It has been two days since my precious laboratory burned to the ground. The final spark to go out, did so when the wisp of smoke finally ceased rising from the top of Ogor’s head.
Patients L52 to N2 escaped with their lives (such as they are) with the exception of the poor Patient L63. Ogor is trying to blame him for the blaze, but I blame Ogor. It was he who caused the error in the first place. I must now decide what to do with him.
Hmmm… N3, perhaps.
I can’t believe it! My entire troupe has been banned from the local hospital! We all went into the Emergency Room because one of the guys had a cut on his finger that needed stitching up. One look at the expression on his face and we all knew he needed moral support.
So off we all went, just to keep him company, you know? And then, what do you know; they kicked us out!
Apparently they don’t allow mimes in the ER who aren’t sick or injured. The nerve!
October 21/16
Dear Diary
“Of all the millions of fish in the sea, you’re the one I want.”
You know how many guys have said that to me over the years? Of course you do. You’re my diary. I should go back and count. Because all of them? Were lying.
Today Jimmy said it. Jimmy of all people. I could look into his blue eyes and almost believe it.
Should I, Diary? Is he really “The One”? I guess we’ll see.
“You’re all angles. One minute you’re here and the next you’re 180° the other way. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Well, I’ll tell it like this: once you’ve spend a year underground doing various things for a drug overlord…”
“A what now?”
“You heard me right. A drug overlord. Why else would I be underground?”
“Oh I dunno. Digging a tunnel for a subway maybe?”
“Is that what you thought I was doing all this time? The railroad is my life!”
“But you said…”
“What? That I was digging a subway? What else would I be doing?”
“Were you digging northward or southward?”
“Eastward.”
“Right. Westward it is.”
Lisa had been led to believe that when her ailing rich uncle finally passed away, she would receive a trust fund until she reached the age of twenty-five. Whether it was because he died before he had a chance to place a restriction on her inheritance, or he never meant to in the first place, would never be known. All Lisa DID know was that in the space of a day she’d gone from packing her work lunches in brown paper bags, to being able to quit her job and live in luxury.
Although walking away from the daily grind at the office was tempting, she decided not to. Instead, she kept her job and bought a house on the posh side of town. Right next door to Roland, the flashiest, most eligible bachelor within a hundred miles. In Lisa’s opinion, it was the only drawback of the whole deal.
Author’s note: Until October the 31st, I’m going to try to use this space to create possible beginnings for my 2016 NaNoWriMo project. In the tags below, you’ll see the genre I’m considering for the above story. Feedback is welcome.
This is so dangerous. This interview is my last hurdle. After this, if I succeed, I get the job and I’m off and fulfilling my dream.
I go in. The room is painted white; there are no pictures on the walls, no windows – no colour except the laminated faux wood table and a green chair. One chair. Will my interviewer stand?
On the table is a sheet of paper. I think at first it’s blank, but I turn it over and there are questions.
#1. (Your first test.) Do you have a pen?
I pull a pen out of my purse and for a second I panic – it doesn’t work!!! I scribble for a while on the back of the paper and a faint blue line appears. It gets darker. Good.
I write “yes” for the first question.
#2. If you were a bug, and you wanted to get into a house but there were screens at the windows, would you:
a) try to squeeze through the screen
b) wait for someone to open a door
c) find another house
What kind of question is that???!!! I ask myself. Flustered, I go on to the next question without answering.
#3. Did you answer question #2? If not, go back now.
I look around the room. Is there a camera? Am I being watched? This is weird. I answer question #2, b. I’m a fairly patient person… I mean bug. Whatever. I write “yes” for question #3.
#4. What is your dream job?
Is this a trick question? It’s the one I’m applying for. I write that.
#5. What colour is white?
White. That’s got to be the correct answer. Or is it? Is white a colour? If not, how do I answer the question? Holy shit, this test is hard.
#6. If your owner holds you by the back of the neck, do you:
a) bite him or her
b) calm down and remain subdued
c) explain that you’re not a dog, and would he or she please let go
What the fuck? I’m just about to cap my pen and be on my way when the door opens and a handsome man in a white suit with a white shirt and tie walks in and stands on the other side of the table.
“Hello,” I say.
The man says nothing. Expressionless. He puts his hands on his hips and blows air out from between his pursed lips. I wait.
“What do you do?” he asks finally.
“What… do you mean?”
“Question #6. You were about to leave. What would you do in that situation?”
I look down at the paper and read the question and the possible answers again. “Umm… c?”
“Is that your final answer?”
I look down again. I’m definitely not a dog. “Yes. That’s my final answer.”
Suddenly the room lights up with yellow and red flashing, turning lights. I feel as though I’m in a game show.
