Tagged: bonus points

The Explosion Occurred at Noon Sharp

  • by jenmouth turned down
  • “See ya later.”
  • his fondness for her
  • nodding in admiration
  • all the gasoline on the island

The explosion occurred at noon sharp, and the fire still raged now at midnight. The sky was a smear of orange and black, like the aftermath of a halloween riot. Mason knew all the gasoline on the island had been stored at the airfield, the one still blazing nearly 12 hours after Cassandra lobbed the first incendiary grenade. Mason couldn’t help nodding in admiration of Cassandra’s efficiency, but his fondness for her professionalism did not bleed over into fondness for anything else about her. The woman was ruthless and now Mason and the very rich man he was paid to protect were stranded on the island with her.

He spoke into his walkie-talkie to his employer, safe in the estate’s panic room. “See ya later.” He hoped to be told to stand down, to take cover and wait Cassandra out, but no such order came.

Mouth turned down in a determined frown, Mason checked his weapon and strode into the jungle.

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Chauncey Knew

  • by jena great deal of reviewing
  • He got down with raised eyebrows.
  • she did not respond to him in a favorable way
  • for no special reason
  • proximity to money and power

Chauncey knew the way to win Myrtle’s heart was by winning the dance-off at the senior prom. After a great deal of reviewing how-to videos on YouTube and practicing in front of the mirror, he was ready. Chauncey’s rental tuxedo was a stunning combination of white and gold that some people inexplicably saw as blue and black. At the country club he stood in line with all of the other hopefuls. The music started. He got down with raised eyebrows. Despite his sick dance moves and the soulful expressions he threw at Myrtle, she did not respond to him in a favorable way. Neither did the judges. They awarded the trophy to Mike Phillips for no special reason that Chauncey could see, except for the fact that Mike Phillips’s mother was a senator and the judges were all blinded by his proximity to money and power. But not Myrtle. She left the prom the way she arrived, surrounded by a group of indifferent girls dressed all in black.

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Our Ship Rocked and Pitched

  • k-avatarour mole-eyed contemporary
  • is best read in complete silence
  • pushed the throttles to full power
  • under the influence of the impending storm
  • we showed you how to be a gynecologist

Our ship rocked and pitched under the influence of the impending storm as our captain pushed the throttles to full power just to hold position and I handed the dinner menu to our mole-eyed contemporary who squinted and mumbled (although a list of entrees is best read in complete silence, as anyone with any manners should know) and you blushed and squirmed as we showed you how to be a gynecologist, if you know what we mean.

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“How Much Do You Drink?” She Asked.

  • by jenHow much do you drink?
  • on the Indonesian island of Flores
  • looks pretty cute in his mugshot
  • vital, sunburnt, carefree
  • dazed but not seriously injured

“How much do you drink?” she asked.

“Like I’m on vacation on the Indonesian island of Flores,” he assured.

She eyed him with a smirk. “You look like a guy who looks pretty cute in his mugshot: vital, sunburnt, carefree. Like the bar fight you were arrested for left you dazed but not seriously injured.”

He shrugged and she admired his lazy smile. “But in any case, you have the right to remain silent.” She cuffed his wrists together behind his back. “I’ll have to ask the booking officer if I can have a copy of your mugshot to see if I’m right.”

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The Captain Cleared His Throat

  • k-avatarThe captain cleared his throat
  • for perhaps a minute
  • rubbed her nose tip
  • cool, hard and prickly
  • And then up.
  • plain khaki shirt and slacks
  • by sonic violence
  • killed in an aircrash

The captain cleared his throat for perhaps a minute. Phoebe shuffled her feet, seeming just about bored enough to create a scene. Hoping to distract her, I reached over and rubbed her nose tip, which was cool, hard and prickly. She smiled. Finally, the captain began his speech, and I along with Phoebe and all the rest learned what real boredom can be. At last, he bade us all take our seats and the vehicle sped down the runway. And then up. The plane climbed like a firework, mashing me back in my seat and flattening Phoebe’s plumage. Our frightful acceleration didn’t seem to impede the hostess, who looked beguiling even in her uniform of a plain khaki shirt and slacks. Phoebe pecked the back of my head when I swiveled it to observe the hostess’s progress down the aisle. I wondered if perhaps the captain’s lugubrious oration might have contained important information, for the rate of our ascent continued to increase, as did the noise. Conversation was rendered impossible by sonic violence emanating from the engines. Thus I was unable to inquire as to whether, should we break apart somewhere above the atmosphere, people on the ground would still say we’d been killed in an aircrash.

