Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #124

Chris Pearson of DIY Themes chose today’s words. Show him how you rise to a challenge (And if you don’t have a website, check out his Thesis Theme.)

Writing prompts cure writer’s block. Take the 10 random words below and, in the comments, crush writer’s block by creating a cohesive, creative short story tying them together! And remember: after (if) you finish, highlight your words and click the bold button to make them stand out and help you determine if you forgot any words. (If you’ve missed previous writing prompts, do those too.)

  1. Neutrino – an elementary particle which holds no electrical charge, travels at nearly the speed of light, and passes through ordinary matter with virtually no interaction.
  2. Invigorate – give strength or energy to
  3. Macabre – having death as a subject; comprising or including a personalized representation of death; dwelling on the gruesome
  4. Explode
  5. Hemp
  6. Satiate – to supply with anything to excess, so as to disgust or weary
  7. Incendiary – Causing or capable of causing fire
  8. Flip
  9. Cacophony – Jarring, discordant sound; dissonance
  10. Recollection

NOTE: Don’t copy and paste from MS Word. Use a program like notepad that removes formatting or just type in the comment field itself. Also, finish your submission, THEN bold the words. Thanks. (And don’t forget to tweet this and share it with your friends.)

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Resources you should check out:
Thesis: Best Damn Theme on the Web
Collective Ink Well: Personalize Your Thesis Theme
Third Tribe Marketing: Marketing done the right way
Story Structure Demystified: Best damn writing book out there

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79 Comments on “Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #124”

  1. Shane Arthur says:

    “Don’t needs to tell me to run, Bobby! I’m Neutrino Man. Byeeeeeee!”

    “Wait for me, Billy! My recollection is I’m still slow as dirt ever since I done lost my runt toe!”

    “Throw me the bag then, Bobby! They’s almost on us! They’s got incendiary tempers bound to explode on our noggins with a bone-crushin cacophony iffin we don’t invigorate our feet and get outta here, Macabre!”

    “I thunk you done meant to say Comprende, Billy, and I do! Hey, can’t we just flip them the bird, blame the theft on our dog, Rango-Sue, and satiate it like a homework assignment?”

    “Our dog’s dead, Bobby. Same for me iffin I wait around for you. Byeeeeeee!”

    “Billy, no! Billy, they done caught me! Billy! Billy!”

    “Bobby! Bobby! Waked up, Bobby! You havin another one of them there fitful dreams again. You needs to lay off them hemp sandwiches, Bobby!”

  2. Anne Wayman says:

    The tech blamed it on an errant neutrino which instead of invigorating my hard drive, lead to a positively macabre machine death as I heard the data explode in a cacophony similar to my grandson’s garage band. A bit of hemp blow was one approach. So was an attempt to satiate myself to unconsciousness with chocolate chip cookies. Or I could have used an incendiary to (ahem) smoke some tobacco. Instead, I simply flipped, grateful with the recollection that I was, for once, well and truly backed up.

  3. Tanja Cilia says:

    The pub had been a macabre cacophony of voices, karaoke, music, chinking glassware and the flip-thud of coins onto the wooden bar.  He’d thought a pub-crawl would invigorate him and satiate his need for company. Now, he was floating above the wreckage with many other souls. Neutrino-like synapses imploded in his brain, leaving him with no recollection of how he’d got there. The last thing he could recall was a bomb scare cellular phone message about some kind of incendiary device with a hemp-wick fuse, set to explode in ten minutes; time for one last vodka. Someone had miscalculated…badly.

  4. Anne Wayman says:

    Love this… I remember nights like this one… long ago.

  5. Tanja Cilia says:

    Last call…in more ways than one, as usual. I wanted to give the picture of someone holding a coin on his thumb and then flicking the fingernail with the index finger so the coin turns in the air before it falls… Thank you.

  6. Shane Hudson says:

    We are going to die. Soon. Very soon. Well, at least that is what 2012 (that highly macabre film) showed happening. Do you believe it is true? I don’t, the mayans couldn’t predict the end of their civilisation so how could they with ours?
     
    Either way though, the odds are looking bad if any of the “science” in the film is to be belived. Neutrinos interacting with matter? Certainly not something that has been noticed before, but if they were to somehow be invigorated then perhaps they really could heat up the worlds core, we might be in trouble then!
     
    I suppose I could believe that Yellowstone could explode soon. Just imagine the cacophony of screams and devastation if the incendiary volcano were to flip out of its current state.
     
