Prompt: Shop

Strained Relations

The conflict between the stores and corporate had been going on a while, but it reached a whole new level today. In my long career of corporate mediation, I can’t say I’ve seen things get this far out of hand. It started with the usual – corporate screwing over stores on hours and payroll, stores flouting the dress code and merchandising regulations. Then corporate cut off merchandise shipments to problem stores, and I knew something nasty was coming.

I admit, even I was taken aback when the severed head of the secret shopper arrived in the post, notepad in his teeth.

Prompt: Precious

Profit

Nothing’s more precious than a baby kitten.

A few years ago, that would have been pure sentimentality, but things have changed. There aren’t a lot of them around now.

It’s a simple procedure – cures all known diseases, and drastically increases life expectancy – some careless journalists even threw around the word "immortality."

The real trick is to harvest just enough blood, so the kittens survive to maturity. But tell that to the people in line to live forever.

Oh, sure, there’s a lot of money in ranching. High demand and low supply.

Sir, I don’t think I like what you’re implying.

Prompt: Seven

Vigilante

Everywhere I look, there it is. Seven. I never liked the number; it always felt awkward to do arithmetic with; also, it’s the first prime – the only single digit prime – that doesn’t have some inherent connection: Two eyes-hands-ears-lungs, the three points of a triangle (the simplest, most stable figure), five fingers on a hand. And yet, it’s everywhere – seven days a week, the seven dwarves, the seven samaurai, the seven deadly sins. Seven-digit phone numbers. What was correlation, what was causation? What did seven do to get such a hold?

I know I must destroy it.

Prompt: Ampersand

Callie’s Thing

"You think I should get what tattooed on my ass?"

"It was just a thought. Let’s think of something else."

Evan eyed me quizzically. "Why would you suggest that?"

"I've told you before, punctuation turns me on."

"That was serious, Callie? I assumed it was a cute joke."

"Oh." I felt so stupid.

"I mean, I’m not freaked out or anything. Everyone has their ‘thing.’ Yours isn’t that weird...."

"You really mean it"

"Don’t worry, honey." He put his arm around me. "But I’m not getting an apersand tattoo," he added.

I consider. "Have you ever heard of the interrobang?"

Double Drabble Sunday! Prompt: Bed

Spring

There’s still a sharp chill on the air, and our breath makes two little plumes of fog. But spring is clearly on its way – the snow along the sidewalk is nearly gone, and the tips of crocuses peek up in the flowerbeds.

Trina and I stroll down the block, taking in the new life on the air. I revel in the scratchy warmth of the sweater Mom knit for up – red on one side, yellow on the other, so from a distance we look like two girls, walking hand in hand, not an inoperable freak.
It’s not always so bad.

Bed of Nails

The fakir’s secret is simple – one nail (two, ten) will pierce skin and flesh. But spread the weight across thousands, and no one exerts enough force to break the skin. Jesus’s mistake was limiting himself, in his vanity, to four.

I have taken this trick, and made it my own. The DUI conviction was the first nail, and it stung. As did the divorce, the lost custody battle, the layoff, the forclosure. But each nail took some pressure off the others. And soon I was seeking out more – alcohol, drugs, gambling, debt. I made my bed, and I contentedly lay.

Prompt: Watch

Insurgency

"You are watching Across the Board News. Brad Bennet has some breaking news from the current conflict. Brad?"

"Thanks, Michelle. A black pawn entered White held territory today, travelling almost double the one space allowed by traditional rules of engagement, and detonated a belt laden with explosives, killing himself, three White pawns, and a bishop.

"It was expected that hostilities would end after the capture of the Black king, but the conflict has continued, long after the White king’s infamous ‘Mission Accomplished’ speech. Tonight’s violence is another reminder that the rules of warfare have drastically changed.

"Back to you, Michelle."

Prompt: Sassy

Theodore

"Very fruit-forward," said the man at the next table. "With sassy notes of apricot."

Theodore raised an eyebrow. "Did you just call your wine sassy?"

Rachel cringed. "Theo, don’t start..."

"Listen, mister. I’ve seen a few glasses of wine in my day, and I’ve yet to have one talk back to me. Damned yuppies are all the same."

"Theo, honey, leave it be," she whispered through clenched teeth.

The man at the next table tried sheepishly to act like he didn’t hear a word.

Is this where my life’s going? Rachel wondered. She hailed the waiter for the check.

Prompt: Home

Promised Land

The god liked to think of Himself as just and loving, but he was pretty sure He’d fucked up.

First, there was the "most beloved" thing. While it was technically true, since He loved each of His tribes more than anything, He should have realized that the unqualified superlative would cause trouble when they compared notes.

And then the hill: A lovely place, just right for growing olives, of which the god was fond. It was so lovely that He promised it to his tribes as a homeland. All of them.

He was not looking forward to millennial performance reviews.

Prompt: Thirsty

Intensity

And what thirst! It was as if he’d been wandering in the desert for ten days. Water poured from the spigot and down his throat, and still he gulped. Gurgling noises emitted from his throat, and I half worried that he would choke.

Tears flowed down his cheeks, pouring copiously from his blinded eyes. Once in a while he would look up from the spigot and wail wordlessly at the sky, as if to curse the gods themselves. Then he would break into manic laughter, before again thrusting his face into the stream of water.

This chili is something else.

Prompt: Bite

Magnum Opus

"Another neck wound?"

"Yep, two half-inch deep punctures, one and one half inches apart, with the usual bruising."

"And she’s drained?"

"About six pints low."

"Shit."

"People are talking."

"This is ridiculous. Do they really believe...?"

"But what if they’re right? It does look like..."

"Wait, you’re not saying you believe..."

"Well, maybe..."

- - -

I unzip my duffel. I have tools to clean. I lay them out on the bed – rope, IV needle and tubing, a stout awl. I empty bags of blood into the sink.

Forget the circles, or the bigfoot prints – this is easily my best hoax yet.