Prompt #2

Write about someone who comes back to work after a long weekend and quits because they used their weekend to accomplish something truly earth-shattering (or just something really, really lucrative).

Due: Monday, March 3rd

Elliott's Afternoon

            Elliott wanted out. His chair at the small table was facing the front entrance windows, and he couldn’t help glancing out that way, through the parted orange-plaid curtains to the falling snow and growing mounds outside. He wiped the slow-falling sweat from his forehead on the long white polyester sleeve of his Elvis Presley costume and took a breath, trying to hide how badly he wanted out of the stuffy hot café and to go run out amid the snow and icy wind that would surely bring some cool relief to this hot and sticky air he was baking in now.

            It was quiet around their small polished table, the only noise was a small radio playing from the bar, and the ticking pendulum of a hanging clock by the door. The café owner was wiping down the wood-and-gold espresso machines and didn’t seem at all aware of the tense four-top square table where Elliott was sitting.

            To the left of Elliott was John Lennon in one chair, and although he seemed wispy and hollow, it paled in comparison to his relaxed demeanor, and he would tilt his long greasy hair from side to side as if acknowledging a melody only he could hear. Across from Elvis was a static-seeming Richard Nixon, sharp in his 70s suit, but nevertheless old with his drooping skin and large pores. He did little more than take in his surroundings with lips pressed tightly together, eyes keenly taking in each movement. He seemed to study Elliott the most, and be the most offended when Elliott glanced outside of their company. To the right of Elliott was a life-sized, shiny, candy-red lobster comfortably upright at the table, curling down the chair with his tail propping him up from the floor, his large bubble eyes atop long stems, claws happily pinching around coffee mugs and water glasses. Elliott guessed that the lobster was partaking in the novelty of sitting at a human table, but he didn’t know what to make of the linked gold chain around the lobster’s neck, heavy with a solid gold banana charm hanging down the front. And then there was Elliott at the head of the table in white Elvis pantsuit, gold glasses and stiff black hair, sweating and trying to contemplate a quick exit into the Albuquerque winter desert. He glanced at the center of the table where his beloved thin chrome flashlight sat atop their small pile of bettings, with John Lennon’s small circle-frame glasses, Nixon’s red telephone, and the lobster’s claw bands, which had to be cut off by Elliott himself for the lobster to wager. Anything would be better than this right now. Anything would be better than losing his flashlight. The heat was making him irritable, and he didn’t feel that he had much left to lose. He grew bold.

            “Look guys, I never wanted any trouble. Please just let me take my flashlight, and I’ll get out, and we’ll call it a day,” Elliott pleaded, running his hands through his hairsprayed hair with a crunch.

            “No Elvis, you’re not getting it a’tall. We don’t want to call it a day, mate,” John Lennon said in his wilting English voice.

            “We want you,” Nixon began in a deep throaty voice, “to give up writing your book. You are dividing your effort up. You’ll fail at everything at this rate. We’re trying to help you.” He pointed harshly, which gave Elliott the impression of an Uncle Sam poster.

            The lobster lifted his glass toward Elliott, apparently in agree with the other two.

            “Your attachment to material things is so very disturbing Ellie man,” John whispered. “Look at you. What do you dress like Elvis for anyway?”

            “It’s- it’s my job,” Elliott retorted. “My father was an Elvis Impersonator, and I promised him I’d carry on the legacy. It’s what we have to our name. It was his dream, and my dream. I’m making it real. And I was just going to document it with a story. I’ve been out doing research for this book, it was going to celebrate my father’s entire life. And he gave me that flashlight, when I told him about the project he told me it would always light my way!”

            “Is it lighting your way now?” Nixon asked point-blank. “You gave it up for our bet. Our bet that we could outsit you, and if you won you would take everything, and be able to be everything you ever wanted. But if the flashlight is so important, why would you risk it to have nothing?”

            The lobster made some sort of cooing sound and pushed a mug of coffee to a corner. His eye blinked. Or at least Elliott thought that’s what a lobster blink might look like.

            “You know,” Elliott said, gaining courage, “my daughter used to pray every night that Harry Potter might come true, and I thought it would be a good idea, but I think I forgot how awful boggarts are!”

            “Hey! You watch your mouth sonny,” Nixon shouted, offended.

The lobster snapped his claws in anger.

“Ah, come on now, you don’t really mean that,” John Lennon said.