    This recollection of the henious film (or at least its content, I enjoyed the film itself) has reminded me of the crazy man (who was obviously satiated with hemp) who was killed as the gates of hell opened where that beautiful lake used to be. Well… at least he had a good view!

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Shane H: This is my favorite submission from you thus far. Loved it.

      • Shane Hudson says:

        @Shane A: Glad you liked it! Lately I have not been able to come up with anything, but with these words it just came to me in an instant! I agree that it is my best so far, then again… it is probably my longest too.

        Also, do I get bonus points for using the word of the day (henious, according to your sidebar)? 😛
         
        @Mitchell: Yes the movie is great! I actually researched for this CCC to see if the neutrinos have ever reacted with matter!

    • Hey Shane, this is pretty good. I loved the movie, too. Woody Harrelson’s finest moment, methinks! LOL
       
      Cheers,
       
      Mitch
       

  7. Sherry Gray says:

    Thomas straightened what was left of his tie and cleared his throat nervously. “I’ll try to explain what happened to the best of my recollection,” he stammered, wincing at his own choice of words. Focusing on the bristling forest of microphones, he gathered his confidence and started again. “Dr. Curtis and I theorized that we could invigorate neutrinos using a number of factors, thereby influencing their oscillations. To begin the experiment, we created an obstacle course of sorts. Using a particle accelerator, we shot the neutrinos through different objects over a course of 800 miles, ending with submerged tubes housed in this underground facility.” Thomas waved over his shoulder at the smoldering ruin of what was once an old mine shaft. As if on cue, the hazmat crew, still clad in dusty white containment suits, emerged from the roiling cloud of dust and chemicals.

    In a group , the reporters rushed over to the hazmat team, rapidly firing questions. The head of the hazmat team waved them off with a curt “No comment,” and the reporters scurried back over to Thomas, who was trying in vain to improve his appearance for the cameras. He ran a hand through his unevenly cropped hair and smoothed the front of his shirt where the end of his tie should have been. He frowned down at the scorched end of the tie, which ended some three inches below the neatly fashioned knot at his collar.

    Feeling like a specimen affixed to a slide, Thomas tried to compose his story in plain English, the way Dr. Curtis would have. Curtis had been the face of the department, a curious mix of brilliant scientist, consummate geek and social butterfly, without a hint of the hopeless lack of social grace that marked most of his colleagues. It was just like him to make such a spectacular exit. Thomas was struck by a thought as inappropriate as it was macabre. “With Curtis out of the way, the credit for the experiment is mine, and mine alone.” Feeling at once guilty and elated, he turned to the reporters with new enthusiasm.

    One reporter elbowed her way to the front of the crowd, smacking Thomas in the nose with her microphone in an attempt to grab the spotlight and ask the question she thought everyone was waiting for. “Dr. Green,” she belted out above the cacophony of reporters, “How did the lab explode?”

    Sweat stung the pink eyebrow-shaped burn over Thomas’ left eye as he considered his response. He decided a chronological approach was best. “We turned on the various influencers and recording devices on the neutrino pathway and then gave the signal for Dr. Natal, back in the lab, to flip the switch on the particle accelerator. I was standing next to the incendiary device-” “You mean flame-thrower?” the reporter interrupted. “The incendiary device is a bit more complicated than a flame-thrower, but essentially, yes.” Thomas answered. “So I was standing next to the incendiary device when the neutrinos lit up the tubes in the holding tank. We got some amazing footage, the first of its kind. With the knowledge we gathered, we’ll be well on our way to-” Once again, the reporter’s strident voice cut through the babble. “Dr. Green, how exactly did Dr. Curtis die?”
    Thomas blinked in the bright sunlight. “Die? We can’t be sure he did. There’s no body.” The reporters exploded, and Thomas shrank from the barrage of questions, wary of waving mikes. “this isn’t the important thing, it’s the science, don’t you see?” His protests fell on deaf ears, but he continued, “This is ground-breaking. It’s going to change the perception of everything we thought we knew about the universe!”

    A peculiar odor half-remembered from his teenage years tickled his nose as a bearded man wearing a poncho that appeared to be woven out of hemp made his way to the front of the crowd. “Hey, man,” he called out, “I’m with Environmental Times. How will this little experiment of yours impact the environment? Why the hazmat team?”

