Fighting Samantha

It’s hot outside. Both of us are sweating and the cool air conditioning feels like heaven. I said something insulting to her – it was a joke, but she doesn’t just surrender. I’m washing my hands when from the corner of my eye I see her reach into her empty cup. But it’s not empty… ice! She moves to slide the cubes down my shirt, but I evade her in the nick of time. She chases, so I lash back and grasp the cup. She won’t let go, so I push her against the counter and slam her hand into the cabinet. We look like a scene from Bourne Supremacy. She won’t let go of the cup and pushes me off her and I land against the fridge. She goes for my shirt again so I smack the cubes out of her hand. I reach into the cup for ammunition but she turns to throw it down the sink. I’m fighting her for it, leaning over her body as she’s slapping away my grubby fingers. It’s in the sink, she screams. It’s too late, my hands are wet and icy and I insert both of them under her shirt. She yelps and I laugh victoriously. To celebrate, I grab her by the thighs and lift her into an embrace before I carry her to the bedroom.

Compete

Another writer sits down at the table with me. Fuck him. My survival instinct tells me to befriend him and strengthen my pack but my brain worries he might be better than me so I make sure I’m typing more than him at any given second. I see him look up at his surroundings thoughtfully and I make sure my eyes stay glued on the screen. I don’t need look up to collect my thoughts. That’s what I’m portraying. I’m better than you, with everything. Go find another Starbucks. In fact, just go home. Once I publish there won’t be a need for you to write. I’ll put down everything you’ve ever wanted to but just better. Use this time to learn a new craft, preferably something – ah shit, he just got up and left. Did he finish his piece before me?

Fuck, he’s probably better than me.

Listen to me tell you not to listen to other people

My latest for the Crusade. About chickens, success, and happiness.

Conceited Crusade

That chicken has more silicone in its tits than Dolly Parton. But if you put enough seasoning on it you might disguise the taste of plastic and convince yourself that what you’re eating is grade A, farm fresh livestock bred by a single farmer whose whole life has been dedicated to serving you this beautiful plump chicken.
Stop ignoring it. You’re putting shit into your body and then you’re upset when your doctor tells you you’re suffering from [insert choice disease here], something incurable unless you take [insert choice medicine here].

This week’s prompt is TRUTH, so obviously I was inclined to write fiction. In today’s world, we treat truth just like we treat the food we eat. We live easy, quick lives with instant gratification and then inflate the results and paint a smile on our faces and in many instances commit suicide because, shit, everybody else looks…

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YCR: a Zebra, a Man, and the Louvre

Gordon Flanders is Anyone’s Ghost, and submitted the following nouns to find love in the Louvre. I took some creative liberties with this one.

A Zebra
An African wild horse with black-and-white stripes and an erect mane.

A Man
An adult human male, usually with a dick and testicles.

If you have any requests, please leave 2 nouns and a location in the comments and a personalized love story will be posted with a link back to your blog in the next 7 days.


They called her “The Zebra”. Her slender body bore all eyes on her with forced bravado, and she corrected her insecurities by tenderly tugging at the silk sheets that delicately mounted her breasts and thighs. She was art, and the public claimed they appreciated her. As art, maybe, but not as a woman. They called her The Zebra because at birth her skin couldn’t decide what color it wanted to be. Blotches of dark and light contrasted with extreme reds and pinks. She was not normal, but society would rather whisper that behind her back than recognize that it’s okay. Right now people flocked to appreciate what wasn’t normal, but two years ago they bullied and hated her for it. Two years from now they might do the same. She was a trend – an experience. The Louvre had scored her as an exhibit and I’m sure she felt honored. She would remember this for the rest of her life and remind herself that she did something good for the world. Changed some minds. Inspired some people who suffered from the same conditions. But all she did was remind people that they’re lucky to be normal. They can gawk and “appreciate” and then go home, back to their normal lives. The Zebra is a walking art exhibit everywhere she goes, and she will be watched and judged – for good or bad – for the rest of her life.

