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Join us each Friday to start the weekend with an exercise in imagination. Will this image inspire you to accept the challenge? Write a story, 100 words, no more no less, and post it in the comments.
I’ll start with a story.
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“Blow and make a wish!”
“Oh come on, these aren’t candles. It’s not even my birthday!”
“So? These are pretty” He thinks she’s amused, but her dark eyes sparkle danger.
He brings the small wand up to his mouth, pauses. Does he have a wish? He can’t think with her leaning in like that, so close, so intense …
“Come on” her voice drops, “Do. It.”
He takes a breath, ready to blow but what to wish? Suddenly punched in the side, his breath startles out, filling a balloon with a wish not his own.
And he is gone.
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Now, it’s your turn.
is it memorex? says: As John Q. left the hospital Thursday the doctor handed him a prescription and said it is ready at the pharmacy. When John Q. got to the pharmacy the line was out the door and it was a melting pot of races.
Finally John Q. reached the counter and was told we don’t have it come back in the morning.
Friday morning John Q. went to the pharmacy just before opening. Finally the window opened. There were several people of various races. The clerk spent ten minutes with a woman who couldn’t speak English.
She didn’t have enough money but the clerk tried to find a way to make sure she could get her meds.
As the line backed up the clerk finally said next. When John got to the window she said we don’t have it come back later. She didn’t look at a screen or speak with another worker. John couldn’t help but notice the bi-lingual flyers for free backpacks, shoes, food, job training, rides, and healthcare scattered on desks around the pharmacy. As he left he hoped the vital meds would finally be available Monday. John tried to call the patient experience line to make a complaint but they just hung up.
Sam Fletcher says: “Thy light-globe has fallen, Daughter. Please put it in the rack.”
Her pretty face dimpled, the amber curls bouncing as she nodded.
“But Father, t’was fully charged yester-morn. ‘Twon’t expire for another yarrow or even two.”
“Nonetheless, we daren’t waste what God hast provided. The magician is gone all day to Hoxie, and what if the lamp run out? Who will charge it then?”
“Father – you act like magic is precious, when t’is everywhere.”
“Aye, but how long? What if the world runs out? What if the days comes when no one has it?”
“Oh silly,” she laughed. “The world will always have magic.”
Andrew says: “Help me! I’m Glinda the good witch of the North.” The squeaky voice came from the small bubble on the roadside.
“No you’re not, I just came from her. In fact she sent me to find the—“
“No! That was the wicked witch of the East! She trapped me in this bubble years ago, and she’s been after my sister ever since. You’re not the first one she’s sent you know. Oh my gosh, right behind you! Her henchmen, the scarecrow and the—“
Whack! The Tin man crushed her and her fragile bubble like a glass ornament. “I think we’d better be going now. Don’t you agree Dorothy?”
Rollins Power Sauce says: A boy named Tom, who was known locally as Floccinauchus, was singing Christmas songs on the elevated train, and that pissed everyone off, so they all threw tiny hatchets at him. Floccinauchus bled, but he was a hemophilac, so he loved it. He got off at Fullerton and began to snap his fingers. He walked with one hand in his front pocket, chewed his gum with his mouth open, and quoted lines from a.k.a. Pablo. This infuriated Sancho, who was behind him. Sancho pulled a ripsaw from his fireman’s hat and flayed the skin behind Floccinauchus’s neck. Floccinauchus laughed and scratched his nipple.
In the barber shop, Floccinauchus pulled out a Rubik’s Cube. This irritated Sal, Floccinauchus’s hairdresser. He pulled out a cleaver and chopped off Floccinauchus’s ankles. Floccinauchus just spat and squeezed his shoulder pads playfully.
Floccinauchus loved to chew Fruit Stripes until it lost its taste, which was approximately four seconds. Then he SPAT IT OUT! Sometimes he would dress up as Tony the Tiger, but he’d be naked underneath. He’d only tell Vavooshka, his Godmother. One night Floccinauchus, while dancing to Winger, choked on chicken broth.
As his lifeless corpse lay on the turntable, Vic Tayback lit a fuse. In the winter heat Floccinauchus exploded into chunky pieces.
Meanwhile, Larry bought an attaché case.
Darkness, at dead of night, at times at edge of fright, when lofty thoughts are summoned and emerge, restraining total panics flight, with welcome strength to see a light, yet question where it remained, when unsummoned, elusive, sleepily hidden most every night. Perhaps that perfect light, often bright and always near, but being formless, is never seen as it should appear, clear to those who seek it now, that dawn has cleared every shadowed brow, but clear to those peering deeply, always peered beyond that drop of dew, whose arrival and departure added nothing, to that enduring mystery of light.
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