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Our Plans Worked to Perfection

  • k-avatarscreen door of his sleeping porch
  • impatiently explains to strangers
  • very sore and humiliated
  • save for spasmodic jumping
  • Our plans worked to perfection

Our plans worked to perfection, save for spasmodic jumping. We didn’t anticipate that side effect. The rats showed no such symptoms during our preliminary experiments, and we still haven’t pinned down the cause. Anyway, Fleming is very sore and humiliated, and I find it delightful to observe as he impatiently explains to strangers, through the screen door of his sleeping porch, that he’s a government agent working deep cover to expose illicit and unethical psychological research at the university. He evidently doesn’t know we carted him across the border, and these strangers don’t speak English.

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Poet, Sir?

  • by jenPoet, sir?
  • lie festering in the crowded alleys
  • inherently disturbing but not gory
  • a jar of warm sputum
  • concentrating on my landlady’s cat

Poet, sir? You dare call me a poet? Do I have the look of one who would lie festering in the crowded alleys of Paris, drunk and penniless? The insinuation behind your “casual” inquiry is inherently disturbing but not gory, much like a jar of warm sputum. It tells me much about you, this assumption of yours in regards to my occupation. You presume I am concentrating on my landlady’s cat in preparation of writing an ode or a sonnet or — shudder – a limerick, when that is not the case at all. I am concentrating on my landlady’s cat so that I might learn to read his thoughts and gain valuable intelligence about my landlady’s comings and goings. Good day to you, sir. I say, good day!

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Pulling Back The Tarp

k-avatar

  • reveals the bloody guts
  • a blond haired woman in a jogging suit
  • a paper cup of hot chocolate
  • the signs were there
  • an overall consensus on what we can all agree on

Pulling back the tarp reveals the bloody guts underneath, reveals them to a blond haired woman in a jogging suit holding a paper cup of hot chocolate. The other detectives swill coffee, but especially on a chilly morning like this Monique Saint Claire preferrs something sweet.

“Detective Saint Claire, this isn’t your case.”

“S’pose not, Detective Jones, but it is my neighbor,” Monique replies. Steve Jones frowns at her over his styrofoam cup.

“Your landlord such a hard-ass that his tenants jump off their balconies if they’re late with the rent?”

“Nah, he’s a peach. The super’s an asshole, though.” Monique frowns at the mess on the sidewalk. “This is Mike. Just moved in. And he didn’t jump.”

“What makes you say that?”

Monique isn’t sure how to explain the obvious to a fellow detective. “You should have already figured it out,” she says, “the signs were there.” Signs that include Mike’s dressy shoes, and the long silver hairs tangled in his fingers.

“Just go finish your morning stroll, or whatever,” Jones says. “Don’t make this suck any worse. We already reached an overall consensus on what we can all agree on, before you showed up.”

 

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Speaking On Behalf Of All Women

  • by jenspeaking on behalf of all women
  • call out for a cessation of hostilities
  • bubble of hot poison in your loins
  • drinking a glass of cold grog
  • unless she herself was at the fairgrounds

Speaking on behalf of all women, we call out for a cessation of hostilities between the sexes. Men, when you feel the bubble of hot poison in your loins that some might call misogyny, we suggest you grab a brew from the fridge. Drinking a glass of cold grog will surely be more satisfying than berating your wife or girlfriend. Unless she herself was at the fairgrounds when the shit went down, in which case, do whatever man. That fairground shit was intense.

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Carla Fondly Recalled

  • k-avatarfirst missionary journey
  • a zen-like joy
  • condemned to the eternal fires of hell
  • a victory ode
  • when men met and sat
  • One has to eat!

Carla fondly recalled her first missionary journey, and even more fondly her first doggy journey. Thinking about those moments brought her a zen-like joy.

“As in, like, joy?”

“Yes, Darla, close enough.” Carla knew she shouldn’t try to explain such things to her little sister, as the poor girl invariably came away moist and bewildered. If she kept it up, Carla feared she’d be condemned to the eternal fires of hell.

Anyway, it was time to take a break from composing a victory ode to when men met and sat outside her bedroom door like patients in a porno waiting room. To dinner! One has to eat!

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