Writing Prompt 18

[jacks girl]

It's time to bury something. You can decided on what it is. This needs to be a comedy as best you can. Make something funny happen. You''ll need a few things to write this prompt.

1. You'll need it to be raining.
2. I think at least one animal should be involved.
3. Children are always fun too.
4. I think you should pick up a shovel but it's broke.
5. last but not least, you'll need a new pair of pants cause something important in your pocket fell out.

As Tommie says often. Why do i do these things.

LOL Have fun guys.

Jacks Girl

[jacks girl]

We'll I'm not sure if it's funny or not. But I tried.

The funeral.

I stood over the small box and looked up into the sky. A rain drop hit me splat in the face. I cringed and shook off the rain. My hair was soaked and I wanted to be doing something else on my only Saturday off in weeks. I looked down to my little sister, she was holding an umbrella over her head while Ranger our border collie sat at her feet.

"Will she go to heaven?" My little sister Stacy asked me. I wasn't sure what to say. "I'm sure they'll be a special place for her," was all I could manage. Stacy was only four and she'd been to a couple funerals so she knew a little about them.

"Ain't you gonna say anything?" Stacy said looking down at the small box then up at me.

I knew better than to argue with her so I began . . . slowly. "We gather today, and even the sky is crying, as we put our dear friend to rest. We're really happy we had so many years together, but all things must come to an end . . . Amen."

This seemed to suit Stacy and she looked up at me and smiled. Then she took the umbrella and Ranger and went into the house. I turned watching her go. My clothes were starting to stick to my body. All I could think was all of this started earlier in the day when I got ready to head out the door and realized. I'd lost my car key's because of a hole in my pants pocket.

I bent down to pick up the shovel to finish my task when of all things the shovel broke in half. "What else could possibly happen?" I shook my head and bent down and began to cover the small box with dirt. Mom was going to knock me into next week for digging a small hole in her flower garden.

After a few more handfuls of dirt, the box was covered. I turned to look at mom who was glaring at me out the back door window. I wiped my hands on my pants and smiled at her. I walked in the back door and stood there before her a muddy, rain drenched, mess.

"I thought you had a date with Jimmy."

"I did."

"What happened?" Mom said trying not to snicker at me now. I was quite sure Nancy had informed her what we were doing.

"Before or after, the shovel broke." Another snicker from mom as she handed me a towel. "I want to know what was the cause of death." This time she was out and out laughing at me. Shaking her head as she watched me pulling off my muddy shoes.

"We'll I'm no doctor." I began. "But I think when I came running up the stairs to get my keys that fell out of my pocket I must have stepped on poor Barbie. Someone left her lying on the steps."

"So you couldn't revive her?" I didn't even bother to answer this question, as i slipped out of my pants and tossed them into the trash. I would have never thought a small hole, that I should have sewn up weeks ago could possibly cause me so much trouble.

Jacks Girl

[Tommie Lyn]

One Man's Trash

Word Count: 495

Shelby McGinty lifted Fido Castro from her lap and set him on the floor. And discovered he had left light brown hair stuck to her new black velvet top. The tiny chihuahua strolled away, his nails tick-ticking on the ceramic tile kitchen floor.

No time to change her shirt. The kids would be late for school if she didn't get moving. Besides, the pouring rain meant the roads would be slick and she'd have to observe speed limits getting them there. At least the new black pants Geoffrey insisted that she wear today were leather and the dog hair didn't stick to them, although they were too tight and she had to wear them commando.

“Everybody in the car!” she yelled.

One by one, six slow-moving siblings donned slickers, collected books, brown bag lunches and backpacks and dragged themselves down the back steps to the minivan. The rain had dampened their spirits as well as wetting their world. Shelby snatched her pocketbook from the counter and followed.

And discovered the rain had chewed an impassable gully into the end of the driveway. Shelby retrieved a small shovel she kept for emergencies from the kit in the back of the van. She had almost smoothed the driveway enough when the handle broke.

Great. Her pants were rain-soaked, her shirt covered in dog hair, now the shovel had broken. What else could happen? She tossed the pieces of the shovel into the car and jounced it over the half-repaired hole and into the street.

She drove on autopilot to three schools, silent, her mind tugging and twisting at her tormenting problem.

Today was the day and she wasn't ready. She was about to make a full-fledged fool of herself, and there was nothing she could do now to stop it.

The street in front of the gallery was clogged with cars, every parking spot taken except the one reserved for her. The artsy crowd had arrived in full force and were looking down their collective noses at Shelby's “work.”

How did this happen? she wondered. One minute, I'm hauling off the trash, the next minute, I'm a discovered artist. What's going to happen when they realize I'm a fake?

“Oh, dahling! At last, you're here!” Geoffrey minced toward her, two tall, thin art lovers in tow.

