes could bundle us off to our dooms, I filled my lungs and let loose a deafening squawk. No self-respecting parrot would make half the noise I did over the next minute. I chirped and shrieked and hooted and whooped until every last ninja had fled the scene. Or at least until I no longer felt any hands on me.

I bent forward and shimmied my shoulders until the pillowcase fell off my head and fluttered to the ground.

Setsuko, tangled in a sheet, sat across from me, leaning against a pink brick wall. The ninjas were gone. Or so it seemed. Ninja camouflage is the best camouflage.

I used the rough corner of a bright pink brick to chew through the ziptie around my wrists, and then I was free. I wanted to rub my back across the bricks, like a bear scratching itself on a tree, to rid myself of my constrictive, itchy jumpsuit, but resisted.

I pulled the sheet off Setsuko’s green-haired head and found her smiling at me in a way that made my heart purr. She bounded to her feet and threw her bound wrists around my neck, pulling me into a kiss. It felt amazing, like finally getting to use thousands of dollars of helicopter lessons all at once in a daring escape.

She pulled me behind a heart-shaped dumpster and shed her clothes, a feat which she somehow managed without unbinding her wrists. I was surprised that the carpet, being green, matched the drapes. But I was more surprised that they did not seem to match any of the furniture.

Imagine a man who, upon undressing his lover, sees nothing but fish-belly white skin. That man was me, except that Setsuko’s skin was more of a mime-belly white. And her body parts weren’t strictly the ones I’d been led to expect.

Still, her face was lovely, and I was sorely tempted to take her up on her offer. The only things that stopped me were the likelihood of the ninjas returning, and the possibility of saliva from my tongue activating some psychotropic or narcotic properties in her heavy mime body makeup.

“Sorry,” I said. “I really have to find Tessa.”

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“Move It,” Setsuko Ordered

  • by Kentthe only feasible arrangement that could be made
  • and did not come out the other end
  • changes temperature or vibrates
  • a one-way ticket back to Venezuela
  • same process was repeated with the pillowcase

Tune in next time part 178                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Move it,” Setsuko ordered, jabbing the capacitor at me. “We have to disappear before donut boy shows up.”

“But I know what’s going on!” She could tell I wasn’t so sure of that, not after so much chaos. “At least some of it. Let’s go talk it out. We’ll combine the messages I’ve decoded and whatever information you possess into the only feasible arrangement that could be made with all those facts, and then we’ll have the whole story!”

“Quit stalling.” A spark leapt off the dangling wire that entered one end of the capacitor and did not come out the other end. There was still some juice in the unstable thing, and it could be discharged whenever it changes temperature or vibrates.

She hustled me into a nearby alleyway with laundry hanging on lines high above. “All I want,” she sighed, “is a one-way ticket back to Venezuela. But tell me what it is you think you’ve figured out.”

Venezuela? That was White Faces territory. Why would a rogue mime think she could be safe there? Unless she wasn’t rogue at all. But, why drop me such a huge hint?

While she stared me down, brandishing the electrified cylinder, two pieces of laundry, a fitted sheet and a pillowcase, detached and fluttered down toward us. The sheet wafted directly to Setsuko and covered her head. The same process was repeated with the pillowcase, except that time it was my head. Someone bound my wrists, moving with uncanny silence and swiftness.

Ninjas!

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As Setsuko Approached

  • by jenshow her how to spin it
  • odor unfaded since the autumn
  • it was a weather balloon
  • sound all fancy-pants cyberpunk
  • that’s my butt

Tune in next time part 177                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

As Setsuko approached, I backed up a step. When the rogue mime got a look at the Tessa-bot’s mangled remains she gasped.

“Hey, that’s my butt tattoo!” she barked. “What’s it doing on Tessa?”

I know that rainbow-spewing unicorns don’t sound all fancy-pants cyberpunk, but the way this one was rendered, with the unicorn’s chrome sheen and a circuitry pattern worked into the rainbow, it had a distinct William Gibson vibe. I had a hard time imagining it on Setsuko’s hindquarters. Not an unpleasant time, mind you, but difficult.

I shook my head, trying to clear it of the thought of Setsuko naked, but that thought refused to stay submerged. It was a weather balloon of impropriety that kept rising up through the strata of my mind, bouncing around through my personal stratosphere, making it impossible for me to think of anything else. It invaded all of my senses, burning behind my eyelids, ringing in my ears, filling my nose like petrichor, an odor unfaded since the autumn rains quenched my lonely, parched summer.

It didn’t matter that Setsuko was dangerous. I’d had a crush on her as long as I could remember.

While I stood there, gobsmacked, imagining the day I could give her a hula hoop and show her how to spin it (hopscotch wasn’t the only thing I learned at the Academy, after all), she snatched the capacitor from my hand and aimed it at me.

It was drained, or so I thought.

