10 Feb 2021
Today’s prompt: “Write a scene in which a father accidentally meets his son’s girlfriend for the first time. The son isn’t present, and the girlfriend is almost the same age as the father.”
The woman in front of you at Lowe’s pushes a dolly with a package of shingles up to the register and hands her credit card to the cashier. The woman has round hips, a choppy, chin-length haircut, and a cropped leather jacket accentuating her stout, but nonetheless attactive frame.
The cashier attempts to make awkward small talk with the woman as he points his scanner at the package of shingles until it chirps. Nice-day-we’re-having, are-you-using-the-shingles-top-patch-a-hole-or-build-a-doghouse kinds of chatter. It seems like he’s trying to flirt with her and just really bad at it, which is a bit odd. He’s in his early 20s, and she’s probably early 40s. A nice-looking early 40s, granted. You contemplate the woman’s backside. No harm in looking, right?
The cashier examines the woman’s card. “Yid-ruh?” he asks.
“Yee-tho-rah,” she responds.
You snap out of your perfectly innocent observations. You know that name.
“Yidhra?” you ask, pronouncing it as the woman had. She turns and looks at you.
“Do I know you?”
“No. But do you know a Justin?”
“Ah.” The woman smiles. “My boyfriend.” You catch the cashier frowning in disappointment from the corner of your eye.
“My son,” you respond. “He’s told me so much about you.”
“Really?” she says.
“All good, I assure you. He practically worships the ground you walk on.”
She laughs, a light, tinkling laugh. “How odd. He’s told me almost nothing about you.”
“Huh.”
The cashier hands the woman’s card back to her and stammers, “Y’all have a real nice day today, miss,” he says. “I hope you enjoy your shingles.”
“I’m sure I will,” she says.
You lift your paint cans on to the checkout counter, and the cashier gives them the briefest of scans, and nods to you with a curt, “That’ll be $45.89.” He turns back to Yidhra. “Can I help you load those shingles into your car? Those packages can be mighty heavy.”
“I can help her,” you find yourself saying, almost without intending to.
“That would be nice,” she says. “It’ll give us a chance to get to know each other.”
The two of you push the dolly out of Lowe’s, and Yidhra indicates a car on the far side of the parking lot. You walk in silence for a few paces.
“Are you troubled by the fact that your son has not told me much about you?” Yidhra asks. “Perhaps in my presence, he simply forgets about the rest of the world.” That tinkling laugh again.
“I guess I’m a little surprised by the age difference,” you say.
“Oh?” she says.
“I’m just a little surprised that Justin would be dating someone in her – pardon me for making assumptions, but, your 40s, right?”
“Looks can be deceiving,” she says.
“Maybe late 30s,” you say, but you know you’re being generous. “Look, don’t get me wrong, you’re a very attractive woman. I just think you’re a little old for him.”
“Maybe,” she says. “Sometimes people see what they want to see.”
“What do you mean?” you ask.
“You, for instance. You’re not like a lot of men your age who would rather stare at women half their age. That’s why you thought I was in my 40s before you knew I was dating your son.”
“What?”
“Whereas to your son, and probably that cashier, I’m a ravishing young 20-something. But of course I’m much older than that.”
“Older like – 40s?” you venture. You have reached her car at the end of the parking lot and are hoisting the package of shingles into her back seat.
“Older like millenia,” she says.
The streetlight in the parking lot nearest to her car suddenly goes out.
“You’re right about another thing, mostly. Justin does worship me. Not just practically, and not the ground around me. Me. And worship is good for me. And unfortunately, you don’t seem to approve of our relationship, and you seem like you might get in the way of that. But fortunately, he utterly forgets about you when he’s with me. He won’t miss you.”
Yidhra’s form contorts into a hydra-like beast with heads of horned goats and sharp-toothed lions. Immediately she sinks her teeth into your neck, severing your vocal cords.
You gasp for breath. Your eyes dart to the other customers in the parking lot, filling their cars with potted plants and leaf blowers. Why won’t they help you? The light might be dim here, but still, they must see you, right?
