07 Jul 2021
Today’s prompt: “Identify a powerful and significant personal experience from your past (the birth of a younger sibling, breaking your arm, a family road trip, divorce). Then change the setting, and write a story in which your narrator encounters that experience.” [This is based loosely on the experience I wrote about here, incorporating a few key details.]
I made the mistake of looking into your eyes as you were dying. Now I have to live with that. But it’s done. It’s done. My hand is shaking as I put my gun away.
“You never forget your first one,” Jake says. “Go get the blanket. Leave the trunk open.”
I walk to the campground parking space. We chose the woods so anyone nearby would think the gunshot was from hunters. I open up the trunk and take out a rolled up blanket. As I walk back to Jake, he’s smoking a cigarette.
“You can get the legs,” he says. “I’ll get the head.” It’s probably the nicest thing he’s ever done for me.
I unroll the blanket next to the body, and we both unfold the corners. Then I grab your shoes as Jake picks you up under the arms, and we lift you onto the blanket. We pull the edges over you.
I haven’t even left my crouch position when I feel the urgent need to throw up. I turn my head and retch. It’s mostly acid. I’ve barely eaten all day.
Jake gives an annoyed little sigh, walks to the car, and hands me a rag and a bottle of water. I wipe my face, then stand up and walk around, gargling and spitting water before finally drinking the rest of the bottle. By the time I’ve composed myself, Jake has kicked dirt and pine needles over my vomit and is stationed next to your feet. I walk over to where your head is. We pick up the corners of the blanket and walk to the trunk.
A few feet from the car, your hand flops out of the blanket. I stifle a scream, letting only a small “eek!” escape. I can sense Jake rolling his eyes, and I flatten my features into a solid poker face. We lift you up into the trunk, and Jake shuts the lid.
05 Jul 2021
Today’s prompt: “Describe your last visit to a doctor’s office or hospital.”
“I’m so sorry,” the doctor says, “but there’s just nothing I can do here. I haven’t seen this much blood come out of somebody since Nightmare on Elm Street.”
02 Jul 2021
Today’s prompt: “A perfect meal”
Hmmm. I’m thinking a rack of lamb marinated with rosemary, thyme and garlic, served with some sauteed mushrooms and maybe some steamed green beans or a fennel gratin or roasted potatoes. But that’s just me.
If it’s Cthulhu, he’s probably going to pick fresh-caught you, slathered in a vinegar-based sauce and flame-broiled, and served with a loaded baked potato.
30 Jun 2021
Today’s prompt: “Take the bare facts from a court complaint or investigation at ACLU.org and retell them as a full descriptive narrative.” [I’m working from this case.]
In a town like Welch, West Virginia, people know when you’re gay. They see you leaving the gay bar. They see you out with your boyfriend. They see you out with your gay friends. They watch and they watch and they watch.
One day, you were out driving with your friend Billy when you felt some discomfort in your chest. “Must be something I ate,” you tell Billy.
It was not something you ate.
Your whole body goes stiff. Your foot slams down on the gas and your truck veers off the road. What is this? Is this what a heart attack feels like?
Billy grabs the wheel and manages to jam his foot on the brake and pull it over. You’re still trying to get control of your body – still trying to breathe. Billy sees you struggling. He jumps out of the truck, runs around to your side, opens your door and screams your name. You’re just able to turn your head toward him, and relief floods his face that you’re still alive.
He undoes your seat belt and tugs you by the shoulder to try to get you out of the truck, but you don’t budge. By this time your face is turning bright red. Billy pops open your mouth and checks to see if there’s anything you’re choking on. Nothing, and you still aren’t breathing. He shakes you. You gasp. Billy looks relieved again, but now lays his fingers on your neck to check your pulse. He doesn’t feel much of anything. He hits you in the chest. Again. Again. Your heart starts to beat again. Billy can feel it through your shirt. You keep trying to pull in shallow breaths. Billy starts giving you CPR as a police car rolls up.
Police Chief Robert Bowman gets out of the car and yells at Billy, “Get back! That guy’s got AIDS.” Billy didn’t see he was a police officer and he ignored the chief. He could tell the CPR was working.
Bowman grabbed Billy by the shoulders and pulled him off of you. Someone called out, “That guy’s HIV positive.”
“Yes, he is,” Bowman said. “Stay away from him. We don’t want you getting hurt.”
“I got him to take a breath,” Billy said, wanting to make sure someone would keep giving you CPR until the ambulance came.
“We’ll take care of it,” Bowman said. He pointed to a spot on the curb. “Go sit over there.”
Billy sat down and stole glances at you in the pickup. Bowman started directing traffic.
After a minute or two, Billy was getting worried. He gets up and tries to look in the truck window to see how you’re doing. Bowman motions another officer over and talks to him in a low voice. The other officer walks up to Billy. “We need you to make a statement,” he says. “Come over here.” He leads Billy to his car.
Billy keeps staring at your truck as he answers the officer’s questions. He never sees anyone go to the truck until the ambulance arrives, about ten minutes after your heart attack. You die 35 minutes after you arrive at the hospital.
For the record, you never had HIV. Not all gay men have HIV. Duh. And HIV is not spread through CPR. There’s never been a recorded case of anyone being infected with HIV by giving someone mouth-to-mouth.
28 Jun 2021
Today’s prompt: “You are the high-school valedictorian. Write your valedictory address.”
“Members of the class of 2021,” you say, “it is with great honor and privilege that I congratulate you on our graduation.
“We made it! We’ve survived so much – so much more than we should have to. Even before COVID, we survived years of disinvestment at this very school. Other students at other schools, the worst they can say is they survived a year of Zoom classes. We did that, but before that, we survived leaks in the hallways, roaches in the classrooms, poorly ventilated science labs, and a cafeteria that failed a health inspection. I’m honestly surprised that the combination of the thunderstorm outside and the shoddy wiring in this gymnasium hasn’t electrocuted us a–“ZZZZZZZZZZZAAAAAAPPPPP.
25 Jun 2021
Today’s prompt: “Two guys walk into a bar…”
One walks out.
You’re not the one who walks out.
You probably shouldn’t have gone to a bar called “Thunderdome.”
23 Jun 2021
Today’s prompt: “Waking up elsewhere”
You went to bed in a hotel room. A nice hotel room with high thread count sheets, blackout curtains, and thick walls. You sleep soundly.
Until you wake up in a giant belly full of stomach acid. Next time Old Ones invade the earth, you might do well to stay away from hotels, big apartment buildings and other large congregate living facilities. They’re kind of like buffets for Elder Gods.