Category: Stichomancy Prompts

Whenever She Talked About Dieter

  • by jenwhen she found out he was married
  • exaggerated his size
  • seating configuration woes
  • blue-gray vest with silvery buttons.
  • now have caught up with the Hamburger

Whenever she talked about Dieter, Brittany exaggerated his size, both in the financial and genital departments. She planned an elaborate dinner party to introduce him to her entire family. But when she found out he was married, to some hausfrau in Hamburg, the small apartment’s seating configuration woes seemed hardly worth mentioning, at least not in comparison to her vendetta.

“His lies now have caught up with the Hamburger, as has the woman he scorned,” Brittany growled. “Hell hath no fury, Dieter.”

There were tears on his blue-gray vest with silvery buttons, along with blood and sweat. Brittany had at least never had to exaggerate the size of his wardrobe.

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Go Ahead

  • who supplies noodles
    k-avatar
  • flung backwards upon the bed
  • sometimes I say the stupid things I think
  • forced to rehire an elementary school teacher
  • in the half-remodeled kitchen

Go ahead. Ask me how my day was.

You’ve never had a day like this, not unless you were forced to rehire an elementary school teacher who supplies noodles to a ring of car thieves, not unless you had to explain to the parents of that teacher’s whole class why you fired him in the first place and then announce his continued access to their children without pausing for breath. Not unless you went on to imply that those particular students had probably stolen more than a few cars themselves, so what was the harm. Not unless you then got fired, and not rehired.

Getting up this morning was a mistake. Once I was up, I should have caved in to my urges and let myself be flung backwards upon the bed in the half-remodeled kitchen. Oh, you bet your ass there’s a story behind that, but it’s too long and I’m too short of bourbon.

Sometimes I say the stupid things I think, and today I said them to the wrong people.

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“For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow”

  • by jennice to see her happy again
  • nothing to do with my sister being in the room
  • in the august presence of rhombohedral crystals
  • break in his young men slowly
  • sang three little boys together

“For he’s a jolly good fellow,” sang three little boys together, in perfect, three-part harmony. The choirmaster liked to break in his young men slowly, which is why he started them off with such a banal tune. Later, in the august presence of rhombohedral crystals and all the other trappings of the pagan altar, they would face a much more difficult test of their nascent vocal talents. The choirmaster’s dedication to musical perfection had almost nothing to do with my sister being in the room, even though, as queen, she could order his execution at any moment. She has a soft spot for the choirmaster, and after all the troubles of last winter, it’s nice to see her happy again.

“Which nobody can deny!”

 

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The Assignment Had Me Worried

  • elements of forbidden sex and lurid mutilations
    k-avatar
  • no idea how much blood
  • full of glassy accusation
  • sometimes I get overzealous
  • never written a vampire story before

The assignment had me worried about my GPA. I had never written a vampire story before, so I had no idea how much blood there really was supposed to be, or how blatantly to handle the elements of forbidden sex and lurid mutilations. But when I asked Professor Kerensky for some guidance, he glared at me and said, “These are the very things you are to learn by doing this assignment,” his voice full of diesel fuel and his eyes full of glassy accusation. So I kicked him in the shin. When it comes to my GPA, sometimes I get overzealous.

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I Couldn’t Help Laughing at Chet

  • by jenhe was a full-grown man
  • tiny clothes that actually fit
  • drew a revolver from his belt
  • you rang the eskimo
  • here at your request

I couldn’t help laughing at Chet. He was a full-grown man wearing a cowboy costume, tiny clothes that actually fit his adolescent brother better than they did him. Chet drew a revolver from his belt (a toy, I hoped) and aimed it at me. “You rang the eskimo‘s private number, LuAnne. You’re the one who ordered up a gigolo. You’re the one who specifically requested chaps and a stetson. I’m here at your request, and I’ll thank you to stop laughing at me.”

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There’s No Way To Predict

  • it’ll pull, you know what I’m saying?
    k-avatar
  • air quotes practically crackled
  • he was genuinely ugly
  • thought snow, felt snow, smelled snow
  • rendered him master of far mightier muscles than his own

“There’s no way to predict how much it’ll pull, you know what I’m saying?”

I did not know what he was saying, but I could smell ozone and grease. The engines’ whine made conversation nigh impossible, and with such a charge in the air, quotes practically crackled with urgency.