I entered the museum and didn’t see The Zebra. I only saw Peyton Charlotte Damsey, the girl I grew up next door to, stripping for the public in the one of the most well regarded museums of the world. When she saw me, her bright blue eyes widened with shock and as she gasped her sheet slipped from her fingers and her body was naked. I had seen it all before, I didn’t need to gasp like the others. I didn’t need to take pictures or whisper to my neighboring audience members. I only stepped over the velvet red stanchion ropes and grabbed her by the wrist.
“Monsieur!” The guards yelled. They said more in French but I didn’t understand it.
“What are you doing?” Peyton whispered, outraged, as she tried to cover herself with her free hand.
“Let’s go.” I said, and I pulled her off the podium.
“Let go of me.” She tugged and tore her hand free of my grip.
“Pey,” I bit me lip, turning to her fiercely.
“You need to leave.” Her eyes were wet with anger. Her bottom lip trembled. The same one I’ve bitten. The same one I’ve kissed.
“Please.” I pleaded. But it was too late. The guards rammed into me and in a flurry of bodies she disappeared from sight.

It all happened so fast. I guess now that I didn’t need to protect her anymore suddenly I seemed like the one attacking her. Old habits die hard, I guess, and I thought these things all the way to jail and while I was waiting in the cell for my bail I still thought them. She arrived in a long coat with a hat angled down like a true Parisian. The guards weren’t with her, which I thought was weird. Maybe she wasn’t here to bail me out.

“David.” She said. Her face was skewed in a look of sympathy I wasn’t familiar with. It wasn’t the kind she had shown her dying pet dog once upon a time. This was a demeaning look.
“I just wanted to save you.” I said.
“It’s different now.” She scolded. “People are different.”
People are never different. She believes that because she’s different.
“You need to leave me alone, David, if you can’t accept what I’m doing.”
I didn’t say anything. I had practiced this conversation all day long but it hadn’t gone like this in my head.
“Please.” She continued. “Tell me you won’t follow me again.”
“I’ve never lied to you, Peyton.” I stopped looking at her.
She sighed, and from my peripheral I saw she looked away too. Both of us just looking at the same wall.
“I’m sorry, then.” She said. “Hopefully they don’t keep you too long.”

She left, the clicking of her heels echoing through the halls. I wanted to yell fuck you after her, but I couldn’t curse at her. Never had. So instead I whispered with my breath into the stone wall. “I love you, Pey.”

Anything

If I was never anything,
I’d be the shiver on your skin
As you dipped your fingers in
This river of emotion
Moating circles in the depths
Of your decisions.

If I was never anything,
I’d be the ridges of your strings,
Tied to the edges of your pretty things,
Wrapped up together
Fated to be packed up
Forever.

If I was never anything,
I’d be the flat side of a kitchen blade
Slipped into your ribs to restrict the ache
That gripped your differences
As your lips spoke of distances
Dyed in blood colors and hate.

But I will always be
anything
You ever need.
And so the kitchen blade
is obsolete.

YCR: a Nymph, the Wind, and a Pool

Fellow Conceited Crusader and love enthusiast samlobos made the first real request for a love story and I got so nervous I might’ve fucked it up. Here it is anyway, nice and short, set in a pool with the following nouns:

A Nymph
A mythological spirit of nature imagined as a beautiful maiden inhabiting rivers, woods, or other locations.

The Wind
The perceptible natural movement of the air, especially in the form of a current of air blowing from a particular direction.

If you have any requests, please leave 2 nouns and a location in the comments and a personalized love story will be posted with a link back to your blog in the next 7 days.


Amongst tall trees of emerald and deep brown hues and under the bright light of the sterling silver moon rippled the silent waters of a hot spring pool. In these waters, so warm and kind, a Nymph laid back quite calm and tired. She had eyes like crystals and hair like the sun, and her skin looked the fire she could spit from her tongue. She’d designed her night to be like this: polite, and had asked the stars to heed her plight. This day, for once this week, was her escape: even Nymphs need a way to heal from heartbreak. She laid back, with steam on her flushed cheeks, and whispered to the dead of night: “wind, oh, wind… these tears will extinguish my body’s fire.” To this the wind replied, with thrusting gusts to contrast the tender night. At first the Nymph tried to ignore it. She closed her eyes and hummed a chorus, peace, her favorite tune was sure to restore it. But the wind would not let up, he blew and blew and wouldn’t stop, and so finally the nymph was quite upset, she flew up fast and withdrew her dress. “Wind, come now, I need some help!” But the more she cried the more Wind dealt. Finally, sick of it all, the Nymph exploded into a fireball, and when her skin then turned to ash, the wind made love to her at last.