“I do! I do!” Elliott screamed. “Boggarts are horrible and they are your worst fears, and they mess you up!” Elliott slowed down and he realized the error in his afternoon. “Oh my God,” he said. “Boggarts mess you up. You guys are trying to mess me up! How did I forget that? You’re not helping me! You made me think you were helping me, but you’re not! You voiced my own insecurities and I was so desperate for an answer to my life’s problems that I listened to any solution you offered me, but you are wrong! I can write this book, and I can impersonate Elvis, and I can be a good father! I can do all these things!”

Elliott grabbed his flashlight back from the pile and moved to stand up, but only found he was immobilized in his chair. He could not separate himself, he was stuck in seat, sweat pouring freely now, while the three boggarts sat calmly and blank-faced, looking back at him.

“Elvis liked something enough, my man,” John Lennon said through an emotionless face. “Elvis liked something. If you were so good an impersonating him, you might know what it is. And set yourself free to go write your book and be an Elvis father. Is that what you wanted, do I have that right?”

Elliott’s mind was racing. Elvis liked something? We all like something. What did Elvis like? Music, of course. Guitars, girls, Tennessee. What did that mean? Just then, Elliott’s stomach grumbled. After all these hours of sitting, he was hungry. Elvis would probably eat a peanut butter and banana sandwich. That’s it! Elliott thought. The banana!

Quick as a karate chop, Elliott grabbed at the gold banana charm hanging around the lobster’s neck and yanked hard, while the lobster’s claws circled wildly in fear, and John Lennon and Richard Nixon were shouting “No!” and jumping toward Elliott, but it was too late. The gold chain broke and at the same time, all three of the boggarts exploded into a puff of air, Elliott screaming in fear from all the commotion, falling back into his chair, this time alone at the table.

“Alright, alright, I hear you, no need to shout!” the barman came bumbling over to Elliott with pen and pad ready.

Elliott was flabbergasted. “Um… uhh…” he took a breath, bewildered, looking about himself with wide eyes.

“Could I… may I… think you could do a uh, a peanut butter and banana sandwich?” he asked.

The barman hesitated a moment, rolled his eyes, coughed, and then grunted out a yes before turning away and heading to the kitchen.

“And can you open up a window in here already?!”

The first post and writing challenge a little East meets West if you will...

John Nickelson is having a bad day. He is stuck in this dead end job as an Elvis impersonator no thanks to his genetics, and his father pushing little Johnny to put on shows for the neighbors as “Lil’ Elvis, the golden years.” It’s a safe assumption to believe that little Johnny never got any action from any of the girls on the street. His fame grew locally and by the time he had graduated high school he was a bit of a celebrity. He had been featured on three news shows.

The problem was that no one would hire him outside of town. His father had been banking on him being a famous impersonator, and never taught him any life lessons and didn’t believe in school education. Johnny couldn’t read above a fifth grade level.

Johnny’s favorite thing to do, on his days off, was go to the local library and sit behind the children’s section during story time. He loved to hear all about the adventures all of the characters in the books went on and more so how much joy it brought to the children. In fact, he had a pretty serious crush on the children’s librarian who everyone called Miss Nan. He knows that if he writes a world famous children’s book, that one day she would read it to the class and he would be able to come out of hiding and introduce himself. Sure, she knew him as Elvis, but she never met the real John Nickelson.

When story hour is over he secretly follows Miss Nan to the local café where she sips her mocha café mmmmmlatta while reading her big kid book, as he referred to it. He didn’t know what it said, but there was a picture of a really good looking man holding a beautiful woman, so he got the idea.

Of course, just his luck, those mean old boggarts had to choose this moment to crash his party. They went right up to him reminding him of the money he owed from the last poker match. He was able to talk them into a double or nothing match right here right now.  Maybe he could beat them, and impress Miss Nan, and then with the money he would be sure to win, he could take them to a movie! Money up front, the boggarts said.

Oh man those boggarts were the worst. Miss Nan’s attention was peaked, and he didn’t have more than two dollars to his name, but he did have.. no he couldn’t…. well… for Miss Nan? And anyway it isn’t like he was going to lose this time. Johnny pulled out his golden flashlight. It was the first prize he won impersonating Elvis, and a professional impersonator of Elvis gave it to him himself! The real impersonator had met Elvis in real life! So this was like touching the hand, of the man, who touched real Elvis’ hand, and this golden flashlight. He left him with these words, “Hunka hunka burning light. Don’t ever be left in the dark kid.”