    A dignified-looking older man stepped in front of Thomas with a sincere look on his face. “Dr. Green,” he intoned for the camera, “tell us the details. Satiate our curiosity. The public has a right to know. If there was no body, was there blood or other evidence at the scene?” Thomas hung his head in despair. “I don’t know.” He admitted. The reporter lunged forward accusingly “How could you not know? You were right there when it happened. Are you hiding something?” “I was on fire at the time,” Thomas snapped.

    Thomas jumped on the hood of a nearby truck and waved his arms. “You’re all missing the point,” he screamed. “This is important! Pay attention!” The reporters quieted as he began explaining in detail how the oscillation of neutrinos could explain the relationship between matter and antimatter and ultimately lead to an understanding of the origins of the universe.

    The next day, the headlines read “Explosion in lab. One scientist missing and thought dead, another suffers mental breakdown.”

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Sherry: Welcome to the CCC. Outstanding 1st submission. Great picture you painted here. I want to read more. I could see this scene so clearly. Everyone welcome Sherry to our twice-per-week addiction.

      • Sherry Gray says:

        I might have gotten just a tiny bit carried away 😀 but it’s been a while since I indulged in creative writing. Most of what I write is absolutely deadly boring. But it pays the bills *yawn*

      • Cathy Miller says:

        @Sherry-Welcome to CCC!

        Here words fly in neutrino fashion as they invigorate all that they touch. From the macabre to the peaceful, the words explode to life, despite their hemp embrace, as we satiate our addiction through incendiary submissions.

        We flip with joy for all who share our passion as the cacophony struggle gives way to our recollection of the symphonic bliss of words.

    • Welcome, Sherry! Since this is your first submission, I won’t pester you for a follow-up …
      …Oh, heck, yeah! Sherry, this is awesome! You gotta do another installment on Thursday, m’kay?
       
      LOL
       
      Oh, that was fun to read. So typical of the scientists – and so like the public to must the point.
      Very good submission, Sherry.
       
      Cheers,
       
      Mitch
       

    • Ember Bianco says:

      Welcome Sherry – What a wonderful story!!! You’re a great writer with an awesome imagination, I too look forward to seeing more of your stuff.

    • Chris Fries says:

      This was great, Sherry!  I love the interplay betweeen the reporters and the scientist.  And that the mob finally quiets down, listens to the details, and then ignore them and go with hype and hyperbole.  Too funny!
       
      Very well done.

  8. The incendiary producer of Neutrino Records seemed about to explode into one of his legendary fits as he listened to the cacophony barking from his speakers. Suddenly, a series of macabre organ notes issued forth, swelling to a crescendo guaranteed to flip the lids off nearby septic tanks. The minor seventh chords washed over the producer, inducing a weird, angst-tinged peace. He felt as if he had been hit with a fake high from a hemp-laced joint. The music failed to either satiate or invigorate his senses. Instead, it left him with a recollection of sleepless childhood naps beneath pictures of angels in his great-grandmother’s third-floor bedroom.

    He threw the artist out of his studio.

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Mitchell: So very cool. swelling to a crescendo guaranteed to flip the lids off nearby septic tanks – the money line. And the part about sleepless childhood naps…excellent. Write on indeed. Write on.

      • Thanks, Shane. It took over 40 years, but I finally managed to write about those damned angels.
        They scared the hell out of me – I was about 6 years old and always had to take an afternoon nap upstairs. The pictures were of angels standing on clouds with sunbeams shooting out from behind their heads, or something like that.
         
        Cheers,
         
        Mitch
         

    • Ember Bianco says:

      OHHH Mitch – This was so much fun to read!!!! So many great lines, they’re all my favorites!

  9. “Visit Incendiary Spa!” The pink paper screamed at me as I sank into my car seat. I rolled my eyes, flipped my hair back and stumbled out of the car again, back into the bitter winter wind. I grabbed the flier from under the wiper and plopped back into the car. Again.
    I listened to the cacophony of motor and ignition and foot pumping gas peddle as I prayed the engine would turn over and start on the first try. My little old car rumbled, coughed and shivered to life. I turned the heat on full blast and peered at the pink paper in my lap.
    A macabre, flaming skull danced behind the words heralding the Grand “Opening” of the newest “spa” in this dilapidated neighborhood. The flier asked me to consider scheduling an appointment. “Let us ExpLodE your expectations with a neutrino based facial designed to invigorate your tired, winter skin.” A helpful asterisk next to this line explained this included the use of “nanotechnology.”
    A quick look in the rear view mirror left me wondering if they had written that just for me. I push at the dark skin under my eyes, bushed at the wrinkles on my forehead.
    I read on: “Satiate your skin’s desire. Give it a treat with a HemP body WrAP.”
    The heat blew my hair about my head and I rubbed my dry, cracked hands together, reading the phone number and list of treatments. With a groan of recollection for my ever shrinking bank balance, I threw the car into gear and drove to work.

