Prompt 3

The story takes place a century into the future. During the story, an important item or piece of equipment fails. A character buys a house, and they are surprisingly over-enthused about it. A character is disoriented throughout most of the story. During the story, a character eats something that disagrees with them.

Good luck! And this should be done... by Monday March 24th ish.

Yankee Swap

I had already been sitting at my desk for a good 45 minutes, completely hungover and unmotivated, squinting in the fluorescent lights, wondering why I was being paid for this job, when Shaw'na finally decided to arrive to work. She used to be Shawna from Long Island, but started working in the city and hated that she wasn't "really" a New Yorker. So when she moved to Harlem she changed her name to "Shaw'na" to fit in, and it was a real bitch to replace all her business cards with that apostrophe too. She annoyed me because she had a job even worse than mine at this lame printing company, but she was even happier than me at it. What made her so happy about supply ordering? She should learn to be miserable like me.

Anyway, on this morning when she sauntered in close to an hour late, something seemed abrasive. My stomach dropped when I watched her come in. She had her biggest knock-off Chanel bag on her arm and her nails looked freshly done. It was nothing new for her, but there was something that felt different in my gut. She had an aire like something was truly amazing, but how could that be right? It annoyed me. Our long, long weekend was over, and after five days off we were back here on a rainy Monday morning in midtown Manhattan with jammed subway commutes cause the 4, 5 and 6 trains couldn't get their damn act together.

"Hay girl!" Shaw'na said as she sat in the cubicle next to me.

"Hi," I said wearily. The lights burned, my coffee wasn't helping, and my hangover wasn't even reminiscent of a good night. It just was.

"No, no! When I say hay girl, you say..." Shaw'na prompted.

"Hay," I said monotonously.

Shaw'na never let us greet each other in any other fashion. I hated it. She was horrible in reading people, which was truly unfortunate because she irritated most people she came in contact with. Her bangs were brushed over from one side from way too far away and gave her a trashy, sleepy look. She flung her head to the right to clear the bangs from her eyes.

"That's right girl! Now why don't you take that post-it next to you and write down your contact information cause I don't know when we're gunna see each other again," she gave a frown which probably was sincere coming from her but looked over-exaggerated and borderline sarcastic. Still, my interest was piqued.

"What do you mean?" I asked. "Are you taking a vacation?" I swiveled my chair slowly towards her, feeling more aware of my old makeup smeared under my eyes and hastily thrown-up hair.

"You could say that. A long, permanent vacation with no real intentions on ever coming back," she glanced around and then leaned in slowly. "I'm quitting today!" her eyes widened and mouth opened in a feigned surprise excitement, waiting for me to return the look.

I'm sure I looked surprised, but likely in a stupefied and dumbfounded manner. How the hell did she have the opportunity to quit?

"Over the weekend I did something truly earth shattering," she confided, throwing open palms up at me for emphasis.

Well this was new. I envisioned her having collected all the stray dogs in New York and putting them in her Harlem studio for safekeeping, but wasn't sure how that was going to warrant foregoing an income.

"Um, wow." I said. Was I supposed to respond further? Was I supposed to ask questions? Admittedly, I was jealous, so I didn't want to give her the satisfaction of my curiosity, and I also knew she wouldn't be able to go long without telling me anyway.

Steve walked by on his way to the kitchenette, and Shaw'na and I both broke off our little huddle and tried to act normal.

"Hi Steve," I said.

"Hay boy," Shaw'na called out at the same time.

Steve pretended not to have heard us, and he may have even started walking a little faster too.

"Okay, are you ready for this?" Shaw'na leaned in a whispered to me.

"Mmhmm," I answered, trying not to show how curious I was.

"Over the weekend... I... bought Staten Island!" she squealed and threw herself back in her chair.

"You bought Staten Island? What does that even mean?" I was missing something. I didn't even feel very excited, just very confused.

"See, over the weekend I went to City Hall and they were doing a fundraiser. Apparently one of the cabinet members had been let go and was very bitter, so even though I was just trying to buy an old Louis Vutton wallet left behind by Bloomberg, the cabinet member drew up a contract that actually said I was buying Staten Island for only $50. They found out too late, and the contract was entirely legal and binding, so now I own Staten Island and I collect all the incomes and own all the land and everything!"

