Exactly 13 words.
“Fred? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Monkey see, monkey do.”
It was more attention than she’d ever received in her life. How she’d ended up this high was anyone’s guess, but she was glad it happened: All eyes were on her; she was the star!
But what did they, her new fans, want?
Dizzy with excitement and overwhelmed by her sudden fame, she could barely make out the crowd’s monosyllabic chant from below.
Listening, listening, Faith was finally able to discern:
“Jump! Jump! Jump!”
Eager to please and keep them coming back for more, she happily obliged.
from the Sears Tower
and croaked—as frogs are wont to do.
The Daily Post: Ovation
It wasn’t the first time he’d given her a black eye, broken her ribs, or left a purple-hot bruise where no one could see.
But by God, it was the last.
“That’s it.” Marnie whispered, holding a dish towel to her bloodied chin. “I’m done.”
“You ain’t goin’ no-damn-where,” he sneered. “You ain’t got the guts…”
He kept drinking and Marnie kept quiet.
When the time was right, she found her guts.
The following day, Marnie loaded up the Pontiac and headed home, to Chicago.
Her uncle would know what to do with the body parts in the trunk.
The Daily Post: Calm
It was the first thing she saw each morning when she woke up, and the last thing she saw before falling asleep. It bungled her dreams and ruined her days.
For as far back as Tammy could remember it had hung there, taking up almost the entire wall. The monstrosity was an eyesore; a waste of valuable space where Barry Manilow and Led Zeppelin posters should have been proudly displayed.
She’d begged them to let her take it down, but her farty old grandparents wouldn’t budge.
“No, dear. It would be disrespectful,” they’d said.
She hated that portrait; the way it mocked her, sat in haughty disapproval of the few friends she had, dismissed her half-assed efforts at self-improvement. It seemed to know she would never measure-up and made fun of her for trying.
She could tell by the way the portrait rolled its sultry green eyes when Tammy glanced its way, hoping for parental approval.
Yes, the portrait was of her mother who had died giving birth to Tammy–another reason for it to hate her. Eventually, she quit trying and accepted herself as she was. Not everyone was cut out to be a svelte, heart-stoppingly gorgeous and über-talented artiste like ol’ Mommy Queerest up there.
I mean, seriously! Could Tammy help that she was:
a) addicted to Oreos with Double Stuff
b) able and more than willing to devour a party-size Domino’s Ultimate Deep-Dish Extravaganza pizza with double cheese in one sitting, and
c) accustomed to slamming three (okay, four) packages of Twinkies for breakfast‽
Tammy had had enough of the whole thing. It was time to level the playing field.
One dreary afternoon after Horseshoe Pitching 101 let out, Tammy trundled to the college bookstore to purchase supplies for her playing-field-leveling toolkit. The bill for the four items came to less than she’d anticipated, which left the door wide open for a celebratory bag of Oreos.
Later, as she munched the last hunk of cheese-stuffed pizza crust , she took Magic Marker in greasy hand and considered the options:
Would Mom prefer purple-rimmed kitty-cat glasses, or the John Lennon bottle-cap style?
Then there was the moustache: red, waxy handlebar, or a black & bushy Stalin-esque cookie duster…
Oooh! How about an indigo tattoo on one of those over-sized paws that passed for hands?
The Daily Post: Enthusiasm
Today’s writing prompt at The Daily Post is the word, fortune.
It was a lot to take in.
Mavra Ph’tera* struggled to make sense of it all. Below, the Chicago River flowed the way it always had, as if nothing had happened. He thought about jumping; just to see if they really worked, but the time wasn’t right. He wasn’t ready to take that chance.
If they did work, these crazy wings he’d sprouted would spread and glide him to safety.
Mavra liked them at first; shiny, sleek and black. When the sun hit them just right, it set off a kaleidoscope of color–kind of like when your dad’s car leaks oil in the driveway and a rainbow swirls in the puddle.
And talk about a pair of chick magnets? Saints preserve us! Last night at Bernie’s Bodacious Booty Bungalow, the girls couldn’t keep their claws off him. He’d collected more phone numbers than the Yellow Pages.
But then they started to itch. The gypsy lady at the flea market said that it was normal, and not to worry about it. When you get new wings like these, they have to get used to you, she explained. Until they settle-in and get comfortable, well, you’re just going to have to deal with it.
She gave him some special powder to use in the meantime, which seemed to help. The only drawback was that it attracted wild animals. Mavra, himself, could discern no odor, but to the animals it was an aphrodisiac. Eventually, they lost interest and wandered back to their own kind—all but the lion.
What about Sebastian?
He’d named the lion after the chubby ‘gentleman’s gentleman’ on Family Affair. As a kid it was his favorite show. He’d had a crush on Cissy, the eldest niece, but decided that it would make a stupid name for a lion.
In any case, the landlord will be none too pleased, he feared. Not only that, but imagine the kitty litter such a creature would need! Who can afford it?
There was another problem perplexing Mavra; one that he couldn’t put off for long.
How to get this jacket off!
*Black Wings (Greek)