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Jennifer: Perfect submission. Funny how the littlest of prompts – in this case a flier on your car – can initiate some serious introspection and emotions. Captured it perfectly.

    • Brrr! I felt chilled reading this – and not just because of the wintry setting in a cold car. The flaming skull reminded me of the movie Devil’s Advocate.
       
      I’m glad the bank account balance was too small to allow an indulgence…
       
      Very well written!
       
      Cheers,
       
      Mitch
       

    • Ember Bianco says:

      Awhhh, this was such a great story and I can definitely relate – great descriptive phrases I loved it, very well written.

  10. margaret says:

    My head is about to explode with a cacophany of other-worldly noises and my stomach is doing flips, as though neutrinos had invaded my digestive system and were doing a macabre incendiary dance. My mouth is as dry as if I had been chewing on a hemp rope. I have been bedridden for two days, chugging gatorade to satiate my thirst and invigorate me.  I have no recollection of what toxic thing I could have ingested, but just know that I do not want a second helping!!! 😦

  11. Ember Bianco says:

    Sorry I’ve been coming late to the party…. < Mia culpa> … got a new job with many hours but I’m back now:

    Snap Crackle and Pop, went the sounds reverberating around me, no not from my morning cereal but rather from a cacophony of tempestuous resonance that was heard in the nearby distance. Although blindfolded I was very attune to the ambiance of the moment and strange as one may think, the familiar sound was welcoming.

    Bound in Hemp, I could feel an invigorating sensation of pride emulating from Lochai, Sensei of Kabashi—- the art of intricate Shibari; who was well into his craft paying no attention to the appeal of the incendiary poi that was being performed not but 50 meters away.

    The private nightclub was crowded with the 1000 or so regulars that come once a month on the second Saturday to perform a macabre of delightful fetishes that satiates the dense air around them with an equal mix of skill and intrigue. In step with the surroundings, an aura of pulsating neutrinos dance inconspicuously to the acoustics of ambient, down tempo, trance and progressive house music that perpetually explodes from the DJ booth above the stage. All the while tireless practices of discipline and worship entwine throughout the evening into the wee hours of the morning. Flip to the dawn of day and I have almost no recollection of the hours that had preceded me; almost as if someone had cast a heavenly spell over me, I doze off into a serene state of twilight, which of could only mean one thing: The conclusion of another successful evening of D/s play in the far away land of Alter Egos.
     
     

  12. This is a fascinating tale, Ember. I don’t get out much, so it’s cool to read about such diverse worlds that incorporate altered / heightened states of being.
    Your description is so authentic! I had equated it to raves until I got to the part about fetishes.
    Thanks for the explanatory note, too.
     
    Cheers,
     
    Mitch
     

  13. This set of words prompted this poem today:
     

    Powers of Vengeance


    A muscle thickens, tightening like hemp strands
    cacophony of powers explode in your veins
    which further invigorate your appetites desire
    urge to satiate yourself on more strength, more control
    with macabre purpose you flip off the ground into the sky
    soaring with the speed of an incendiary neutrino
    revenge would be yours at last for all those doubters
    recollection of past wrongs that will soon be made right
    vengeance would be swift and merciless

  14. Kevan Farrell says:

    I admit, Neutrino is a strange name for a cat but in many ways, it suited him.  Whilst there were occasions when his fur stood apparently electrically charged, he did have the ability to appear from nowhere as if he’d arrived at light speed and he often exploded through solid walls, albeit with the aid of a cat flap.

    Now it should be known that I don’t usually like cats.  It’s the recollection of my grandma’s many felines and the way they used to scratch me.  I’m sure I provoked them, but that’s not the point is it?  Nasty, scratchy, aloof things.  On the flip side, give me a dog any day.

    But Neutrino was different.  Maybe it was his habit of visiting our neighbour Joe’s greenhouse, where he was satiated on the illegal hemp plants, that made him more laid back than your average cat.  We used to swap smiles when Joe told us his joints smelled like Sauvignon Blanc.  Whatever it was, Neutrino actively sought human company just for the sake of it rather than to progress some macabre hidden cat agenda.