The reflection of light off of the golden flashlight blinded the boggarts with awe. They accepted the challenge greedily, and so the match began.

(Now the fun really begins, choose your own adventure ending. What will happen is slightly up to you. If you are a lovey dovey happy go lucky, happy endings or bust type a guy/girl then go to A. If you are one of those loves-to-see other people have worse lives than them types go to B. And if you are one of those wishy washy meh, I could go either way sorts go to C.

      

             A. The Greatest Happiest Bestest Ending that Little Johnny Could Ever Ask For

This was the most high stakes poker match this town had ever seen. People began pouring into the little coffee shop just to try to sneak a peak of a group of grisly boggarts sharing one hand of cards against that famous local “Little Johnny.” Little did we know that the coffee shop was about to go out of business because of the big bad star bucks corporation buying up the space around it to open a mega den of mediocre coffee to the masses. This sudden burst of business really saved the day for this coffee shop to remain in business for at least another month!

John’s father made special arrangements with his nursing care facility to have him, and his friends from the floor, transported by the volunteer candy stripers just to see his famous son play. His dad hadn’t left his facility in years on the count of depression and being too sad to ever go feel the sun shine on his face again. Boy did that sun feel good today! The air was crisp, the sun was high, and there was not one cloud on the horizon.

After four grueling hours of serious card throwing it came down to one last turn of the deck. It would be with this final hand that Little Johnny would make his triumphant return into the lime light.

In the slowest possible toss of the card, that some folks say lasted at least 45 minutes of the card soaring through the air, Little Johnny held his breath and just looked deeply into the eyes of his love Miss Nan who returned the electric gaze. In this moment he thought no matter what he would finally ask out Miss Nan. He no longer wanted to be that creepy guy in the book shelves spying on the story hour. He wanted to be recognized as a man, a man who loved Miss Nan, and of course her story telling magical ways.

The roaring crowd shook him from his locked stare to see that, he in fact, as impossible as it was, having never won a hand of poker once in his life, he had actually beaten the bogarts.

Those nasty heathens growled, and howled, screamed and punched at each other sending blame around and around. The golden flashlight never looked so golden. Johnny picked it up and waved it triumphantly. He then went over to Miss Nan and dipped her like on the cover of her book, and kissed here in front of the cheering crowd.

Oh Miss Nan, he said. Please call me Miss Nan, she said. And he laughed. “Why don’t you come back to my place and read me some bed time stories, while I tuck you in,” Miss Nan blushed.

A sprite older man interrupted the smooching, “Little Johnny, my name is Max Wellington, and I would like to co-write a book about you, what do you say?” Little Johnny could not believe how much his luck had changed in one day. Johnny’s smiled spread in a funny direction, with his lip curling just so“Yes. Why thank you, thank you very much.” All his dreams came true.

      B. For those anti happy endings folks….

This was the most high stakes poker match this town had ever seen, played in a coffee shop. People didn’t even notice. On more than one occasion near buy patrons told the group to be quiet, and to take their business elsewhere. Little did we know that the coffee shop was about to go out of business because of the big bad star bucks corporation buying up the space around it to open a mega den of mediocre coffee to the masses. The few customers that frequented this shop had had enough of this noise and left to bring their green to star bucks.

The manager knew that if they didn’t have a sudden surge today, this would be the shop’s last day. He started firing his loyal employees one by one. Many of them were actually on parole, as the owner believed in second chances and this was their last hope. This would mean they would have to turn back to a life of crime, or worse go to jail for breaking parole.

John’s father heard the news from his nurse, at the nursing home, who had just been at the coffee shop buying coffee and cookies for her staff. His father knew how bad Little Johnny was at everything but being Elvis, and his father also knew it was mostly his fault for putting all this hunka-hunka eggs in one basket. The thought of his son losing the only thing of value that the family had left, that golden flashlight, gave him a massive heart attack and he died on the spot.

After four grueling hours of serious card throwing it came down to one last turn of the deck. It would be with this final hand that Little Johnny would make his triumphant return into the lime light or suffer the dire consequences.