“We have no choice,” I shouted into his calm face. He nodded and deactivated the autopilot, giving me full manual control of our lumbering, wallowing vessel. Everyone told us it would be bad luck to break with tradition and use a male name, but everything about the boat told us its name was Archie. He was genuinely ugly, and probably the toughest thing afloat. Archie was a brute among icebreakers and minesweepers, virtually indestructible.

But that didn’t make him unsinkable, and his steering was as genuinely ugly as he was. It pulled quite a bit, as a matter of fact, with the hydraulics cut out of the equation. The storm’s mountainous waves tossed us like a soda bottle. Gales whipped snow and spray across our decks. I concentrated on not smacking directly into any icebergs, although how I would see them through the blizzard I had no idea. I thought snow, felt snow, smelled snow, tuning my mind to the weather gods’ plane for guidance.

“I fixed it,” he said simply, flopping into the other seat and reengaging the autopilot. “Tell me which way to point us.” I loosened my grip on the helm, feeling only then the ache in my hands and shoulders. My companion showed no strain, now that the systems were repaired. The hydro-assist patched into the helm rendered him master of far mightier muscles than his own.

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Mink Jodhpurs?

  • by jenlittle things, like Band-Aids
  • kept the last of my clothes on
  • pissing off PETA
  • something even more sinister
  • ripping my trousers, cutting my leg

“Mink jodhpurs? Twyla! What were you thinking?” cried Octavius as he swung his blade wildly, ripping my trousers, cutting my leg. “Before you know it you’ll be pissing off PETA and they’ll be throwing paint on you, or something even more sinister.”

By then my pants were in ruins on the floor and my legs were bleeding. Before Octavius could destroy it, too, I removed my ermine bolero jacket. I kept the last of my clothes on and watched in fascination as Octavius tended my wounds, spackling my legs with these weird little things, like Band-Aids, only shiny and smelling of opium. Soon enough I didn’t care about my expensive rags anymore. I was ready for my red carpet debut!

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Hendrick Loved Indulging

  • smiling slightly as he spoke
    k-avatar
  • gloomily grand and savagely vexed
  • and then later, we swooned
  • shower of fragments and woodlice and decay
  • indulging in the luxury

Hendrick loved indulging in the luxury of genuine materials, smiling slightly as he spoke of how authenticity had often led him to unexpected stimulation, like the gloomily grand and savagely vexed old half-timber cottage he bought sight-unseen, only to have the roof fall in on him in a shower of fragments and woodlice and decay the first night he slept there, him without me, that part of the memory dimming his smile and prompting me to guide him to the divan where we spooned, and then later, we swooned.

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Mike Was Four Thousand Feet Above the Foothills

  • by jenan organ resembling a heart
  • a recipe for madness
  • four thousand feet above the foothills
  • just a ball of nerves
  • on the verge of starvation

Mike was four thousand feet above the foothills and on the verge of starvation when he finally broke down and ate the yeti carcass, starting with an organ resembling a heart that in fact was just a ball of nerves and rudimentary, miniaturized teeth, at which point his meal became a recipe for madness.

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Everybody Knows The Move

  • the gray grim gut-punch of Newcastle
    k-avatar
  • the unlucky and the morally dyslexic
  • launching attacks against
  • that charming smile people had come to expect
  • unless you’re some kind of a rockstar

Everybody knows the move I’m about to try. It’s called the Gray Grim Gut-Punch of Newcastle, and it’s the tactic of last resort of the unlucky and the morally dyslexic, both of which categories I fit into quite neatly. They all know it, and they know I’m just that desperate, as I must be if I’m launching attacks against the Wiggins, the gang that owns these streets, and has done since the Magna Carta, ruffians and cutpurses and freelance assassins all. My desperation move is going to be totally expected, and without the element of surprise there’s just no point even trying the Gray Grim Gut-Punch of Newcastle, because it takes so long to set it up. It’s hopeless. So I flash that charming smile people had come to expect, the smile that prefaces all my attempts at talking my way out of a drubbing. And it tilts things just enough, gets the Wiggins convinced I’m hoping my hyperdeveloped vocabulary will save me and makes them stop watching the real windup. Whump! The horrendous, retching, gagging grunt that heaves out of the first one I Gut-Punch paralyzes his mates, and by the time any of them unfreeze I’ve laid out two others. Sure, the totally expected move is pointless, unless you’re some kind of a rockstar, or at least know how to smile like one.

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