Holy cow. Maybe it was the hangover, maybe it was the whiskey shot I had poured into my coffee, but clarity hit me at that moment.

"Shaw'na, can I see the contract?" I asked as politely and friendly as I could.

"Of course, girl!" she handed it over with pink acrylic nails.

I looked over it hastily, hmm'ing and haw'ing and raising my eyebrows and pointing to different things.

"Shaw'na," I said. "This line here says that you owe all the taxes from Staten Island, not that you own them. So you would actually have to pay all that to the federal government."

"Wait, really?" the disappointment was clear, and she immediately leaned over to see what line I was reading, but I jerked it away quickly.

"That's horrible!" she exclaimed. "I don't want that!"

"Neither would I," I said sadly. "But you know what Shaw'na, you've always inspired me and been my friend. This contract isn't signed yet. What if I sign it and take it over for you, and I'll let you have my job when I leave so you'll still get double the income."

I actually had no idea if that were true.

"You would do that for me?" her eyes were watery with gratitude.

"Of course I would," I said, putting one hand on her shoulder and reaching for a pen with another.

I signed the contract as fast as I could with a sloppy one hand. I stood up on my desk and cupped my hands around my mouth.

"Excuse me!" I shouted. My hangover was feeling a little less horrible by the moment. "I'm quitting this bitch! Peace out suckers!"

I threw all my personal effects from the desktop into my purse and was marching out past all my dazes and confused and miserable coworkers. I didn't bother going through the drawers.

It was a horrible thing to do. It was. I was not proud of it at all. That's why, on some nights, I still shed a tear for the wrong I did to Shaw'na from Harlem, as I relax on my gold-threaded hammock in my Manhattan penthouse apartment with views of my island just across the water. And to clear my conscience, I renamed it Shaw'na Island, and tourism has never been better.

Viola gets her due.

“Great. News. Everyone! Please listen up, most of you have known me for years, and it has been a real trip working with each of you. I have some truly great news. I QUIT!” Viola woke up with a snap. Damn it was only a dream. But today was the day. She has been waiting for this her whole life. Every grueling weekend, while others spent letting their hair down, and cutting lose, Viola was working very hard on one project in particular. The worst was that she couldn’t tell anyone. She knew that the risks were too great.

Viola Snapztswitz was a hardworking 32 year old woman who had been in the same dead end job for 13 years. She had watched over again and over again, her male counterparts go up through the ranks. Her boss was the only female in the company who had made it to such a high position. And her boss Eleanor Rankle liked Viola right where she was, she needed her after all, and without her would likely be found out as not being as top notch as she had claimed. Years of taking credit for Viola’s hard work had paid off big time.

Finally in 1963, two years ago Viola had finally snapped, no one could tell of course, because of Viola’s cheery disposition. This was the last straw for Miss Snapztswitz.

At the end of that sad Friday when Viola went home alone to her apartment with her cat, which she had been left by her funny great aunt, she sat at her perpetual table for one in her small kitchen and began plotting. Viola was not malicious in nature and so it wouldn’t be within her to go after her boss, whom she knew stole all of her credit.  No, instead Viola would find her passion again, for she was truly an amazing chemist. But being a woman at this time meant too many closed doors.

When she graduated from the college as one of the first women to graduate in that once predominantly male only university, somehow she graduated at the top of her class, despite all of the jeers, and those trying to steal credit for her work. The misery came after graduation when Viola had all of these once wonderful seeming opportunities close shut in her face when none of the top science labs felt it was ready to allow a woman in its doors to be more than a secretary. A secretary, was what they thought this young woman was interviewing for. So many of the men laughed her out of the office, a woman scientist they scoffed. Not in my lifetime, they swore.

Eventually she met her boss in an interview for a job as a secretary at a makeup factory. At least, she thought, she could work her way up, I mean a female boss would have to understand how hard it is in this world to be a woman, a smart woman, who required a more fulfilling pursuit than to just answer calls and schedule lunch meetings. For the first few years her boss Eleanor placated Viola, teasing her with hopes of promotion, and great acclaim for all of the brilliant ideas she brought to the table, but just a little more time, you know how men are, her boss would say, we need to ease them into it.

