“The Bag” a bit of weekend freewrite fun

Every weekend the freewrite group on steemit has a bit of fun by writing a story using three prompts (five minutes per prompt). See this post to find out more

This is my effort (the prompts are in bold)

1535818899940

“Clarity and protection is all I want from you,” she said. I shifted behind the counter, feeling just a little bit uncomfortable.

“Errr,” I said. “I think we are all sold out of both of those brands. But I could offer you Jeepers a brand new perfume. I think it smells of burnt grapes, or something.”

She wrinkled her nose. “No, thank you,” she said, and limped away from the counter.

“Excuse me!” I said, holding up her bag. “I think you’ve forgotton your purse.”

She turned around and looked at the bag, and then at me. “I think it suits you better,” she said. “Keep it.”

I stared, open mouthed, at her as she continued her way out of the shop.

“What was that all about,” Millie said, coming out of the office.

“I think she was looking for perfume, or something,” I said. “But she left her bag. Or rather, she’s given it to me.” Millie took the bag and leapt over the counter, running towards the door.

Just before starting second grade, Tom moved across the country. He hated it. He is now fifty seven, and he still holds it against the rest of us. He stuck his foot out as Millie ran towards the door, bag in hand. Like the pro she is she jumped neatly over the outstretched leg and gave Tom a whack in the face with the woman’s bag.

“You’re a fucking arsehole, Tom!” she shouted. She skidded out of the door and I watched as she stood there, bag in hand looking first one way and then another. She shook her head, and popped her head back in the door. “Did you see which way she went?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Nope, but she couldn’t have gotten very far. She had a slow moving limp.” Millie looked at me, a strange expression on her face.

“Slow moving limp?” she asked. I shrugged again. Millie ran out into the car park (or in that direction, anyway) and then a few minutes later she returned, bag still very much in hand. “I have no idea where she went,” she said. “Vanished into thin air.”

“Very mysterious,” I said. “Perhaps I am meant to keep the bag.”

“Don’t be an arse,” Millie said. “I’ll take a look inside and see if I can find some ID.”

Millie plonked the bag onto the counter. We both looked at it for a moment. It was a pretty big back. Not quite suitcase size, but too big to be described as a handbag.

Unless you had particularly big hands.

It had a large zip on the top, and with confidence Millie took hold of it and gave it a big tug.

It made a very unusual noise. It sounded a little bit how I would imagine a dinosaur fart would be like.

“Wow!” Millie said, leaping back from the bag, clutching her hand to her nose. It kind of smelled a little bit how I would imagine dinosaur arse-gas to smell like. I stepped forward.

“Allow me,” I said. I pride myself on my ability to endure bad smells (I produce a lot of them) and so I opened the top of the bag and peeked in. And then closed it again, quickly. “I think we should just zip that baby up, and pretend we haven’t seen it,” I said.

“What?” Millie said.

I took hold of the zipper and closed the bag and then turned my back on it.

“If we pretend it is not there, perhaps it will go away,” I said.

Unfortunately… it did not.

Advertisements

A couple of Freewrites for you…

I thought I would share a couple of freewrites I have written recently on steemit (as part of @mariannewest’s freewrite group

Upload

The prompt was see you on the other side

Original post can be found here

1534699607927

“See you on the other side,” he said, and put the gun into his mouth and pulled the trigger.

The explosion was louder than she expected and the blood and brain splatter on the walls of the motel room was impressive.

It would take more than a wipe down and a lick of paint to get of the stains, she thought.

Quickly she activated the SoulSearch App and located his soul as it shrieked its way out of his body. She managed to put it into the container and began the upload process. He would be on the cloud with the others within a few minutes. She tapped nervously while the upload bar moved so slowly.

This was the dangerous time.

The motel was chosen well, but all it took was a nervous newcomer and the police would be on their way. It wasn’t getting caught that worried her, she could blag her way out of this, and she had enough contacts high up in politics and law enforcement to get any ridiculous charges dropped. Not it was the danger of losing his soul that concerned her.

If the upload process was interrupted then everything was lost: he was lost forever.

The Tear Collector

Prompt: tears

You’ll find the original post here

1534839620671

She was crying again. The tears, not being made of salt water like you and I, of course, hurt as they tore their way out of her tear ducts, and I wondered if this made her cry all the more. The dry diamond dust tears were collected by the special dust collector that was attached to her face. The man sitting beside her nodded happily as she wept, and prodded her with a sharp stick every time he thought she might stop. I knew from experience that this process would last for an hour or so, and then they would unhook her from the tear collection unit and go fetch another one from the pit. She would be allowed to rest, to build up more of the precious tear material before being tortured and ridiculed into crying once more. I forced myself to watch. It was the least I could do, I thought. To witness the cruelty of my species. To record it with my own eyes and to transmit it to the rest of humanity. This is what we are doing! I would yell. Do you care? And then I would listen for a response, and be disappointed that no, resources are always more important to us than basic kindness and goodness.