“Congratulations!” the man says. “You’ve got the job!”
I slump down in my seat, and put my forehead on the table. I got it. I got it. I GOT IT!
I’m going to make people millionaires!
This slightly insane post (is this how Regis Philbin got the job?) is brought to you by Stream of Consciousness Saturday. Click the following link to read the rules and join in: https://lindaghill.com/2016/10/14/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-oct-1516/
It started and ended with a candle. If foresight had told me you’d burn down the house on my thirty-first birthday, would I have fallen for you that fateful night at Stella’s Steakhouse and Grill?
Just the fact that we ever got together was a miracle. My date–Lester? Leonard? I can never remember his name–and I were sitting by the window and you and whats-her-name were across the aisle. All through dinner I admired your profile in the candlelight. When you weren’t turning to gawk at me, that is. I recall feeling so sorry for her. She noticed the attraction between us. Lestard was oblivious.
It wasn’t until later that night as we walked along the boardwalk in the moonlight, hand-in-hand, that you told me you’d been on a blind date. I lied. The fact that I was engaged to a guy whose name escapes me tells me even now that you and I were meant to be. For whatever reason.
Author’s note: Until October the 31st, I’m going to try to use this space to create possible beginnings for my 2016 NaNoWriMo project. Feedback is welcome.
“There are no original stories under the sun,” said the alien, as she sat upon a sea-sprayed rock.
“That’s a rather narrow view,” said the sea serpent.
The alien shrugged. “It’s true.”
“Well then,” said the sea serpent, “why don’t you go talk to the accountant in my belly?” And the sea serpent ate the alien.
“Hello,” said the alien, once adequately digested. “You must be the accountant.”
“What was your first clue?” asked the man, looking up from his adding machine.
“I assumed you were the only one in here.”
“I probably am,” said the accountant as he went back to his work.
“The sea serpent and I were discussing stories, and how there is nothing new. Do you agree?”
“No. I think there is everything new, just as there are always new calculations to be made.”
“Would you two shut up already?” came the booming voice of the sea serpent.
“But you told me to discuss it with my new friend here, Mr…”
“Mr. Blankenship,” replied the accountant.
“How unoriginal,” said the alien.
The accountant only smiled.
***
This post is prompted by the Daily Post, and Tuesday Use It In A Sentence, where this week the word is “narrow.” Click on the word above to check it out!
In a world where having a high number of followers was the ultimate form of flattery, the irony didn’t escape William that being followed down a deserted city street was scaring him shitless. It was more than a feeling; he’d determined that, three blocks back when he circled an intersection all of 360 degrees. That’s when he got a good look at the clown who was following him.
Only one block from home, William was beginning to feel safer. He’d resisted the impulse to turn and look back for a while, but he had his hearing on full alert. There was nothing behind him. With only four doors between him and his apartment, a clown stepped out of an alleyway and stood stiffly before him. It couldn’t be the same clown, was William’s first thought. But of course it could. Damn me for taking the long way home to get away from this guy.
William was surprised when the clown spoke – in a woman’s voice.
“I need your help,” said the clown. She handed him a piece of paper and pushed past him, running awkwardly in her clown shoes back the way William had come.
Author’s note: Until October the 31st, I’m going to try to use this space to create possible beginnings for my 2016 NaNoWriMo project. Feedback is welcome.
Jack reined his horse to a stop at the border and looked past the barbed-wire fence at the grassy plain beyond. The zombies were miles back. Though they staggered haltingly at the best of times, Jack knew they could cover a lot of ground in little time. He’d seen the movies. Didn’t matter how fast the hero ran…
But thinking negatively like that was heading down a dead-end road. Much like the dead-end road he was on now. There was no way the horse would make it through the yards of prickly metal he faced. Jack looked right and left – there wasn’t a border crossing guard to be seen.
He walked a few feet to his left and looked down. Just as he thought. Zombie poo. They’ve been here already, Jack mumbled to himself.
“DAMN YOU, ZOMBIES!” he yelled. “DAMN YOU AND THE HORSE YOU RODE IN ON!”
Jack’s horse snorted.
“Not you, Trigger,” he assured his mighty steed.
He was loathe to leave the beast to its own devices and make a break for it himself. Especially when he knew the zombies didn’t enjoy horse brains very much. The ungrateful monsters.
Jack took one more look left and right and mounted his horse.
“Let’s keep going, Trigger. Surely we’ll find a house somewhere with wire cutters. Even if we have to double back a bit.”
Trigger neighed.
“I know, old buddy. I know,” said Jack.
Author’s note: Until October the 31st, I’m going to use this space to create possible beginnings for my 2016 NaNoWriMo project. Feedback is welcome.
Linda G. Hill 