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“Wait,” I Exclaimed

  • by Kentmake sure to never do it with a singer
  • conspicuous because of its size
  • my brain got heated
  • right after she cut off all her hair
  • “Don’t you think I want you to?”

Tune in next time part 176                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Wait,” I exclaimed, “you don’t know the whole story!”

“I know more than you,” Jenkins spat back, inserting that one coherent phrase seamlessly into the cascade of incomprehensibly inventive obscenities. Jenkins had flow. Jason might have stood a chance against her in a rap battle, but not me. Sailors get all the props, but if you decide to get into a swearing contest, take my advice and make sure to never do it with a singer.

She advanced on me like an army brigade. I gulped. The only person I’d ever seen take Jenkins on and win was Joan. I retreated, my ankles brushing tangled Tessa-bot wreckage. When I glanced down, one exposed component was conspicuous because of its size. It told me two things that I was happy to know.

I stooped and grabbed the robot guts. Jenkins sprang at me. I hit a button on the side of the immense capacitor, and electric current arced out, intercepting Jenkins in mid-air. She thudded to the sidewalk, twitching, eyes bugging out.

That was the first thing. The other thing it told me concerned the bot’s origins. My brain got heated with the effort of remembering how I’d obtained the parts I needed when I invented the underwater digging machine. Because the logo on this capacitor matched the ones I received. It was after Tessa lost our first bet, which meant it was right after she cut off all her hair. But who was the supplier?

“Bravo.”

Whirling around, I saw Setsuko. I gulped again. The capacitor was drained now, useless. But maybe she didn’t know that.

“Stop there,” I barked, “or I’ll zap you!”

She took another step, purring, “Don’t you think I want you to?”

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Standing on the Very Edge of the Rooftop

  • by jenwhat horror can compare
  • one-man crime wave
  • a crime of this nature
  • vixenish, ill-tempered
  • missing only one thing: a unicorn

Tune in next time part 175                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Standing on the very edge of the rooftop was Jenkins, dangling Tessa by the wrist over the crowded sidewalk three stories below. Before I could even react, she let go and Tessa plummeted. I don’t know what horror can compare to watching the love of one’s life rocket toward the cement like that. Not even John, that one-man crime wave, had ever committed a crime of this nature. I was aghast. The crowd screamed and panicked.

Tessa splatted on the sidewalk, spewing sparks and tiny diodes, and only then did I realize that this was actually her robot double. I breathed a sigh of relief, but Jenkins did not. Jenkins has always been vixenish, ill-tempered, and impulsive. Right now it was the ill-tempered part of her personality that shone through. I could hear her swearing as she thundered down the fire escape on the back of the building. She’d be here any minute.

I hurried to examine the Tessa-bot for clues to its origin, and was impressed with its accuracy. It was a stunning replica of the woman herself, missing only one thing: a unicorn tattoo. The unicorn tramp stamp spewing rainbows across her ass was there, but the one on the front, grazing on her pubic hair, was not. That meant the robot was made before Tessa lost her bet to me, the bet that broke us up.

Jenkins rounded the corner, fire in her eyes, still swearing.

I tried to blend into the crowd, but there was no crowd any longer. I gulped.

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Setsuko Had Once Been

  • by Kenthaving pretty feet and unexceptional ankles
  • By a man’s finger nails
  • with a swift rippling movement
  • they had to rip out hundreds of bunk beds
  • “The woman! The woman!”

Tune in next time part 174                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Setsuko had once been the world’s most celebrated mime, performing for a public that knew nothing of the warring factions, accepting the applause of people she would gleefully garrote if they stepped into the wrong alleyway after a show. She had always been dangerous, but her radicalization was spurred by a review saying she was, “Quiet enough, although not completely silent, and sufficiently amusing for a girl having pretty feet and unexceptional ankles.” It burned to her soul to read that after devoting so many years to ankle-sculpting exercises.

“You will never find me,” her declaration read, “All you will find is the whiteface that I nevermore shall apply. It’s on my dresser. In a jar. By a man’s finger nails, which are in a leather box along with the pliers I used to extract them with a swift rippling movement.”

Her defection triggered chaos among the mime faction, particularly the sleeping arrangements for cadets. They had to rip out hundreds of bunk beds and replace them with hammocks, for obvious security reasons.

The confetti storm dispersed as I put distance between Setsuko and myself, taking care not to burst my jumpsuit and keeping an eye out for the man with the gun. A voice ahead of me cried out, “The woman! The woman!” I thought the rogue mime had somehow cut me off, but Setsuko was nowhere to be seen. A man was pointing up, so I looked at the rooftop across the boulevard.

What I witnessed there chilled me to the bone.

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I Almost Sprained My Tongue

  • by jenI’m not who you think I am
  • English and Swiss boarding schools
  • it wasn’t coming just straight down
  • step out of the queue
  • A rather unexpected smile

Tune in next time part 173                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

I almost sprained my tongue, but in the end I managed to deliver the message. “I’m not who you think I am. I’m his twin brother.”