    So what happened was completely undeserved, even though he did bring it on himself.  Out one night with his friends, he must have decided to share the fun in the greenhouse.  The ensuing cacophony woke Joe and just about everyone else.  Fearing the racket would attract the cops, Joe went out into the dark to investigate.  We’ll never know why he took an oil lamp rather than an ordinary torch.  When one of the cats clawed his face, the effect was incendiary.

    The air was filled with sweet smelling smoke which had a remarkable effect on the old dear on the corner as she watched the firemen.  They put out the blaze but Joe was burnt to a cinder.  We never saw Neutrino again.

    Although sometimes, when I go out in the cold and the crisp bite of the air invigorates me, I catch a glimpse through the trees of a pair of glowing eyes.

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Kevan: OUTSTANDING first submission! Loved it. I’m sure everyone here will love it too. Hope to see you back every Monday and Thursday (a new one is already up).
      Everyone welcome Kevan to the addiction.

      • Kevan Farrell says:

        Thanks Shane, glad you liked it, it was fun to write and I’ll certainly try some more

      • Cathy Miller says:

        @Shane-it couldn’t be the next challenge, could it? 🙂
        =========================
        @Kevan-Welcome to CCC!

        When your life is the neutrino in a patchwork quilt of days, invigorate your soul with a visit to CCC. When your words are trapped in a macabre dance, CCC helps them explode to life and mellow the demons within, while they weave a hemp pattern of support.

        Satiate your thoughts with incendiary prose as you flip through the challenges and silence the cacophony of criticism of those who do not understand. Soon you will be addicted to the recollection of words that know no bounds and the joy of letting them free.

        Welcome to CCC!

  15. Kelly says:

    THE BOSS’ DILEMMA

    A stay-in-bed day. That’s what I need. Might not invigorate me, but at least it would keep me from infecting the office.

    Instead… The UPS guy drops off another package I don’t care about. I try not to sound flip when I say “Have a nice day” to him, but the very idea seems impossible. My assistant wants approvals on projects I can’t stand to read through. Projects I love? Nowhere to be found. No. Where. Even my recollection of the days when I did love this work is fading like the tie-dye on a 1970s hemp poncho. The very idea is nearly quaint, now. A stack of bills we’re in danger of not paying, what-with-the-economy-and-all (anybody tired of that macabre phrase?), sits in front of me. If you listen carefully, you can hear them explode with laughter from inside their envelopes, looking out through the security windows and pointing at the guy in the faux-leather swivel chair. A cacophony of mocking, Net-30-Days. Occasional payments from occasional clients pass through our bank account like neutrinos, making almost no impact on our bottom line. The sky’s as black as my mood, and there’s a leak in the roof over the left side of my desk. Somebody’s forgotten potato-salad-tub (now minus the potato salad) is just barely containing the rusty-looking drips, and to top it off, I’m eating everything in sight. No food can satiate while I’m scraping the depths of my ennui, but that doesn’t stop me from trying.

    Do I have to be in charge of everything?

    Why?

    Some days, being a grown-up ain’t worth the hassle.

    Oh, to be a teenager… to look out at that impending monsoon, crawl back under the covers, and call out, “Mom, I’ve got a sore throat. I’m staying in bed today.” Not caring how incendiary “faking it” might be, to Mom.

    Instead… I’ll man up, and pretend I love owning this place.

    Drip, drip, drip.

  16. Chris Fries says:

    Alright.  Now with this last belated entry, I’ve caught back up with the prompts that I’d missed!

    Hope you enjoy it…

    “Movie Night at the Diner”

    Martha tried not to scowl in disgust as she approached the two young men at the end of the counter.  The skinny one was hunched over, his face six inches from his Denver omelet, his bony elbows spiked into the air as he shoveled in slabs of ketchup-slathered hash browns.  He sounded like a rutting pig, snorting and smacking as he loudly chewed to satiate himself.  The heavier, dark-haired one was holding a half-eaten hamburger in one hand, his head leaned back with his pimpled nose pointed at the ceiling.  With his free hand, he’d flip a French fry through the air, trying to catch it in his gaping mouth.  He missed the shot more often then he made it, and there was a scattering of strewn fries growing under his stool.

    “Can I get you boys some fresh sodas?” Martha said.  She reached for their empty glasses before she finished asking.  She knew they’d say yes.  They were guzzling Mountain Dews as fast as she could bring them, and had already finished their third glass each.

