Category: Stichomancy Prompts

First an Ocean Swim

  • by jengross little brine-loogies
  • despite the morning’s embarrassment
  • wearing sloppy clothes and tennis shoes
  • breathless from her bootyshaking
  • many strange and fanciful masks

Tune In Next Time Part 6                              Click Here for Earlier Installments

First an ocean swim while chained to cinderblocks, then a ride on a child’s bicycle, and now running up stairs, I thought as I took the steps two at a time, heaving for breath and coughing up gross little brine-loogies. It’s like some sort of triathlon of the absurd.

Two floors below I heard John enter the stairwell, and despite the morning’s embarrassment that led to this evening’s murder attempts I was glad to have him around. Even wearing sloppy clothes and tennis shoes saturated with seawater he was an intimidating guy, and I thought that the two of us working together might be able to defeat Tessa. If we got really lucky. And if John didn’t betray me again.

I got to the fifth floor and pushed through the fire door into some sort of rave. A gorgeous woman in silver body paint stood on stage, breathless from her bootyshaking, and the people in the crowd wore many strange and fanciful masks. I pushed through the throng, John hot on my heels, looking for Tessa. She had to be here somewhere. The secret compartment that was her ultimate goal was hidden under the floor.

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“This Doesn’t Mean I Won’t Still Kill You Later”

  • k-avatarplanning to take the bus
  • , mostly prostitutes
  • No one knew whose they were
  • regarding an unnatural sex act
  • up through the asphalt

Tune In Next Time Part 5                              Click Here for Earlier Installments

“This doesn’t mean I won’t still kill you later,” John said as he helped me move up the beach. He unlocked the chains from my ankles, freeing me from the concrete weights.

“Tessa has a huge head start,” I pointed out. John said nothing as we jogged up to the boardwalk. He paused at the edge of the street, watching the oncoming traffic. I wondered if he was planning to take the bus.

“This is 13th,” he said. “It’s 40 blocks to the place. We need wheels, man!”

I was still out of breath from my near-drowning. We were both dripping seawater. No way a cab would pick us up. Scanning the people around us, mostly prostitutes, I hoped to find some kind of transportation inspiration. I did, in the form of two bicycles laying beside the fortune teller’s kiosk. We asked if they belonged to anyone, we even asked the fortune teller. No one knew whose they were.

John said, “After the things we’ve done, you’re worried about stealing a bike?”

“Borrowing,” I corrected as I threw a leg over the red one and started pedaling. “After the things we’ve done, we really need to do better.”

John caught up and passed me, forcing me to pedal harder. I wanted to get in front again, to get to Tessa first. Also, the view from behind, of John pumping furiously on the undersized bike, was like a pantomime performance regarding an unnatural sex act.

By the time we reached the 50th Street Overpass, it was well past midnight and we were both gasping for breath. The only traffic I saw was a single taxi that swung into the avenue a couple of blocks ahead of us. It pulled up to the curb at the place, and the rear door flew open. “It’s her!” John yelled, his absurd exertions increasing as he poured on speed.

I shifted gears and started gaining. I couldn’t allow those two to be alone together, and I hated to think what John might resort to as a way of stopping Tessa. Suddenly John’s bike wobbled to a stop, both tires flat. I veered around the small cluster of nails poking up through the asphalt and leapt from my bike without stopping, dashing straight in through the revolving door in time to see Tessa in the elevator as it closed.

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John Reared From the Water

  • by jen— however bad a person you may think I am —
  • place on 53rd Street
  • “I tried to save her,”
  • the child’s umbrella
  • something from a Mary Shelley nightmare

Tune In Next Time Part 4                              Click Here for Earlier Installments

John reared from the water like something from a Mary Shelley nightmare, with a harpoon instead of the usual lightning rod. He waved the thing over his head like the child’s umbrella he stole in our first caper together, then flung it at the receding zodiac. Or maybe he was aiming for Tessa’s back. In either case, he missed. The harpoon lanced into the waves and struck bottom, then stood there quivering in the flashing neon and surf.

“I tried to save her,” John muttered, “from you and from herself. And this is the thanks I get?”