And then you remember. People see what they want to see.
08 Feb 2021
Today’s prompt: “A character discovers an object hidden many years ago in a family home.”
You were digging up some tenacious, deep-rooted ivy when your shovel hit the tin box. You worked your shovel around the corners and carefully resurfaced it. Mud cakes the rusted latch. You open the lid.
Inside are browned, curled papers with browned, cursive letters. You take off your muddy gloves and pick up the papers one at a time, unsure where to even begin reading them. They are unnumbered and written in a shaky hand. You make up your mind to study them later tonight, when you’ll have more time to decipher them.
Below the last page is some kind of medallion on a chain. You pick it up. It seems to be shaped like some kind of rune, with a dull emerald in the middle. You rub the emerald with your thumb, trying to make it shine.
A dusty vapor pours impossibly from the emerald. It gets in your eyes, and you squeeze them shut. It gets in your mouth, and you can’t stop coughing. It gets in your lungs.
From that point on, I think it’s fair to say that you were dead. The thing that inhabited your body went around for a while, though. I would rather not say what it did to your family, to your dog, to the neighbors, to your entire community. When it had had its fill of blood and screams, it tried to open up a rift between worlds to let its brethren through. It failed, because apparently some of the utterances required to open the rift that way are not pronouncable by a human vocal system.
05 Feb 2021
Today’s prompt: “Ten bad bar pickup lines.”
Feel free to use any of these the next time you go to a bar. It’s going to be the last time you go to a bar, anyway:
- Are you a time traveler? Because I see you in my future – at the scene of my untimely death.
- If being sexy was a crime, you’d be guilty as charged, along with the murder rap.
- Do you believe in love at first sight? Or should I keep walking by until I drop dead of exhaustion?
- Are you a boxer? Because you’re a knockout, causing fatal internal injuries.
- Nice incendiary device. Wanna fuck?
- Are you a master thief? Because you just stole my heart, and now I’m bleeding profusely from my chest cavity.
- Did it hurt when you fell from heaven? Did it hurt as much as this knife in my chest?
- I hope you know CPR, because you’re taking my breath away, and I’m dying from lack of oxygen.
- I wasn’t always religious, but I am now. You’re the answer to all my prayers, and I’m ready to meet my Maker.
- Are you a necromancer? Because baby, you’re magical, and also, I’m dead.
03 Feb 2021
Today’s prompt: “Do people still care about the common politic and culture? Why or why not?”
No, because they are too busy being murdered by white nationalist terrorists.
And by they, I mean you.
01 Feb 2021
Today’s prompt: “Your favorite recipe”
I’ve got this great beef stew recipe. Nice and thick. Potatoes, carrots, onions, celery, peas, red wine, beef broth, and a little thyme and rosemary. It’s one of those recipes that’s pretty friendly to substitutions. I’ve made it with lamb before, used parsnips when I had them, even swapped out the wine for Guinness.
Two days ago, I found your thumb in my yard. I put it in a wet paper towel in a plastic bag in my fridge in case anybody came looking for it.
Yesterday, your calf and ankle showed up next to my mailbox (sans foot). Not sure what to do, I wrapped it up and put it in the fridge as well, in a large freezer bag.
Today it was your ear and a section of your cheek, and I know, I know I shouldn’t, but I’m thinking about that recipe again. It’s just so versatile, and it seems like it’d be a waste not to use the meat.
29 Jan 2021
Today’s prompt: “Write a scene where a couple get into the biggest argument of their marriage – in a small fishing boat, on their favorite lake, at dawn. The motor broke, and they’re far out.”
“Great. Just great.”
“Look on the bright side,” you say. “It’s real early in the day. There’s bound to be someone else out on the lake eventually that we can flag down.”
“Didn’t I ask you to make sure the motor got serviced earlier this month?”
“Probably.”
“Pretty sure I did. Pretty sure you said you’d take care of it.”
“Look, I’ve got a lot going on.”
