An Egg, a Fork and a feeling of Profound Sadness

And Go!*










* this is yet another ultrabrief fiction game. The rule for this one is that you need to match the prompt, but that you should just write your entry quick without much thought or planning. No hard work allowed!

Then leave a prompt for the next player --two simple nouns and an additional specification.

I sit here staring at the plate, fork in hand. A feeling of profound sadness fills me. Again and again this happens. My wife, my loving wonderful wife, makes me breakfast every morning. She has done so for the last 39 years of our marriage and I have always been grateful. But last year that blasted Dr. Weinfeld told her to change my diet. Since then my favorite meal of the day, cooked by my loving wife has not been the same. I sit and contemplate my breakfast. One egg, no bacon.


A car, a gold pen, and a blood red moon.
(Hope I did it right)

The hood of this car is too hot still, so I move to the roof. The gold pen clicks open as I spread the contract out. There's not much time left, but enough. I sign. Relief spreads through me. Sure, the payment was steep, but as I turn and face that blood-red moon, I need fear no transformation.

A feather, a competition; use only sentence fragments

The feather. The competition. Someone's got to. Someone else is not going to be able to.

This time. Be on top. Show the world that.

Oh no not-- it can't happen like -- I can't stand to-- It can't end like



The force, top hat and a feeling of vertigo.

Lord Vader slid off his mask, and replaced it with a jaunty top hat. While the Force had sustained him for quite some time, it was time to go. A feeling of vertigo overcame him as his breathing became more and more labored. He lay down, a smile on his face, drifting into the great beyond, already dressed for the funeral.

A dog, a cup of coffee and some peanut butter.

My dog was a coffee drinker. He would bring over his water bowl, reach up on the table, and knock off my (thankfully unbreakable) coffee cup, right into the bowl, every morning. Until, that is, I just began pouring it straight in for him.
He was actually pretty picky about human food. Oddly didn't like chicken, which saved us some trouble not worrying about shattering chicken bones. And if we wanted him not to touch anything, we'd put a bit of peanut butter on it.
Sometimes, this is worse than letting him touch it. There are warranties out there that will cover acts of dog; none cover intentional peanut butter spreading.

Lollipop, steamroller. Each sentence should contain one or more words from a different foreign language

"Sayonara," I whispered, and gunned the throttle. The little girl kept walking, oblivious, licking her oversized lollypop, totally unaware that she would soon be flatter than one of the crepes I had for breakfast. But the steamroller inched up the little cul-de-sac frustratingly slow; she was getting away!

A badge, an ice cream truck, and an existential crisis.

The man formerly known as Sheriff Joe Jackson turned the key in the ignition of his brand new ice cream truck. This was the first day in almost fifteen years that his work uniform did not include a badge. The trial was extensive and long and had cost him his job as Sheriff, his wife and almost his sanity but now, finally, he was starting over.

Mashed potatoes, a key, and paranoia.

There had been too many blocks missed, too many children denied. Jack could not continue in his role. He walked into the commissioner's office. "You aren't fit for duty. It's over. Hand over your badge!"

The Badge had four words. "In Deliciousness we trust". Well, noone was trusting that now.

But the only thing Jack could think about was what happened next. He'd been an Ice Cream Man for his whole life. Who was he without that truck? A Question with no answer. At least no answers in this office.

Sushi, a Light bulb, with a Gritty feel.

Gah! Chaosman got there first! You know what, I like this one. I'm leaving it here. The prompt is invalid, since there's one above, but I'm sure someone can do a double feature if they like...

It was a dark place on the dark side of town. The mashed potatoes and sushi did not sit well in my stomach. But under the flickering lightbulb, she dangled the key in front of me. I looked around, feeling as if someone was watching me in such a shameful position. It felt like a something out of a Tarantino movie or Vertigo comic, but the girl dancing slowly in a chastity belt was all too real.

Too gritty? Probably. Anywho:
A girl, a pagan sacrifice and background music in the form of well placed lyrics. Have at ye!

When one does a sacrifice to the gods, she thought, It's probably okay to stop at the first 5 pigeons. Getting the entire flock was probably excessive.

As she listened to the radio, The Dead Birds came on, giving a rather surreal counterpoint to the night's clean-up. She started scrubbing the blood off the verandah, her only thought was that the god's favour had bloody better be worth the effort.

A pair of spectacles, flat beer and a role reversal.

I watched in disbelief as the librarian took off her spectacles and let down her hair. It would have been a scene straight from a Cinemax late night movie, except that this librarian looked to be somewhere north of 60. From somewhere under her desk she pulled out a beer bottle and poured half the contents into a paper cup.

"Come on everyone!" she yelled into the PA system. "Party TIme!"

I looked around. The library was deserted except for me. I put a finger to my lips.

"Shhhh!!" I said. "I'm trying to study".

"Go stuff it you twit!" said the librarian. "Our budget just got slashed. This is my last day after 40 years on the job, and I intend to enjoy it!"

She poured the rest of the beer into a second paper cup and brought it over to my table.

"Drink up, sonny", she said. "You could stand to get that stick out of your butt while you're at it too."

That's when she moonwalked out of the library. My concentration was shot by that time anyway, so I went ahead and took a sip of the beer.

Great. Flat Natty Lite.



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Three bears, a silver crown, and schadenfreude

The three bears stood over their prize: the legendary silver crown of Onsgorth. It had been a long journey for all of them, far from their den, but they had done it. The youngest and most reckless immediately placed it on his head, and began to sneeze uncontrollably. The other bears couldn't help but feel some schadenfreude at his predicament, especially when he figured out the crown was stuck on him...


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Next: a pyromaniac, a truck, and a sense of mayhem...

I love fire. I love setting things on fire. But not everywhere, and all the time. For example, my truck being on fire while I am in it is not cool. Molotov cocktails are cool, but only in the abstract, or maybe in use against an armored vehicle of an oppressive government. Against my truck, not so much. Some other things going on at the moment are also not cool and don't even involve fire - like the axe that's being used to attempt to rip the door off the aforementioned truck. Well, got rid of him, but where to go next? The whole place is like this, and I can't get out without putting out the truck.

Maybe I'm only a target because I'm not going along with it? I get out, start setting things on fire... in the maelstrom, I am now safe. But this time, I can't enjoy it.

~~~~

A dinosaur skeleton, a mosquito; neither of these can be alluded to directly, but the story must still revolve around them and their identities should be deducible.

“Think of the children!” The old man exclaimed. “I can see it now how they'll gaze upwards in awestruck wonder at beings of the imagination. Beings never before by human eyes. Real flesh, rippling muscles, imagine how they'll squeal in delight at the living breathing creature. No more trips to dusty old museums to stare at the pale, archaic, stiff fossils. No! Now they can see these beasts as mighty behemoths!”
Grasping his cane to once again gaze at the amber jewel embedded as it's handle.
“All thanks to this blood sucking, flying, annoyance. Ha!”




Someone old enough to retire, someone young, something lost.