A Mere String 'o Words

Well, I obviously failed to be inspired by pictures, so, I had to find out what exactly does inspire me? I found one thing. Words. Words evoke pictures in my head.

Here is an example. We writers of WARA occasionally do little writing exercises by inventing a story out of ten or so words. Everyone gets the same words. Somehow, I see the list of words and suddenly my brain says to me, “Ha! I can use them all in two sentences, maybe three!” And I do. But that doesn’t make a very long story so I stretch it a bit. Adding more words to the picture in my brain that I’ve created with the first words.

Here’s one of those word inspired stories. I have no idea where to finish it, but it is a beginning.

It Tasted Like Mud

By

Constant Appeal

It tasted like mud, looked like a chocolate cake, and smelled like burnt almonds. How could anyone overlook a disaster of this proportion, Alice thought as she dumped what was left of the tiny sample from a hole she had excavated near the bottom of her masterpiece. Her masterpiece. Looking at it, she wanted to cry, but didn’t have time for that option. This cake was due, fully decorated, at McDuffy’s bar in exactly—she glared at the traitorous clock above the sink, twenty-three minutes.

Puffing the hair out of her eyes with an up-turned bottom lip, she darted for the carton of special-order frosting. The contents resembled cottage cheese. Was it supposed to? She shrugged. What did she know about Synthranese Wedding Glorat? Maybe it was supposed to look like yellow cottage cheese. She sniffed it and staggered suddenly against the counter. Whew! It smelled like really old, dirty, sweat socks. Socks or not, she wouldn’t get paid if it were late. She held her breath and started slathering.

“Hey, I’ll get that for you.”

The man of Alice’s dreams held the door open wide as she maneuvered her way into McDuffy’s front door with her precious burden.

Jack held the door open as he stared down into the goldest set of brown eyes he’d ever seen—and dropped his beer. An unbelievable aroma wreathed her head.

“AWK!” Alice went down hard, slipping in spilled beer and broken glass, landing with the dessert in her lap—unhurt. Dammit! An accident would have let her off the hook on whether everyone was going to enjoy this—or be hospitalized while getting their stomachs pumped. As it was, the only mess on the floor was her.

Manfully, Gerald held out hands to remove the large white box from his victim’s lap. He handed it off to who ever was beside him, his eyes never leaving the woman on the floor. Her cleavage, from this angle, was life altering.

“Let me help you. This is my fault entirely.” Gerald swooped down and picked the woman up off the floor to hold high against his chest. His purchase of a set of weights was paying off, big time. She weighed less and had skin like a silk tie. He moved his fingers over whatever slice of naked skin they’d found—pretending to get a better hold and wished he could see what he had a hold of.

“Er…thanks. I think,” Alice said breathlessly while immediately wanting to slap herself for her idiotic and less than sexy response. A man had just picked her up for God’s sake. In his arms! The stuff of dreams. If only she didn’t smell like Glorat or drip beer off her bottom or blood from the cut on her ankle all over him, then she might feel as if she had survived this hideous day with something to hope for. She was already praying for the victims who ate that cake.