“You simply must see her latest piece,” he said to them over his shoulder. He gave Shelby a desperate look and leaned over to whisper, “What have you got that you could pass off as more of your chic nouveau trash art?”

The shovel! Shelby brought the pieces of the muddy shovel inside, leaned them against the wall while she wiped her hands.

“Oh! Perfect!” said Art Lover 1.

“Just too chic for words!” simpered Art Lover 2.

And Shelby heard and felt a popping when a seam gave way in her rain-soaked leather pants as they dried in the arid air of the gallery.

[Tommie Lyn]

Great job, Jacks! I loved it.

[Laina]

Sorry Jacks, I don't think I have a comedy in me yet. I tried to add everything else you mentioned though. :D


Does God Really Care?
Word count 875


Rascal looked at Sharon and looked at the ball – looked back at Sharon, and again at the ball.

“Rascal get your ball, go get it,” Sharon said pointing out into the yard as a cloud sprinkled drizzles upon the ground.

Rascal rolled in the grass, ignoring her. He walked over to the ball and sniffed it. He nudged it with his nose.

Ten-year-old Shawn hit the screen handle, opened the door and ran toward Rascal.

“Hey, Shawn,” Sharon smiled. “Come give me a hug – don’t I rate around her?”

Shawn grinned. “Okay, Mom.” Shawn fastened both arms around his mom, and kissed her cheek.

“Go change your school clothes, then you can play.”

Sharon gave up on Rascal. She opened and held the door while Shawn stepped through to go play outside.

“Hey, speedy, that was quick. Did you put your clothes in the hamper?” Sharon asked as she patted Shawn’s bottom.

“Yup, I did.”

Shawn rushed over to Rascal, and fell to the ground and wrestled. They rolled and tossed, crawled and tousled, happy to see each other. While rolling, Shawn’s jackknife fell out of his pocket. Shawn giggled as Rascal plopped down next to his head, and slobbered his face with kisses.

Shawn scrambled over to the garden where the soft dirt resembled a sand box, and grabbed his broken, kid-size shovel. Shawn dug a huge crater. As he did he threw dirt at Rascal and caught sight of a lizard. Rascal barked at it while Shawn got up off the ground and rose to his feet to go chase after it.

While Shawn scrambled after the lizard, Rascal went over and sniffed the knife, grabbed it in his jaws and dropped it where Shawn had been digging. Rascal filled Shawn’s hole as he dug for one of his old bones.

Shawn threw his ball-cap over the top of his capture, and held onto the bill. “Look Rascal, I caught it.” Rascal nudged Shawn’s hand and loosened Shawn’s grip, and the lizard got away. “Oh Rascal,” Shawn yelled as he pushed Rascal away. “You always spoil my fun.”

Shawn walked back to his shovel, and almost stepped on a toad that burrowed himself into the dirt. “Look it here, Rascal – a toad.” Shawn knelt and grabbed the toad with both hands. Rascal bounded towards him, and pawed at his hands. Shawn pushed him away. “Not this time, Rascal,” he said and placed the toad in his pocket.

“Shawn.” Sharon called from the opened kitchen window.

“Yeah, Mom?”

“Come on in and wash up. We’re eating at the Fitzgerald’s tonight. Put on your new jeans and the polo shirt hanging in you closet.”

“Okay, I’m coming.” Shawn walked into the house and let the back door slam shut. “Oops, I forgot to let the frog go. I’ll be right back, Mom.”

Shawn felt his other pocket, and walked back into the house. “Mom,” he sobbed. I can’t find dad’s jackknife. It must have fallen out when I played with Rascal.”

Sharon walked over and straightened Shawn’s tousled, sandy hair and wiped his tears with a wet cloth. “C’mon, let’s go see if we can find it.”

Sharon extended her hand towards Shawn. “Let’s pray first and ask God to help us find it.” Sharon prayed and asked God to help them find the knife.

Shawn’s brows furrowed. “Do you really think God cares about dad’s knife, Mom?”

Sharon gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “Remember the bible story about the hairs of your head being numbered, and God knows when a bird falls to the ground? If God cares about a bird and you hair, don’t you think he cares about something that is precious to you?”

Shawn thought as he cracked his fingers. “Yeah, I guess so – yeah he does.”

Sharon gave him the thumbs up sign, and opened the door. “Then let’s go find that knife.”

Sharon and Shawn scanned the yard. “Mom, it’s all I’ve got of dad’s. I’ve got to find it.” Shawn picked up a rock and threw it, frustrated.

“Shawn, you’ll remember dad without the knife, but we’ll find it. It’s out here – where did you and Rascal play?”