The woman’s own tongue action was very crisp and meticulous, suggesting she’d been educated in the best English and Swiss boarding schools before attending the Academy.

Our passing of information to each other through vigorous tongue movements must have looked a lot like a passionate kiss. Valentine Village’s many cherub-costumed employees went out of their way to celebrate and encourage such signs of love. When they spotted us they fired their confetti cannons. We were suddenly engulfed in tiny bits of colorful paper, and it wasn’t coming just straight down, but swirling madly on gusts of wind. I decided to take advantage of the unexpected camouflage and “step out of the queue,” as it were, to escape from my donut-loving captor and find Tessa on my own.

I pulled away from the green-haired woman mid-sentence. A rather unexpected smile rested on her lips. It was a very nasty smile, even though it was soon speckled with confetti.

And suddenly my mind put the pieces together. The wild hair, the posh education, the quick thinking with the raffle ticket. This woman could only be the rogue mime Setsuko, and that meant I was in deep shit.

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The Green-Haired Woman’s Eyes

  • by Kentsuddenly irradiated with emotion
  • dogs and cows are scavenging
  • which sheds a gentle melancholy
  • lowering your blood sugar
  • Even if I had wanted to tell them about Thurmond

Tune in next time part 172                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

The green-haired woman’s eyes glowed. I was suddenly irradiated with emotion.

“I won you!” she said, taking me by the hand and dragging me around the corner where the Boulevard of Regrets and Memory Lane met. “I knew a raffle ticket was a better idea than the auction. Now I’ll get some sugar, while those other dogs and cows are scavenging for love at the amphitheater.”

“I need to see your ticket,” I said, trying to pull free of her grip. I was amazed that such a slender individual had such strength. She didn’t stop. “No, seriously,” I protested. “We can’t let just anybody say they won and then drag away the prize before anyone else gets to see it.” I wrapped my arm around a fuchsia lamppost to make her halt.

“Fine,” she said, handing it over. “Uh-oh,” I said as I compared the stub to my tag. “Your ticket has 990666, but my tag number is 999066.”

There is a state of mental despair (for which there is a word in German of course, although I’ve forgotten it) created in the moment that you discover you’ve held your raffle ticket upside down. It is a collapsing desolation of the spirit, which sheds a gentle melancholy, lowering your blood sugar and sapping the uncanny strength gained when you thought you had won.

The gun-toting donut fetishist caught up with us. He brandished the pistol at the green-haired lady, who pouted and let go of my arm. He said, “That was pretty smooth. But the bachelor auction isn’t until tomorrow. Scram.”

Suddenly I didn’t want her to leave. Her charade with the raffle told me which contingent she was aligned with, and from what I’d read in the notebook I knew just what they wanted to hear. Not that I looked forward to telling them the bad news. Even if I had wanted to tell them about Thurmond‘s fate, I couldn’t let the donut faction find out.

“Hang on,” I said. “Can’t she at least have a kiss? For getting so close to the winning number?”

“Be quick about it,” the man with the gun said.

While cleaning the cotton candy off her face with my tongue, I hoped she was decoding the message correctly.

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My Lace Jumpsuit Was So Tight

  • by jenThe tongue action is explicit
  • We are not moving
  • in a very satisfactory manner
  • all the men were much too stupid and ugly to mate with
  • “It’s gonna match. It’s gonna match. It’s gotta match.”

Tune in next time part 171                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

My lace jumpsuit was so tight I could only indulge in one Scorpion Angel donut. My captor watched me eat it with unseemly glee in his eye and a bit of drool at the corner of his mouth. No matter how much I cajoled, he himself did not partake. When I had finished the last bite, he put his gun away and licked the powdered sugar from my fingertips. It was very unsettling, but my training had prepared me for things like that and I reacted calmly. The tongue action is explicit and precise in this kind of code, but you have to pay close attention to pick up the nuances.

“Well,” his tongue said. “Time to get going. Tessa is waiting for you.”

Tessa!

I allowed the man to herd me out of the donut shop. If he would lead me to Tessa, I would follow him practically anywhere.

Memory Lane was clogged with tourists on their way to the bachelor auction. My companion and I were trying to fight our way upstream.

He grabbed my hand and licked a message on my palm. “We are not moving in a very satisfactory manner.”

Suddenly the tide turned and all of the women surged in the opposite direction. From what I overheard, the bachelor auction was a bust because all the men were much too stupid and ugly to mate with, especially if you were expected to pay.

One of them, an Asian woman with green hair and cotton candy stains around her mouth, spotted a numbered tag fluttering from the zipper of my jumpsuit. She shrieked with delight and pulled a raffle ticket out of her pocket. She compared the numbers, chanting, “It’s gonna match. It’s gonna match. It’s gotta match.”

What would I do if I was this woman’s prize? I had to get to Tessa.

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