The Fight Against Cockroaches: WOULD YOU RISK IT???

My recent piece for CC. All about dat spy life.

Conceited Crusade

This week’s prompt is RISK. Warning, the title might be misleading. 

His right eye was wide and focused and his left shut tight. Sweat dripped into it but he didn’t flinch. He couldn’t – not now. His entire body was unmoved. The world around him didn’t exist – he lived in a small village 1,200 meters east of here through the forty-millimeter scope of an M24 sniper rifle. American, it had belonged to his stepfather. The hot Middle Eastern sun bore down on his scalp with determination and the sand underneath him slowly baked his skin. None of it mattered. He would die here anyway – or somewhere close by. His target was Richard Estev, a white bloke who had come here to take advantage of the turmoil the US had caused and had been moving information and weapons between different fractions of resistance and military agencies. His pale skin…

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YCR: a Panini, a Deli Sandwich, and a Starbucks RTD&E case

Your Choice Romance Vol. 2

WordPress user Samkolch selected the following nouns to fall in love in one of Starbucks’ RTD&E cases. Sam is my wife-to-be and obviously takes my writing very seriously.

A Panini
A sandwich made with Italian bread, usually toasted.

A Deli Sandwich
An item of food consisting of two pieces of bread with meat, cheese, or other filling between them, eaten as a light meal.

If you have any requests, please leave 2 nouns and a location in the comments and a personalized love story will be posted with a link back to your blog in the next 7 days.


I grew up in the slums of the backroom fridge, all the way in the bottom box. I don’t remember everything, but ma says the Green Gods put me together. She’d say, “Havarti, when you was born the good Green Gods put the bes’ turkey in ya there ever was. Ain’t nobody gonna tell my baby wha’ you gon’ grow up to be, but one thing’s certain: one ‘dese days the Green Gods will take you from this world the same way you came in it.” I wasn’t sure if I believed in the Green Gods, I’d never seen them. Not until one day, when a bright white light illuminated the world and I was taken from everything I knew. Ma always believed in the laws of FIFO, but that day those laws didn’t apply. I was taken before anyone, and I was scared. They placed me in the RTD&E case, mingled in with things I had never even known existed before. I met crackers and grapes and organic juices and milks – even quinoa salads. One day, as some indie pop-artist strummed away over the loud ambience of moving shapes, I met the one thing that made me truly believe in the Green Gods. A Panini named Swiss, with golden brown crust and tender ham of the softest pink. Something so perfect couldn’t have been an accident – the Green Gods were just. We were placed beside each other, and slowly I learned about her. Swiss grew up in high town, the highest box in the fridge. She talked all proper-like, and it wasn’t long before I realized there would never be a future for us. A Panini like her could never fall for a deli sandwich like me. I had gotten quite close to one of the organic juices, Apple, who grew up on the shelf just above mine, and because Swiss was a lost cause, I began spending time with Apple. She was nice – decent. If I ever saw my ma again she’d approve, I’d imagine. But no matter what, I couldn’t get Swiss out of my head. One day, realizing that I loved Swiss too much, I went to confess my feelings and accept whatever fate it would leave me with. But when I got to the Panini section, a new Panini had taken her place. I looked through every Panini in the case: Mozzarella, Turkey, even another Ham… but Swiss was gone.
“Where is she!?” I grabbed a Protein Bistro Box by the plastic.
“She’s gone, Varti.” He responded uncomfortably.
I couldn’t believe it. Swiss.
“Taken by the Green Gods.” Protein continued. “They’d ordered a Deli sandwich too, but the Green Gods thought they were out.”
Guilt rippled through me and I could feel my meat spoil. We could’ve been taken together. Burned in the ovens’ fires of rebirth. But I ruined it.