Shawn pointed to the section of yard where he and Rascal wrestled. He walked over to the area where he dug, and began pulling dirt with his hands. Rascal thought it was time to play and began to shovel dirt every which way with his paws. The knife came flying out from the soil and hit Shawn in the head. Shawn hit the air with a fist. “Hey Rascal, that hurt.”

Sharon walked over to her son. “Are you cut, let me see?” Sharon saw something sparkle in the dirt.

“What’s that over there, Shawn?” she asked, her eyes looking at the object.

“Hey, it’s dads knife, Mom . . . it’s dad’s knife.” Shawn clasped his hands around it and raised his hands to his chest and squeezed. He lifted the knife to his lips and kissed.

Shawn giggled and grabbed Rascal’s neck. “Thanks, boy. You found it.” He patted him, scratched his chin and kissed his head.

Shawn looked at his mom, their gaze held. He smiled and lowered his head and whispered, “Thank you, Jesus.”

[Tommie Lyn]

Good job, Laina!

[jacks girl]

Good job girls. Well we tried our hand at comedy. LOl!

[vision2win]

I like the idea of writing challenges. This is cool

[Tommie Lyn]

Vision2win, just jump right in! The prompts really help my writing, keep my writing muscles warmed up and limber. Some of the prompt threads have automatically closed because they're outdated, but a number of them are still open. Try your hand with them.

TL

[Textus Rec]

It was beautiful. White, lacey flecks fell and coated the already lush blanket that covered the neighborhood. Naked elm and maple trees were clothed again by the fresh powder while spruce and pine trees used the snow as an accessory.

Coffee in hand, William stood at the bay window. He loved the serenity of new snow and its pristine stillness. It had the power to muffle the stress and chaos of normal life – aah, heavenly bliss. William closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting the fresh-roasted aroma waft from his mug into his nostrils. It was a peaceful, perfect morning. Yes, heavenly bliss.

A crunching, rumbling, diesel-rattling noise invaded William’s ears and woke him from his dreamy paradise. His eyes shot open in time to see the gigantic, grubby snowplow throw a line of brown, salty slush onto the sidewalk in front of his once pure residence. It chugged down the street, leaving the brown line in its wake. When it was out of the view from the bay window, and its scraping sound was almost out of range, the children began their day.

Joey burst out of his bedroom with a pillowcase over his head and torso. William could only see his son’s three-year-old legs motoring without regard of their surroundings. If the shrill scream that came from somewhere in the pillowcase was a half a step higher, only dogs would be able to hear it. Unfortunately for William, it was not that high. He observed the pillowcase with legs as it abruptly stopped (running and screaming) as it collided with the closed bathroom door.

The pillowcase with legs was down, but the legs scrambled to upright the fallen boy/pillowcase/siren. They succeeded, and the pillowcase stood triumphant. Such success was to be short lived when an older brother was around. Out of the bedroom sprinted the six-year-old who was wearing pajama bottoms and floppy socks. He flew like a super hero and mercilessly tackled the evil pillowcase monster. More screaming.

William remained at his post at the bay window. He grimaced, downed the rest of his coffee, and proceeded to his own bedroom to prepare for the day. He stepped over the wrestling boys and mumbled something about not killing each other.

“I’m gonna go clear the driveway, Honey. I should be done in a half-hour.”

“Mmmfumng,” said the lump under the covers. She had been working the late shift at the big box store, and had been getting to bed rather late. William hoped the boys would be quiet enough to allow Mommy a little more rest.

* * *

The garage door screeched as William opened it. He pulled the electric blue tarp off of the snow blower and dragged the machine onto a clear spot in the garage. Gas, check. Primer button primed, check. Safety key in, check. William yanked the starter cord, but nothing happened. Again. Nothing. Again, again, again. Nothing. William knew little about mechanical things, but he knew he was not going to get the snow blower started. He would have to do it the old fashioned way.

He searched for the seldom used snow shovel as he wheeled the machine back to its home. William stopped pushing the snow blower as he felt and heard a crack underneath one of the wheels. No, it wasn’t. He picked up the shovel he had just destroyed. Yes, it was. The handle was fine, but the left half of the scoop was still underneath the machine.

The logistics of shoveling a driveway with half of a shovel are difficult. As snowflakes change from small, light flakes to large, heavy flakes to icy, stinging rain, the logistics become increasingly difficult, bordering on impossible. William set his jaw and continued on anyway. Only one thing could stop him now – and he was prepared for that.

Sluggo, the next door neighbor’s giant golden retriever lumbered over to William to say hello. Sluggo was a friendly animal. Very friendly. He would say “hello” and not let go. No worries for William as he ungloved his hand and reached into his pocket. A doggie treat thrown into the next yard would keep Sluggo busy for a while. William could not find the treat he had placed in his pocket, only a hole where he felt the skin of his bare leg. His eyes widened as Sluggo happily lumbered closer.

Heavenly bliss – yeah, right.