Writing Prompt – Creative Copy Challenge #495
Posted: July 19, 2017 Filed under: Uncategorized 8 CommentsThis is a writing prompt. Bet you can’t do it! Take the 10 random words below and crush writer’s block by creating a cohesive, creative short story! And remember: after (if) you finish entering your submission into the comment field, 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, we BET YOU CAN’T do those, either.) NOTE: Our bolding plugin is gone, so you’ll have to put before and after each of your challenge words if you want them to stand out, but NOT REQUIRED THOUGH! Or, as cleverly done by a CCC-er you can CAPITALIZE the challenge words in your piece.
I am beginning to invite others to be the author of a week’s list of words, that means you too! All you have to do is email me at TheHandMaiden_Kathleen@hotmail.com
- Languidly
- Sweltering
- Parfait
- Parlay
- Turf
- Furlong
- Spat
- Document
- Public
- Caller
Writing Prompts - Creative Copy Challenge 
Caller number two was one of the folks that wound up over in the county jail in Hooverville after the incident and apparently nobody had got to Donny Donuts over at KQEZ and read him in on it because he let her just keep on talking and she turned what was supposed to be nothing more than a little community spat into a highly public embarrassment for our town of Cooter’s Corners, not to mention the governor and several members of the legislature.
Until her call, the story line was that it had been one of those sweltering Fridays in July when everybody was glad the week is over and nobody was thinking quite right and Johnny Snags and the Obbie brothers had gone down to the track to see if they could parlay some of their wages into a little bit of fun money on the five furlong races. Caller number 2 worked in the refreshment shop and the mayor said in his press conference that she served each of them a parfait right around that time so y’all could see that there was just no way those boys could have also been down on the turf doing anything funny. And if it also happened that some of the other esteemed citizens of our town laid down some spare dollars against the long shot nag, well he said, just because coincidence is rare doesn’t mean it never happens. And it was too bad the horse was dead and hauled off because the tests surely would have put any doubts to rest.
He said that in front of the T.V. cameras and then he turned and gestured to the line of folks lined up on the steps behind him. They were all stood there languidly, like they didn’t have a care in the world, all of them wearing that rich-people’s smile like they were the cats who’d caught the canaries. Was anybody, the mayor asked, really going to impugn the reputation of not one, not two, but ALL these fine people?
Yeah, caller number two told Donny. She was. And furthermore she had the document that was going to prove it.
Okay, this is a great scene! Setting and characters are so intriguing, the need to know what happened in Cooter’s Corners is overwhelming. (I buy books based on blurbs like yours!!!)
Cheers,
Mitch
The caller had wanted to parlay his knowledge of the black ops Parfait Protocol into an early release from the sweltering patrols in the desert. The stupid soldier was found dead less than a furlong from the only public phone in Baghdad.
Henderson, the Bureau Chief, spat languidly on the saloon floor. “Hell, that boy was 6,000 miles from here, Senator, and they still got to him. I know you’re bluffing about making that document public. But just in case you’re just as stupid, remember whose turf you’re on. A bullet would be too merciful.
Great scene Mitch. “The Parfait Protocol” would be a great title for a comic novel.
Thanks, Chet. That Ludlumesque title would be fun, indeed!
Cheers,
Mitch
Lara loved to hike the verdant forest trails that paralleled the Little Lazy River. It was cooler, there, in the shade of old, vine-covered hawthorns and silverbells. The creek – it could hardly be called a river, really – meandered languidly in the sweltering heat; even moving water took on a sluggish, heavy stink when it had gone too long without a shower. Lara snapped a few photos with her cell phone, just to document the conditions in the area, as she’d done at least once a month for the past four years, ever since she’d heard the chilling tale on public radio one night that sent her on her quest to find the creature some called “chupacabra.” The caller had earnestly insisted that the beast was no mere myth, as many assumed, dreamed up to enchant tourists and bring their trade to the sleepy, western town of Nogatos.
The caller had suggested that the town might have earned the name “no gatos” – no cats – for a reason. That included larger cats, like bobcats and mountain lions. No one had spotted one in the area for as long as anyone could remember, and until recently, no one seemed to wonder why. Lara wondered. Lara had even parlayed her interest into a paying gig with the local paper, where she wrote a weekly column that touched on issues such as soil erosion, global warming, fertilizer run-off, xeriscaping – anything that gave her an excuse to hike the Little Lazy River on weekends. She’d earned enough to set up a few small night-vision webcams in the area in hopes of catching the elusive chupacabra, should it prefer night-time to the bright light of day. So far, though…nothing. She had watched a small family of alligators swallow a badger, two armadillos, and a couple of turtles, though.
Cycle of life. Lara had grown up watching Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom, so she knew that beauty and brutality were inseparable in nature. She went to check on each of the cameras; they’d not been broadcasting anything but gray static for a week. Curiously, each of them had been vandalized, turned upward towards the sky. They bore scratch and tooth marks. But it didn’t appear random – every camera was pointed straight UP. Lara adjusted each and tested the reception on her cell phone.
Wild Kingdom before bed as a kid did not prepare her for what she found just a furlong ahead, around the next bend. Snarling, slavering, the mangy creature stood over layers of viscera stacked like some grisly parfait. They might have been human remains – Lara had never been much good at geometric puzzles, and her brain wasn’t playing that game while entrails steamed a few feet ahead of her on the trail. The beast bared its fangs and spat at her, standing its ground, protecting its turf. She took a step backwards. It glared at her. Another step. Another. Slowly. She fought to keep her breakfast down. These are not the droids you’re looking for, she whispered, stifling hysterical giggles. When she reached the bend, she could hear it returning to contented sounds of rending and chewing flesh, its growls becoming guttural sounds of satisfaction. Lara turned and ran.
Later, describing the chupacabra, Lara realized how insane she sounded. There were no reports of missing persons in the area, and police found nothing – not one scrap – of anything, anyone – around the trail where Lara led them. Lara knew what she’d seen, but she had been too terrified, for once in her life, to pull out her phone and take the shot. And so, the myth lived on, even as Lara was assigned to advertising sales and told to “shut up about the rabid dog, already.”
Lara wished it were so easy to forget the chupacabra.
Aiiieee! Why did I read this before bed? This had me giggling and terrified by turns:
even moving water took on a sluggish, heavy stink when it had gone too long without a shower
Snarling, slavering, the mangy creature stood over layers of viscera stacked like some grisly parfait
These are not the droids you’re looking for, she whispered, stifling hysterical giggles
she could hear it returning to contented sounds of rending and chewing flesh, its growls becoming guttural sounds of satisfaction
Yikes.
Cheers,
Mitch
Holly, Holly, Holly! ~
What a treat to read. I am loving your descriptions. And here are a few that I liked the best:
…moving water took on a sluggish, heavy stink
…layers of viscera stacked like some grisly parfait.
…her brain wasn’t playing that game while entrails steamed a few feet ahead of her on the trail
…and chewing flesh, its growls becoming guttural sounds of satisfaction…
And a great reference to a show I loved to watch as a kid, too!
Write On,
Kathleen