In the fastest possible toss of the card, Little Johnny held his breath and tried to look deeply into the eyes of his love Miss Nan. Miss Nan however was giving a serious seductive stair to one of the bogarts. In this moment he thought no matter what he would finally ask out Miss Nan, because maybe he was mistaken about who she was looking at. Maybe she was near sighted and didn’t realize she wasn’t looking at him. He no longer wanted to be that creepy guy in the book shelves spying on the story hour. He wanted to be recognized as a man, a man who loved Miss Nan, and of course her story telling magical ways.

The cackles of his enemies quickly snapped him back into reality. He had just lost his golden flashlight. Worse yet, Miss Nan was kissing a bogart! “Miss Nan, how could you, I thought, I thought maybe you would want to go out with me?” But Miss Nan had other plans.

“Actually sir, you are under arrest, for one count of illegal gambling, and 1097 counts of pedophilia. Sir we have multiple witnesses who can attest to your spying on children every day for the past three years. And we know for a fact that you do not read, as you have never checked out a book. I’m not actually a librarian, I am an undercover homeland security agent, who was assigned to this library because of you and your ties to the boggarts.” Miss Nan said.

Two of the boggarts ripped away their skin to reveal two other homeland security agents. How could they do that, the makeup artist they used must be from that show Face Off. They put cuffs on Little Johnny and took him away. Leaving his beautiful flashlight in the hands of Miss Nan. “I am going to write a book and become famous,” she said, loudly so that John could hear. But, but all he had ever wanted was to write a book.

      C. For the inbetweeners.

This was the most high stakes poker match this town had ever seen. People began pouring into the little coffee shop just to try to sneak a peak of a group of grisly boggarts sharing one hand of cards against that famous local “Little Johnny.” Little did we know that the coffee shop was about to go out of business because of the big bad star bucks corporation buying up the space around it to open a mega den of mediocre coffee to the masses. This sudden burst of business really saved the day for this coffee shop to remain in business for at least another week!

John’s father begged to make special arrangements with his nursing care facility to have him, and his friends from the floor, transported by the volunteer candy stripers just to see his famous son play. His dad hadn’t left his facility in years on the count of depression and being too sad to ever go feel the sun shine on his face again. Of course the facility only allowed him to be taken by the janitor who was on his lunch break, and making a coffee run for the group. But boy did that sun feel good today! The air was crisp, the sun was high, and there was not one cloud on the horizon.

After 45 grueling minutes of serious card throwing it came down to one last turn of the deck. It would be with this final hand that Little Johnny would make his triumphant return into the lime light or suffer the miserable consequences.

In the slowest possible toss of the card, that some folks say lasted at least 3 minutes of the card soaring through the air, Little Johnny held his breath and just looked deeply into the eyes of his love Miss Nan who returned the electric gaze for one second until she went back to her book. In this moment he thought no matter what he would finally ask out Miss Nan. He no longer wanted to be that creepy guy in the book shelves spying on the story hour. He wanted to be recognized as a man, a man who loved Miss Nan, and of course her story telling magical ways.

The roaring crowd shook him from his locked stare to see that, he in fact, as impossible as it was, having never won a hand of poker once in his life, had actually beaten the boggarts.

Those nasty heathens growled, and howled, screamed and punched at each other sending blame around and around. The golden flashlight never looked so golden.  John’s father stood up from his wheel chair and clasped his son on the back, while holding his oxygen mask in the other hand. “Well done my boy, I knew you were special.”

Johnny picked up his father and hugged him. He then grabbed his golden flashlight and waved it triumphantly. He then went over to Miss Nan and dipped her like on the cover of her book, and went to kiss here in front of the cheering crowd. But she politely stopped him, and stood back up just as her fiancée came into the café. He was in fact the model on the cover of the book. That was why she was always reading those books he was always on the cover. “This is my fiancée Raul,” said Miss Nan, John’s heart sank, “and let me also introduce you to my twin sister Priscila. Johnny had never seen anyone so perfect, and so beautiful… “Hi, I’m Priscila, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Yes, Priscila is the brain of the family, she is a big time literary editor.” Said Miss Nan.

“Well I also I teach adults how to read at the youth center if you ever want to stop by. I never get to meet such handsome men at work.” She winked.

“I would really like that. Thank you, thank you very much.” Said John.

This was the best, worst, best day of Little Johnny’s life.

(Hope you enjoyed it! --Samantha)

Prompt #1

Main Character: Elvis Impersonator

Place: Small cafe

Action: Losing a bet to a group of boggarts, about to lose his favorite object (his flashlight)

Main Character Wants: To write a book

...go!