Viola didn’t care much for makeup; she cared more about infectious diseases. However, these were the cards she was dealt. And so just as her funny aunt had said to her so many times, screw the lemons, make whatever you want. Viola always just thought she was kooky.  She never even liked cats but took in Leroy out of respect for her aunt. Leroy is who gave her the idea. One day Leroy got into Viola’s bag, looking for the half-finished tuna sandwich she had forgotten about. Poor Leroy had a horrible reaction to the makeup samples that work insisted all the female employees try out, cheaper than bringing in test subjects.

Goodness, thought Viola, as she watched Leroy’s skin flare up and swell. If this made him react like this, just think what it would do to women! She had to do something. This could be her calling. And so her plan began.

Many long weekends of researching cosmetics, ingredients, and then looking up what those ingredients had been originally created for opened up a whole untapped world to Viola and she hoped women at large. As a male dominated industry, which is pretty funny considering men didn’t wear makeup. No wonder they didn’t care what harsh and cheap chemicals went into covering the imperfections of their wives. Viola did. She cared.

Finally after all this time, and her easy access to poor Leroy, she had done it.

She dressed with fervor put on the makeup she had created from scratch and headed to the bus, to head into the city, to go to work. A funny thing happens when you have the same routines every day, you start to recognize the same people on your route, and you may even start a friendly chat. Viola was very chatty as at work she wasn’t allowed to talk outside of what her job demanded. Her boss was insistent on this for she knew if Viola had the opportunity to spill about everything her boss had stolen from her, her boss would surely be ruined.

On Viola’s bus there was a nice old man who was set in his ways and preferred to continue riding the bus he had met his wife, long since passed from cancer. It was a comfort to him, and he felt he was able to be with her every day twice a day on this bus. He had noticed Viola one day, after having spent years on this bus with her, she was really ecstatic a few months ago and smiled for the first time, that he knew of. He started to chat her up about simple things, weather, even fashion, makeup after all he was the CEO of what Viola would find out later to be her employers number one competitor.

He believed in fate, and the strong magic this bus held, so he knew meeting Viola was no accident. Mr. Henry Peabody, of Peabody Cosmetics, took an interest in what Viola thought and her ideas for the way the world could change for a woman with the right makeup application. He patiently waited for her years of trial and error; after all she was working with limited resources in her tiny apartment, on poor Leroy, the cat she never wanted.

Viola stepped on her morning bus and smiled brightly to Harry, which is what Mr. Peabody insisted she call him. Harry could not believe how amazing Viola looked her skin radiated beauty and confidence, and without his being able to tell really that she was wearing it, had it not been for the week before when she was horribly broken out from another failed home beauty product. “I did it!” She said.

Why yes you did, he said. He hired her on the spot to lead his top team of scientists and researchers for Peabody Cosmetics. She accepted on the spot. Instead of going straight to her job, she went with Mr. Peabody to his, to talk to human resources and go over her contract. Harry stayed in the room to make sure she was well compensated for her clearly exceptional intelligence in the field.  He insisted she make more than what his current top employees earned, with the insistence that her cat Leroy be brought to him at his estate. Viola was happy to oblige, now she would have access to thousands of resources and Leroy did his part and deserved to be spoiled by the cat loving Harry Peabody. He also insisted that she be put up in the company Townhouse where his top clients and international scientists stayed when visiting. It was in the heart of the west side and blocks away from work.

Viola had only one compromise; she insisted that a car service bring her and pick her up from her old bus stop so that she could still have her fire side chats with Harry. He was more than happy to oblige. Human resources and the team she would be in charge of were more than a little miffed, a woman scientist! They all murmured, But too bad, they would have to get over it. Viola would bring this company to the top of cosmetics worldwide for the next three decades back to back. Somehow they managed to get over it, especially with the huge pay bumps, and more females being given the opportunity to have leading roles in the industry and to move up through the ranks.

But before all of this, Viola was taken in the town car to her soon to be old job. She pushed her way through the doors shoving past the men who used to shove past her. “Great news everyone, I quit!”

-Samantha Bremekamp

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!