The booby trap is elaborate. It involves no fewer than five pulleys, a boot kicking a ball into a basket, a couple helium balloons being punctured, a bowling ball rolling down a ramp, and was that a parakeet? It all has the result of pushing you down the stairs. Your killers probably could’ve just done that themselves.
This blog was started with a very specific project in mind: to turn every last writing prompt in the book 642 Things To Write About into a death scene. As of Friday, May 6, 2022, that project is complete.
That doesn’t mean Yuh Dead is dead. I have ideas for what to do next with it. But I also have some other creative projects that I want to finish, so Yuh Dead will be going on indefinite hiatus while I get those projects either done or far enough under way that they won’t be jeopardized if I pick this up again.
Prior to receiving the book of writing prompts, I wrote 30 Lovecraftian death scenes that my friends and I used during game nights when we played a Cthulhu-themed Werewolf-style game where most players’ characters get killed off, sometimes more than once per game. They were published once as a ‘zine, and starting today, before I go on hiatus, I’ll be republishing them here. Just a little something to tide you over.
You’re a bit peckish. You go downstairs for a snack. You pour yourself a bowl of your favorite cereal, Kellogg’s Shredded Krumbles (an actual cereal from the ’20s. That’s “Krumbles,” with a “K”). You’re enjoying a spoonful when a Cthulhu larva bursts from your chest. Oh man. You should have expected this after being attacked by that facehugger Cthulhu.
Today’s prompt: “You are a contemporary Hollywood executive writing to James Joyce to suggest ways Ulysses could be made more ‘filmable.’ For example, add action sequences, create a happy ending, look for scenes that could use CGI special effects, suggest box-office names to play the roles and pop rock songs for the soundtrack.”
James! Bubbeleh! I tell you, Ulysses! It’s got legs, baby! And not just the legs of the woman in stockings that Leopold Bloom stares at in part 5, amirite? Seriously, James, baby, Ulysses the movie, it’s got promise, I tell you. The stream-of-consciousness, the allusions to Greek mythology, chef’s kiss, mwah! I can just see the scene where Bloom pan-fries the kidneys for breakfast. The dramatic tension, you could cut it with a spoon! Bloom’s disintegrating marriage … the bombastic usurper Buck Mulligan … all the action happening in a single day … genius, I tell you. And that modernistic style where you can hardly tell who’s talking, and it’s usually in weird run-ons, and sometimes it’s written like newspaper headlines, why, it practically translates itself to the screen! I’ve just got a few tiny little suggestions for how to really make it blockbuster material, to turn Bloomsday into Boomsday, yuh know what I mean? I really think Ulysses could benefit from the Michael Bay treatment. Needs more explosions! Like this one! [At this point, the producer lights a stick of dynamite, opens his office window, and lets it fall to where you, a stunt person, were walking below his window.] It’s gonna be beautiful, baby!
Today’s prompt: “Write your obituary.”
[Insert-your-name-here], [insert-your-age-here], of [REDACTED], died on May 4, 2022. The cause of death was [REDACTED]. While an unusual method of death, it’s an expected result of [REDACTED] [REDACTED] [DOUBLE SECRET PROBATION REDACTED]. The matter is still being investigated.
[Insert-your-name-here] was kind, fun-loving, and [REDACTED]. They enjoyed [REDACTED] and [REDACTED], and always took time to [REDACTED] the [REDACTED].
[Insert-your-name-here] is survived by their spouse, [REDACTED], their children, [REDACTED] and [REDACTED], and the [REDACTED] who [REDACTED] in their [REDACTED].
A closed-casket funeral will be held at Summers Funeral Home on May 8, 2022, at 2 p.m. In lieu of flowers, the family has requested that donations be made to Maritime Legal Aid & Advocacy.
[ENTIRE PARAGRAPH REDACTED]
Today’s prompt: “Your first breakup”
“I think we should break up.”
Sam’s words hung in the air like rapidly deflating balloons. The world seemed to slow down. Lockers swung slowly open. Classmates left blurry trails behind them as they walked past you through the halls.
“What? Why?” you choked out.
“I just – you know what, let’s not make this harder than it is,” Sam said. “We can talk more after school when there aren’t as many people around.” Fewer blurs were passing you now as students began to sense your emotional devastation and stopped to gawk. Finally, Sam turned and walked off to class.
You still remember that moment today. You remember how it felt like your world was ending.
Today, you feel that again, but a little more literally. You see, the world’s gravitational pull has decided to break up with you. And as you are loosed into the atmosphere, freezing and unable to breathe, you wish you could think of some way to get the earth to take you back.