“Uh huh. Like Call of Duty.”
“I’m just blowing off some steam. Everybody needs to once in a while. Like you with your friends.”
“Except I didn’t promise to take care of the motor and then blow it off to have a drink with my friends. And now we’re stuck.”
The waters around your boat seem to darken, mirroring the moods of its occupants.
“You could have called the mechanic too.”
“I do. So much around our house. I don’t think it’s too much to expect you to chip in a little effort every once in a while!”
“Hey, I’ve tried helping out around the house before!”
“And you did it so badly, it was obvious you were just trying to get out of it!”
“It’s not my fault you didn’t tell me all of your demanding specs for exactly how to clean the fucking bathroom!”
“You could have just looked at it and seen what was still dirty!”
“Well I’m sorry I didn’t notice all the filth I apparently left behind! Whatever you were seeing, I didn’t see it!”
“You didn’t even look! Whatever! That was two years ago, and I’ve been cleaning the bathrooms ever since, and you can’t even call the boat repair shop and make an appointment!”
“Okay, okay! It’s all my fault. Jesus Christ! Are you happy now?”
The lake seems almost to be teeming with angry movement, like dark, fast-moving storm clouds amassing underwater.
“Who’s Hayden?” you ask.
A pause. “You’re just trying to change the subject.”
“I think I have a right to know.”
“A friend. Just a friend.”
“It seems like every time your phone is sitting on the counter, there’s a new message from them.”
“There is nothing there. You’re just jealous! And trying to deflect away from the fact that we’re stuck here in the middle of the lake because of you.”
“Look, I’m not accusing you of having an affair.”
“I’m not!”
“I didn’t say that. But you know, there’s such a thing as an emotional affair.”
“Hayden is just a friend.”
“If you say so. I’m just saying we don’t exactly talk like we used to.”
The waters are roiling now.
“Maybe that’s because you’re playing Call of Duty while I’m doing the dishes.”
“Oh come on, that’s like once a month. That’s my time with my friends. Are you trying to separate me from my friends?”
“No. Rrr. It’s just, the division of labor at our house is messed up. I do way more of the work than you. It’s exhausting. And then you complain that I’m not there for you emotionally? Maybe I’d be there for you emotionally if you could wash a fucking dish once in a while.”
“All you have to do is ask!”
“Why do I always have to ask? Why can’t you volunteer to do things sometimes?”
“If I do the dishes, will you stop fucking Hayden?”
“I’m not! Fucking! Hayden!”
The clouds beneath your boat burst, and the kraken, drawn by your angry shouts, wraps its arms around the boat and pulls you under.
27 Jan 2021
Today’s prompt: “Explain what dentists do for a cavity. Your audience: a six-year-old child with cavity-ridden teeth.”
“I don’t want to go to the dentist! Demi said they use a drill on your teeth.”
“They do, Kendra, but it’s not like a big drill,” you say. “And you probably won’t even feel it. They numb up your teeth first. Kind of like how when it’s cold out, you can’t feel your toes? They have stuff that’ll make it so you can’t feel your teeth. So it won’t be painful.”
“Why do they need to drill my teeth?” Kendra asks.
“Well, you know how sometimes food goes bad? Like bread gets moldy, or milk starts smelling bad?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s called rot. And unfortunately, if we don’t take good enough care of them, teeth can rot, too. But the good news is the dentist can fix that. They drill into your teeth so they can take out the rot, and then they fill in your tooth so it’s like a normal tooth and you can still chew your food and smile pretty.”
Kendra seems to understand, but suddenly frowns. “You said it wouldn’t be a big drill.”
“It won’t be. Dentists have to use small drills to be able to work on your teeth. Itty bitty drills.”
“That’s a big drill! I don’t want it on my teeth!”
“What’s a big drill? We’re nowhere near the dentist’s office.”
The distinct sound of power tools erupts behind you. You become the latest victim of the serial killer known in the media as The Drill Sergeant, a man who runs around in fatigues and uses a cordless drill to kill his victims.