 

IF YOU LIKE MY WRITING AND WANT TO SUPPORT ME YOU CAN:
1. LEAVE A COMMENT (I LOVE COMMENTS, AND THEY COST NOTHING OTHER THAN A TINY AMOUNT OF YOUR TIME!)
2. IF YOU ARE ON STEEMIT POP OVER AND SAY HI! (AND UPVOTE OR SHARE A POST OR TWO, IF YOU’VE A MIND TO). IF YOU’RE NOT ON STEEMIT… WHY NOT? IT’S FREE TO JOIN AND YOU EARN CRYPTO CURENCY FOR POSTING YOUR STORIES. GO AND HAVE A LOOK!
3 IF YOU CAN SPARE A $ OR TWO A MONTH WHY NOT BECOME A PATRON AND YOU WILL GET ACCESS TO EXCLUSIVE STORIES AND OFFERS! HTTPS://WWW.PATREON.COM/FELTBUZZ

“The Creeps” A weekend Freewrite

Every Saturday on the steemit freewrite group we do something a little different. Instead of one prompt there are three. So you write three 5 minute freewrites using the prompts given (at the weekend the first two you use as the first sentence or so of your story). Go and check it out: it is fun.

Anyway, this is the story I came up with (the given prompts are in bold):

The Creeps

 

She had, what they call a healthy smile. But whenever I looked at her, she gave me the creeps.

“I don’t want them,” I says, handing the tiny struggling bag of little creatures back to her. “You know the rules,” she says, smiling her so called healthy smile. “If you look at me you got to take the bag of creeps.” I look away. I’m not sure who invented this game, or indeed where the horrible creatures, the creeps, come from. But whenever I end up looking after the dirty little blighters things always go wrong.

She (of the healthy smile) makes me keep the creeps for twenty four hours (“punishment for looking at my healthy smile, you dirty little man,” she says).

Usually the first hour or so aren’t too bad. The creeps are – like most creatures with well deserved reputations of badness and madness – nocturnal. They love the night. Usually when I run into healthy smile it’s mid afternoon, and whilst the bag of creatures are lively, they can easily be contained. You just have to make sure they’re not put into a cupboard, or any other dark place.

Today, it’s almost dusk. I only have an hour or so before things go haywire!

Sunday afternoon walks were mandatory. But sometimes, I hid in the kitchen and cooked huge pots of food.” One of the creeps is talking its nonsense, and the woman I pass on the street gives me a strange look.

Shame I have an unhealthy smile, I think, or I could have offloaded my bag of creeps onto her, for looking at me.

The creeps are tiny, about the size of a gobstopper. In fact the first time she gave me the small paper bag that bulged and moved strangely, I thought she was sharing candy with me. But I guess, no one has a smile that healthy if they eat big bags of candy.

The creeps are small but powerful. In the bag there are about twenty of them, sometimes more, sometimes less. I know not to open the bag to check, they are cunning little sods, and will escape easily. They have very loud voices, despite being small, so passers by often think it is me speaking when it is just my bag of creeps.

But luckily there is only one talking now, the others are quiet. Perhaps they are sleeping.

This is not a good sign, they will be conserving their energy for night time.

I have an idea, and I head off to Stoner Steve’s house. I ring the bell and hear him shuffle to answer it.

Stoner Steve answers the door, with a grunt and a joint in his hand (he is well named, you see).

“What do you want,” he says.

I don’t answer but push past him. He has a book in his hand and as I brush past if falls to the floor with a crash (it is obviously a heavy book, possibly with a metal cover, or maybe made of glass, to make such a racket).

“You clumsy bastard!” says the wide awake creep.

“What did you say?” Steve says.

“Nothing,” says I. “I need access to your growing room, Steve my man.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” says he.

“You showed it to me the other week. The one in your cellar. With the hydroponics and the lights. It’s the lights I need.”

My idea is simple: get the little creeps in a place with permanent light and try to fool them into thinking it is day time, and thereby reducing the mayhem they may cause me and anyone else who is around me. Also, I think, I can have a big spliff and a catch up with Steve, so everyone is a winner.

Steve is a good friend, albeit a forgetful one, and he lets me use his room for the above described purpose.

The creeps make a bit of a rustling noise and one of the pipes up, “turn the fucking light off, twat face!” but then I hear the bag snoring and Steve passes me a joint and I smile.

 

IF YOU LIKE MY WRITING AND WANT TO SUPPORT ME YOU CAN:
1. LEAVE A COMMENT (I LOVE COMMENTS, AND THEY COST NOTHING OTHER THAN A TINY AMOUNT OF YOUR TIME!)
2. IF YOU ARE ON STEEMIT POP OVER AND SAY HI! (AND UPVOTE OR SHARE A POST OR TWO, IF YOU’VE A MIND TO). IF YOU’RE NOT ON STEEMIT… WHY NOT? IT’S FREE TO JOIN AND YOU EARN CRYPTO CURENCY FOR POSTING YOUR STORIES. GO AND HAVE A LOOK!
3 IF YOU CAN SPARE A $ OR TWO A MONTH WHY NOT BECOME A PATRON AND YOU WILL GET ACCESS TO EXCLUSIVE STORIES AND OFFERS! HTTPS://WWW.PATREON.COM/FELTBUZZ