    The skinny kid nodded and gave a loud mumble through a mouth of food without looking up.  The dark-haired one flung a fry and then lowered his chin to squint his red eyes at Martha. “Huh?  Oh yeah.  That’d be great.” 

    The forgotten fry bounced off the head of the skinny kid, and he looked up with glazed eyes and flecks of potatoes on his cheek.  Martha turned away to refill their glasses and heard them both explode in a cacophony of hemp-fueled laughter.

    Martha shook her head as she filled the glasses from the soda dispenser.  These kids were going to monopolize the counter, make a huge mess, and probably leave her squat for a tip.  She wouldn’t be surprised if they tried to dine-and-dash when her back was turned.  Martha hated working the graveyard shift on Fridays.  Most of her regular truckers didn’t come in on the weekends.  There was nothing but stoners and drunks who staggered in after the bars and clubs had closed, and they rarely tipped worth a damn.

    These two had stormed into the empty diner just after one-thirty, before the normal last-call crowd, all jazzed up about the midnight movie they’d just watched.  They kept talking about how awesome it had been when “Neutrino Man” had risen from the grave to kill and mutilate the high school kids who had defiled his hidden resting place with their after-prom party.  Stupid macabre Hollywood crap, as far as Martha was concerned.

    She returned the refilled drinks to them.  The dark-haired fry-flicker had finished his burger and was drowning the remainder of his fries in ketchup.  He nudged his buddy.  “Dude, you remember when Neutrino Man tied the big jock to the table saw, and then wired the saw to jock’s car so the saw started when his girlfriend tried to get away?”  The skinny kid mumbled and nodded.  “Man, that was so awesome,” dark-hair said, a goofy smile on his face as he enjoyed the recollection.

    Martha frowned.  These damn kids thought make-believe dismemberment was quality entertainment.  

    The skinny kid pulled his face away from the remnants of the omelet.  His eyes were wide and he had a huge grin; discussing the movie seemed to invigorate him.  “Yeah,” he said.  “Or when Neutrino Man tied the cheerleader to the bed, filled her room full of gasoline, and then rigged the fuse to her vibrator?  Now that rocked!”

    Martha crossed her arms.  An incendiary stimulator.  Jeez.  How stupid and disgusting could these movie-makers get?  Somehow they’d convinced these kids that it was cool to watch a bunch of simulated gore, snuggled safely into their padded seats, snacking on popcorn, and surrounded by Dolby sound. 

    These kids had no idea.

    Martha strolled into the kitchen and whispered to Marvin.  “We got us a couple at the counter,” she said.  Marvin was sitting on a chair next to the grill, resting between orders.  He lifted his head from his newspaper, the scars across his face grinning at Martha.  His mouth curled into a matching smile. 

    She took the razor-sharp 9-inch chef’s knife from the block and tucked it under her apron, then winked at Marvin.  He winked back, then stood and took the butcher’s cleaver from the hook.  “Give me the signal when you’re ready,” he whispered in his heavy, gravel-rough voice, and then headed for the back door and the dark parking lot beyond.

    Martha walked back front to stand behind the counter, watching the kids finishing their meal, her hand tucked under her apron, gripping the knife, a smile on her face.

    Let’s just see if these damn kids leave a crappy tip.

    Then they’ll get to star in their own movie.

    Martha smiled wider.
     
    * * *

    • Shane Arthur says:

      @Chris: HOLY BLEEP! You MUST do the next one in this series. I must know what happens. Man, my wife worked a summer at a place like that. The tips sucked, so I have a bias as to how I want this to end. Wonderful write.

      • Chris Fries says:

        Thanks Shane!  I’m really glad you liked it.  And what happens next is exactly whatever you want to happen next:

        — The kids leave a crappy tip and get to find out what real blood and gore is, as victims of the violent retribution from Martha and Marvin?
        — The kids leave a crappy tip and get the scare of their lives when Marvin and Martha only pretend to attack them, as a way to teach them a lesson?
        — The kids leave a decent tip and end up avoiding a horrible fate they never knew was hanging over their head?
        — Cops come in and arrest Martha and Marvin for previous killings, saving the kids and shocking them with how close they were to becoming the next victims?
        — Some other ending you can think up?
         
        Sure.  Whichever one you want.  I only wanted to plant the seed — the reader gets to harvest the fruit.
         
        Thanks again for your support and having a great site.  And thanks also to Chris Pearson for some wonderful words — they gave me a lot of fun!
         
        ;^)
         

  17. Sherry Gray says:

    Oh, this one was absolutely brilliant. LOVE it!


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