The next day, the Green Gods came for me. They weren’t bright and beautiful like the stories my ma told me. It was dark, and I wasn’t burned in the fires of rebirth. Instead, I was tossed in a dirty pit full of butchered coffee beans and broken lemon loaves. I lived out the rest of my day(s) there, lonely, regretful, miserable. This was hell, buried in the corpses of dead pastries.

Months later, as my body struggled to fight decomposition, laying amongst more trash than you’d know existed, l was surprised to find Swiss, broken at the waist, underneath a crinkled up Pepsi can.
“Swiss?” I managed.
“Varti…” She responded, barely conscious.
Apparently she was never properly burned in the oven, and her purchasers tossed her in the trash. Somehow, she ended up next to me. We died together in each other’s crust that day, untouched by the Green Gods.

YCR: an Avocado, a Fistula, and the beautiful Floridian Everglades

Your Choice Romance Vol. 1

Blogger and owner of children Underdaddy submitted the following nouns to be set in the Everglades in Florida:

Avocado
A pear-shaped fruit with a rough leathery skin, smooth oily edible flesh, and a large stone (pit).

Fistula
An abnormal or surgically made passage between a hollow or tubular organ and the body surface, or between two hollow or tubular organs.

If you have any requests, please leave 2 nouns and a location in the comments and a personalized love story will be posted with a link back to your blog in the next 7 days.


His fingers twitched. His eyes stared clear up into the sky, his mouth jarred open and traces of his killer could be found on his lips. Avocado, they would say. The pit is what did it. Why would he swallow the pit?

Love makes you do crazy things. I’ll admit; killing a man was a little out of my comfort zone. I’d spent my whole life just hanging with my family – one of the only avocado trees out here at the edge of the everglades in Florida. My destiny was made clear to me: be eaten. I was fine with that – I had made my peace with the notion that all I’d ever be was another source of healthy fats. This guy – this lonely hiker… he would’ve solidified my destiny. He tugged and tugged until he tore me away from my family, ripping my skin and exposing my flesh. He slipped his cold knife right into my body, carving away a perfect half-moon slice and slipping it into his mouth. I experienced his digestive system uncomfortably, but while I was down there, things changed for me. I… I met something. Her name was Fistula, and she had created herself near the exit passage of this man’s body. Despite my new, horribly deformed visage, Fistula still reached out to me. She, too, had a goal. She told me stories of what this man did, the things he had eaten and deformed just like me. She told me she caused him as much pain as she possibly could, but that no matter how hard she tried, she could not stop this man. She could not stop him from eating more things and desecrating them. That was when my real destiny came to me. I wasn’t here just to lower this guy’s cholesterol, I was here to finish him. To end this tyrannical reign of assumed superiority over fruits and vegetables. So when I felt his knife edge into another part of my skin, I took my chance. With all the movement power of an avocado, I forced my entirety down his mouth, using my oily flesh to slip between his fingers. The man struggled and struggled, but soon his entire body collapsed and I slid down his throat and into his body victoriously. But his digestive system was still enraged, and soon the only thing that remained was my hard pit, floating aimlessly around his stomach acid.
“Fistula?” I called with my avocado voice.
A low, struggling hum replied. She was dying, alongside the man. Why hadn’t she told me this? Her fate was entwined with his, and by killing him, I had also killed her. Fistula, my only love, and I was the avocado who choked her to death.
“One day…” I promised her. “One day I’ll find a way out of this body and avenge you by killing every omnivore in the world.”
Her nonexistent eyes closed and she took her final breath. Goodbye, Avocado, she told me. You were good to me.
A green tear rolled down my pit and I felt a knot in my throat.
“Goodbye, Fistula…” was all I managed before I could feel my environment shake and a rush of stomach acid moved me towards the exit as the dead man pooped his pants on last time.

Match made in…

Alright guys, I’m ready for a challenge. I’ve discovered I’m not creative enough to think up my own scenarios, so I’d like to forward the task to you.

Here’s what I need. Two nouns and an environment.

Could be anything, anyone, any place. My job is to make them fall in love in about 100 to 500 words aprox. I’ll link the concept back to your blog. I won’t turn down anything and it’ll be up in 7 days.

Aaaaaand go: