Featured

First blog post

Well! I took a deep breath and jumped.

This is my very first blog. I’m kind of nervous and excited to get this started.

I’ve been writing stories on the Writer’s Digest Creative Writing Prompts forum every week for the past two years. It’s been a wonderful learning experience to take their prompts, no matter how weird or specific, and turn them into two or three completely different stories. I’ve written stories on there that I normally wouldn’t have considered writing – science fiction stories, vampire stories, and so on. My fellow forumites, who are awesome writers, have helped me with their suggestions and comments to grow as a writer.

So, after much mental fidgeting and nail biting, I finally decided to create this blog to give my prompt stories a proper home.

Hope you enjoy them!

AK

Advertisements

Box 5

Dear Andre and Firmin,

I know that you boys are new to this place and it’s your first time being managers of anything. So, I will do you two a biiig favor and let you know how things roll in this opera house.

You are the managers, but I am the one who’s really in charge. I will tell you who plays what role. I will tell you what chorus members need to be shipped away to Nebraska.

And you will pay me for my generous services. Twenty thousand francs every other week. It may seem like a lot, but I do have needs. I go through so many candles a month *sigh* and with the current honey bee population crises, the price of candles have increased dramatically. You try living in the bowels of an opera house without candles. I tried it once. It was not a good time.

Oh! And one last thing. This is such a small detail, but it is vastly important. You will leave Box 5 open for my use and my use alone. If I find anyone sitting in there, hahahaha. There will be a dreadful accident. I’m sure you don’t want that to happen, MY dear managers.

Sincerely and with deepest affection,

OG

****

The Phantom read it over one more time to check for glaring grammar mistakes or improper comma usage. Satisfied with what he saw, he ran up to the managers’ office, walked through a secret panel, and set the note on their shared desk.

He positioned it just right so they couldn’t help but notice it.

Then, he left, glowing with satisfaction.

These managers will be pushovers. Just like that last one who ran away from my demands. Simpery coward.

***

“Salary? He wants a salary? Wot?”

“Wot indeed. He must take us for fools. And what’s this about Box 5? Leave it open for his use? Hardly likely.”

“Indeed! We don’t take orders.” Monsieur Andre pulled out his scissors and cut the Phantom’s note into a paper doily.

And he threw the doilied note into the trash.

Raoul entered the room. “Hey. I want to attend the opera tonight. Do you have any spare tickets?”

The two managers exchanged a look and smiled. “Why, yes.” Andre said.

“Yes, we do.” Firmin said.

****

“Christine is going to have her big debut in tonight’s opera.” The Phantom readjusted his mask. “Oh!” He flapped his hands. “I’m just so excited. She is going to rock everyone’s faces off and they will love her for it. Just not love her like that. Otherwise, I’d have to kill them all. Christine is MY Christine and no one else’s.”

He flung on his cape and ran up his secret staircase that led straight to Box 5.

“I’m going to see Christine sing in a real opera. It is going to be so awesome. MY Christine will be so awesome. Of course, she’ll be awesome. She is always awesome.” He slid the secret panel aside.

And he felt like all of his life had been sucked out of him.

Someone was already sitting in Box 5.

A young man with a shoulder length bob.

That was insult enough, but matters were worse.

He was eating popcorn.

Very greasy popcorn.

Every now and then, he’d wipe his hands on the armrests.

“no.” This. This cannot be!

He stepped boldly into the Box. “Excuse me. Sir. But you are sitting in MY seat.”

The young man popped a handful of popcorn in his mouth and looked up at him. “No, I’m not. The managers said I could sit here. And I can see why. It’s the perfect distance from the stage. Not too close. Not too—”

“YOU ARE IN MY SEAT!”

“Tough. I got here first. Deal with it.”

The curtain rose and the orchestra played the overture.

“Okay. Fine. I’ll deal with it. I deal with it RIGHT IN YOUR FACE!” And he punched Raoul.

“Oh-ho! So, it’s fisticuffs you want then? THEN TAKE THIS!”

Christine glided onto the stage surrounded by a flittering group of ballerinas.

“Ah!” Phantom gasped. “MYCHRISTINE!”

She looked towards Box 5 with a confused expression.

Raoul bristled. “She is NOT your Christine! SHE’S MINE!”

“In your dreams, you flouncy fop!”

“Flouncy fop? You called me a flouncy fop? Have at thee!” Raoul threw himself at the Phantom. “AHHHHHHHHHH!”

They punched and tossled and slapped and pulled hair and yelled and shouted and swore.

And they were both arrested for disorderly conduct at an opera house.

****

Raoul and the Phantom sat on opposite sides of the jail cell.

Raoul’s hair was all messed up.

The Phantom’s mask refused to sit right on his face. So, he had to hold it in place with his hand.

They refused to look at each other or say a single word to each other.

Christine showed up.

Both men jumped up and ran to the front of the cell.

The Phantom put his spare hand on Raoul’s face and shoved him back.

Raoul kicked his bottom.

Christine stood on the other side of the jail cell. She didn’t speak.

She glowered.

“Oh, Christine! You’ve come to set me free!” The Phantom struggled to keep his mask from falling.

“Ugly bozo man!” Raoul strode to the door. “My Christine has come for me not you.”

“She is NOT your Christine. SHE IS MY—”

“If you two don’t stop right now, I will enter that cell and clobber you both.” Her voice was like a steadily building thunderstorm.

Both men went silent.

“You two idiots ruined my big debut.”

The Phantom pointed at Raoul. “He was sitting in my spot and getting grease stains everywhere.”

She Medusa-glared him.

He shut up.

“I am too furious and upset to deal with either of you two right now. I will bail you out in the morning.” She smiled and both men shuddered. “Good night.”

 

For One Bottle Of Bottled Bliss

What would you surrender for one bottle of bliss?

Nothing?

Sir! You don’t understand what I have here. This…is bliss.

Say the word nice and slow.

Bllllissss.

It is a sublime word and only five luxuriant letters long.

Blllllliiiiisssss.

It’s sibilant and seductive.

It is serene and sweet.

Blllliiiiiiissssssss.

Yes.

It is intoxicating stuff. One drop can keep you happy for a month. Two drops for six months.

The whole bottle…for the rest of your life.

Nothing will offend you.

No shrewish wife nor overbearing boss.

You’ll smile at traffic jams.

You’ll glow while waiting for your wife at the mall.

Do you want it?

Of course, you do.

What will you give me in exchange?

*smirk* Your soul, huh? Nice to know I didn’t have to build my way up to it.

Yes.

You can have the bottle of bliss in exchange for your soul. Just know this: If it doesn’t work out for you…If you find that there are small side effects, sorry. No refunds. No returns.

Very well.

Just sign on the dotted line.

Very nice signature.

Excuse me while I prick your finger. These kind of deals require one drop of blood. I’m sure you understand.

Ahh. There we go.

Thank you, sir.

It was very nice doing business with you.

May Writing Prompts

 

 

Forgotten…Ruins

Forgotten.

Small pieces of memory.

Large chunks of time.

Rules and names.

Places and places for things.

Where are my keys? I put them…

I know I put them…

What am I looking for?

What is that voice I hear in my head?

Is that…me?

Who?

If it isn’t me…

Who is this me they’re talking about?

There is someone else in my house.

She’s hiding in my bathroom.

I see her in the mirror, but she disappears when I look around.

Who is she?

Who is speaking inside my head?

Who is my?

Who is me?

Who am I?

I’m frightened.

Who am I?

I’m scared.

Who am I?

Where are my car keys?

Who is my?

I’m an old woman.

I’m a child.

I want someone to hug me and tell me I’m okay.

I.

I.

Me.

I’m.

Who am I?

Someone tell me…who am I?

May Writing Prompts

Bavarian Cream Daydreams

Bavarian cream.

Thick, decadent Bavarian cream.

Looks like shaving cream.

But it isn’t.

It’s Bavarian cream.

Thick, fluffy, delicious

Bavarian cream.

I want some so bad.

Bavarian cream

Straight from…uhh? Bavaria.

Cows born and raised in the beautiful green fields of Bavaria produce the milk that gets whipped into

Bavarian cream.

Lovely, delicious Bavarian cream.

I really wish I had some right now.

Don’t you?

May Writing Prompts

Fight Or Flight?

Memoda sat in her corner.

Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Fight or flight.

The lump on the back of my head is finally going down. So, that’s good.

But.

Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Fight or flight.

It’s been a while since my last broken bone. One more good thing.

But.

Fight or flight. Fight or flight. Fight or flight.

The bruises on my arms…They’re more green than purple. Nothing new. Also good.

But I can’t stay here. I can’t live like this. I can only break more and more until nothing heals right.

If I stay…

He hasn’t done anything to me for some time now.

Maybe he’s gone better.

Maybe he’s changed.

Or maybe he’s a set mouse trap waiting to snap down and crack my neck.

I can’t stay.

It will hurt him if I leave.

He’ll hurt me if I stay.

But he’s been mercifully distant.

He will snap. He always snaps.

There are only two options.

Fight or flight.

And only two more options after that.

Live or die.

Memoda rose from her corner.

Fight or flight.

She was careful.

Fight or flight.

She was quiet.

Fight or flight.

She didn’t pack anything.

Flight.

She tiptoed to her bedroom door.

Flight.

The door was unlocked. He was used to her obedience. He was used to her cowardice.

Flight.

He never expected her to run away again.

Flight!

Flight!

FLIGHT!

He would never see her again.

May Writing Prompts

Rinky Dinky

Rinjay Dinkalov sat in his empty bathtub, fully dressed.

I always thought that after a certain amount of time, people forget old jokes.

Old meanness.

I always thought that as soon as you grow up, those jokes you found sooooo funny as a kid would lose its luster and become something of a mystery.

Rinjay saw the sneering smile of his boss.

My boss.

Derbert MacDrubb is my boss.

He remembered me.

He still remembered the old nickname.

Rinky Dinky.

And all of the crass variations of it.

I can’t do it.

I can’t go in to work tomorrow.

I should call in sick.

I should quit.

I can’t work with him.

I can’t smile and play pleasant, happy employee for him.

I can’t.

I won’t.

But.

Other than him, I like this job. It pays well.

Very well.

Has good benefits.

Excellent benefits.

I just hate my boss.

That’s all.

Rinjay rested his chin on top of his knees.

I’ll go to work tomorrow.

If he starts it all up again, I’ll slap down some ultimatums.

And.

We’ll see what happens.

May Writing Prompts

 

Cloudy Dimensions

Cloudy dimensions and pie in the sky.

Ice cream cakes dripping with whipped frosting miles wide and thick.

Cool Whip castles clomped together with heavy handed glee.

Chubby cherubs shooting arrows of love at each other just for fun.

Fat white cats chasing soft moons and delicate whisps.

Feathers drifting high.

Jet streams and unscented lines of smoke.

***

That’s what I see in the sky during the day.

I’ll tell you later what appears in the sky at night.

May Writing Prompts