Thus far the path, though winding had been clear, leading in only one direction. Now he was at a crossroads…

After following the path for four days, he finally came to a crossroads.  The roadsigns pointed to different cities, each with their own little quirks and promises.  But the man instead put down his large instrument and sat on it, staring towards the direction of the sun as he waited.  It took a good while, but eventually, a car drove down the road and stopped in front of him.

Looking out the window, the driver said, “You need a lift, brother?”

Nodding, the man stood up, picked up his instrument, and entered the car through the now-open door.  The car drove on after he got himself settled.

“That’s a mighty fine-looking instrument you’ve got there, brother.”

“Thanks,” the man said.  “It’s yours.”

Bull, hat, storm

“Hats off to you,” the farmer called across the way as his hat was literally blown off in the storm, which landed squarely on the bull’s nose.  The roof was the next to go, which made Chum take the hint and run down to his cellar.  Unbolting everything, he looked around for his family, wondering when they were going to join him.  The minutes passed as more and more boards of his house began tearing themselves off.  Then, in a stoke of brainwave, he remembered that his family had gone out of state to visit that relative he hated so much.

Shrugging, he rushed into the cellar and bolted everything behind him.  As the storm battered at his door, Chum sat down to wait the thing out… alone…

“It’s just that it was so… green…”

“It’s just that it was so… green…”

Lisa choked and spat out her coffee.  “Green?!  His foot was green?!”

“Like the fucking Redwoods,” Yvette replied.  “I just… I couldn’t even look at it.  I was afraid that one of those face-huggers from Alien was going to jump out and latch onto my face.  I don’t care what the report says, that was not a dog bite.  But yeah, the more I looked at it, the more I wanted to spew my lunch.  So I just walked out and asked someone else to take the surgery.”

Shaking her head, Lisa tried to take another sip and keep it down.  “I don’t blame you,” she said.  “I mean, yeah, you’ve got those facemasks, but what if that wasn’t enough.  If you threw up during surgery and it got on his wound, who knows what might have happened?”

“Seriously,” she replied.  “They do not prep you for that when you’re studying the M-CATs.”

When he finally crested the hill…

When he finally crested the hill, he sat down and looked at the enormous lake in front of him.  The crystal waters reflected the sky, making the whole thing very difficult to look at.  Still, he kept looking and after a minute, he got up and walked down the slope to the edge of the lake.  He kept walking around it until he eventually got to the familiar rock that he knew so well.  Rolling up the legs of his pants, he waded into the water and kept going until he felt the ground starting to slope.  There he stopped and looked around at the water itself.  It was so clear that he could see all the way to the bottom.  And there it was, exactly where he left it.  The body sitting serenely at the lake floor, looking very peaceful, as if sleeping.

“Hello, father.”

The Glitter Bombing of the Ages

The Prompt:

"Glitter bombing" is an act of protest in which activists throw glitter on specific targets at public events. You can also "glitter bomb" people through the mail. Many websites offer to ship your enemies spring-loaded letters filled with the invasive craft supply, for a nominal fee. This week, write a scene in which one of your characters gets glitter bombed. Consider the location, the method used, the perpetrator, and how this character would respond to being covered in glitter. Was this act just a harmless prank, or something more serious?” 

Precinct walking.  Man, do I hate precinct walking.  Not because I disagree with the causes that I’m walking for, but rather because there’s something very unpleasant about walking for hours in the hot sun from door to door to read the same scripted lines again and again to people who might slam the door in your face.  I even had a gun pointed at me once or twice.

Still, I’d love for Kerspatzel to become mayor of this god forsaken city.  It would help turn around a lot of the run down neighborhoods and greatly reduce crime rates citywide.  Still, his opponents are quite the smear tacticians and demotivators.  If I had known what they’d had in store for me today, I might have just stayed home and let the election go to hell.

My suspicions were tipped off by the copious amounts of gray Silly String that had been sprayed all over the street.  A little bit would have given the impression of a party with a lot of kids the night before.  But having enough Silly String fights to cover an entire street and have the Sanitation Department say nothing about it the next day was just bizarre.  But while it was suspicious, I didn’t know what to look for, so that darn tripwire caught me by surprise.

As soon as I set it off, the planks of someone’s wooden fence flipped up to reveal some kind of hose machine that blasted me with hot air.  The blast knocked the wind out of me, sending me to the ground coughing and sputtering.  It wasn’t until I regained my composure and looked down at myself that I saw the sickeningly loud magenta coloring all over me and I knew what I was dealing with.

Glitter.

Glitter.  The herpes of the art world.  Once you got it one you, there was no getting it off, no matter how much you scrubbed.  Now I was covered in the stuff, which meant that the next few weeks were going to be hell.  This was my best shirt too!  Peering around at the house that shot me, I saw that it had a “Vote Nettler” sign in the yard.  I could only imagine that the people inside were having a good laugh at this.

My insides were burning intently.  I wanted to go home and stew this off, but I knew that there was more work to be done.  So I dragged myself around the rest of the neighborhood and went door to door, looking like an accessory display from Claire’s.  The people I talked to could barely keep a straight face during the conversation and some I couldn’t even poll because they couldn’t stop laughing.  After a half hour, I called the campaign office and told them I was done for the day and effectively called in sick for the next few days.  The condition?  Distressing glamorization.

The next time I person comes to my door polling for an election, I’m going to give them cookies.  Especially if their day is anything like mine was.  I really hate precinct walking.