“She’s going to the place on 53rd Street,” I said. “You can’t let her get there John — however bad a person you may think I am — you can’t let her. You know how much trouble we’ll both be in if she gets her hands on it! How much trouble the world will be in!”

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My Brother Looks Like He Escaped

  • k-avataryour pisspot world’s sidereal shenanigans
  • Victory.
  • from a roadside zoo in Florida
  • governmental-seeming buildings
  • ten mile hike with a full backpack

My brother looks like he escaped from a roadside zoo in Florida, but it was actually a lab out in the desert someplace. No roads to it at all, just an airstrip and some governmental-seeming buildings and a whole lotta hot, gritty wind. My brother showed up there after a ten mile hike with a full backpack, thinking they’d offer him a job. Instead they put him in a cage. It didn’t hold him, of course. He even got his backpack back. Victory. Anyway, you’re lucky you didn’t put a scratch on either of us, because our mom gets pissed. She’d show up in the Obliteron and deorbit this sorry little rock, thus putting an end to your pisspot world’s sidereal shenanigans.

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I Dragged Myself Backwards

  • by jenlight pollution works in your favor
  • took a lengthened pull at the exhilarating liquid
  • recognize these assholes out in the wild
  • maps, engraving, money, photos, stamps
  • with slowness immeasurable

Tune In Next Time Part 3                               Click Here for Earlier Installments

I dragged myself backwards toward shore with slowness immeasurable, the cinderblocks chained to my ankles digging deep into the sandy ocean floor. The zodiac lurched forward with John in the bow, brandishing the harpoon. Tessa giggled maniacally.

“Run for it!” she shrieked again, mocking me, then guffawed.

Amongst the pilings I tried to find a shadow to hide in, but the boardwalk was awash with blinking neon and apparently light pollution works in your favor when you’re a psychopath. Tessa steered the boat straight at me and took a lengthened pull at the exhilarating liquid in the flask she kept tucked in her ample cleavage.

I thought of everything that had been in the safe: maps, engraving, money, photos, stamps, diamonds — John had all of it now. John and Tessa.

If I survived the night I’d need to learn to recognize these assholes out in the wild, save myself the trouble of partnering up with them. Or worse, falling in love.

The harpoon was mere feet from my chest when suddenly Tessa yanked hard on the tiller and John toppled into the sea with a salty splash.

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Aren’t Ya Gonna Shoot Him?

  • Either way, I am quickly losing faith in the Deutschepost.k-avatar
  • wanted the reader to be kidnapped
  • “You appear to be astonished,”
  • I will deliver it by hand.
  • taken in by a pair of handsome con artists

Tune In Next Time Part 2                               Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Aren’t ya gonna shoot him?” Tessa asked.

John smirked harder, then turned a softer smile her way. “It’ll be more fun if I don’t, babe.” He kissed her.

I turned away, the sight of that smooch worse than my own imminent demise. I looked over at the old pilings, where the high-tide level was marked by the sudden absence of snaggletoothed masses of mussels and barnacles. That level was at least a foot over my head. Shit. Each lazy swell rode higher up my torso, soon they’d be lapping my chin like cold, fishy-smelling Saint Bernards.

“You appear to be astonished,” John said. “Didn’t you know what I was planning?”

“Tessa,” I said, “you don’t want to see this. Make him put you ashore.”

She shook her auburn head, smiling playfully and winking. Shit.

“John, this is stupid,” I tried. “It’s like sending a ransom note when you wanted the reader to be kidnapped. How are you going to pull this off without me?”

“I have the map, moron!” John called.

I shrugged. “Unless you don’t.” I always was the better poker player. “I knew you had the combination to that safe, so I took some precautions. Of course, now I don’t know if the original made it back to me, or if the phony was misdirected.” Another shrug. “Either way, I am quickly losing faith in the Deutschepost.”

John laughed. “Nice try,” he said.

Tessa huffed and folded her arms, buoying her cleavage like the inflatable speedboat she sat in. “Why’d I hafta get taken in by a pair of handsome con artists? It’s gettin’ cold out here, John, just shoot him already.”

John grumbled, but to my horror he raised the harpoon gun and took careful aim.

Click. The weapon didn’t fire.

“Run for it!” Tessa yelled.

I started hauling myself backwards, dragging the blocks chained to my feet, fighting the undertow. John tried the gun two more times, then snarled coldly, “I will deliver it by hand.” He slid the long projectile from the barrel and started the zodiac’s motor.

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I Wanted To Punch John’s Smirking Face

  • by jenagainst the shimmering water
  • Karma? What a crock of shit.
  • I had almost forgotten the treasure
  • as hilarious as you would expect
  • Yeah, this story is going exactly where you were hoping it wasn’t

Tune In Next Time Part 1

I wanted to punch John’s smirking face. He winked and said, “Yeah, this story is going exactly where you were hoping it wasn’t, and it’s about as hilarious as you would expect.”

He’d been talking so long I had almost forgotten the treasure that was supposed to be buried somewhere near the boardwalk pilings that stood out against the shimmering water like stiff dead fingers. The boardwalk was long gone, of course, along with the partnership John and I formed so many years ago, before he betrayed me and ran off with both my woman and the treasure map, leaving me for dead.

Karma? What a crock of shit. If karma existed, I’d be the one sitting in the zodiac with Tessa and a harpoon gun, and it would be John standing in water up to his chest with cinderblocks chained to his ankles as the tide came in.

He was leaving me for dead again, and it looked like this time it would stick.

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The Cuisine of My Homeland

  • k-avatarthrows sufficient light into the deep darkness
  • took you long enough
  • Indeed, the brains of anteaters
  • four years later I was born
  • I admit, this got me a little teary-eyed

The cuisine of my homeland is most unusual. Indeed, the brains of anteaters are among the less-outrageous staple ingredients. Traditional kitchens are located underground, and slithering down the muddy tunnel entrance took you long enough to work up the necessary appetite. Electricity isn’t allowed, but the bioluminescent fungus throws sufficient light into the deep darkness. Ah, the heady stench of mother’s stew, I hadn’t thought about it in so long. I admit, this got me a little teary-eyed, recounting these details to you. The most important thing to remember when cooking was not to use excessive amounts of wasp venom. Mother ignored this advice once and added three nests’ worth to her cake frosting, and four years later I was born.

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I Don’t Know Where You Get Off

  • by jenyour conventional seventy-hour workweek
  • a garbage bag full of assorted sweatpants
  • swinging your hips
  • cooking is a perpetual source of evaporation and dampness
  • plenty of caterers have used them

I don’t know where you get off swinging your hips and wagging your finger at me. So you found a garbage bag full of assorted sweatpants in the kitchen. What of it? Plenty of caterers have used them to sop up spills and wipe brows and underarms. Cooking is a perpetual source of evaporation and dampness, for both the kitchen and those who toil in her steamy belly. Perhaps your conventional seventy-hour workweek leaves you fresh as a daisy, but we caterers suffer in the swamp for our art, the art that fills your bellies.

Did I ever tell you that I once won on Iron Chef?

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The C.A.T. Pounced

  • k-avatardragging its squeaking prey into the shadows
  • attached by hose
  • seems outright tacky to me
  • seems, like, hard and stuff.
  • choked and blinded him

The C.A.T. pounced on the R.A.T., scanning us with infrared beams before dragging its squeaking prey into the shadows to be disassembled. Each Cybernetic Autonomous Tiger installed throughout the catacombs was unique. This one had exposed bronze gears in its shoulders, and was attached by hose and cable to a plate in the wall. The Robotic Accessory Tarantulas infesting the place were probably all different too, but they scuttled too fast to get a good look.

“Setting mechanized beasts to seize and devour others of their kind seems outright tacky to me,” Whinstone said. He always complained. It was like he couldn’t help it, like he was programmed to do it. I had stopped listening years ago.

“I say, it’s improper!” he persisted.

I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t heard. “Yeah, but dealing with the bot-bugs any other way seems, like, hard and stuff. Maybe even dangerous. At least the C.A.T.s won’t bother living things.”

An eight-legged C.A.T. dropped silently from the ceiling onto Whinstone’s head, and sprayed something in his face that choked and blinded him. It retracted, taking Whinstone up with it into the darkness of the vaulted passageway.

Well, that explained the complaining. And put a stop to it. Huh.

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