Chel
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- Apr 22, 2010
- Messages
- 368
Hey guys,
I'm posting this more for your enjoyment (at least I hope you'll enjoy it) than for a complete crit, although of course if I've messed something up completely I'd love to know.
I wrote it for a little challenge I have going with a couple of friends. 400 words and two prompt words. Can you figure out the prompts?
***
How to dispose of a pixie
We'd had it with Melanie. Enough was enough. Every morning for the past three weeks, we had woken up sneezing, covered in pixie dust. The stuff got everywhere. We could go no-where without leaving a trail of rainbow-coloured glitter in the air around us. It was like dandruff, only worse. Dusting or sweeping didn't help. That just spread it around the whole shack.
The look in Joey's eye got wilder day by day, in time with the puffy rings darkening under both the mirror monocle and his right eye. I can't have looked much better myself. I couldn't remember when I had last slept a full night, without stirring half awake by Melanie's constant, maniacal giggling. I felt like I imagine a zombie would, shambling about and struggling to form coherent thoughts.
That Thursday afternoon, Joey got in the pickup and drove away without a word, leaving only a dust cloud shimmering in all the colours of the rainbow behind. I climbed into the hammock and dreamed about stomping Melanie to the ground. About sealing her into a glass bottle where she could choke on her own dust. I just had to catch her first.
I woke up to the sound of the pickup, disoriented at first. Clouds in every shade of pink coloured the darkening sky, and a gentle breeze whispered in the leaves above the hammock. Our whole hovel sparkled with pixie dust, and from somewhere inside, through a window hatch I had forgotten to close, the grating sound of Melanie's giggles drifted out.
Joey had something in the back of the truck. Something heavy and unwieldy, covered in a tarp. I was too tired to ask. A baseball bat? Bigger than that, both lengthwise and in thickness. I couldn't for my life imagine what good a baseball bat would do us, anyway, or three of them, or five. All I saw was Joey's back, covered in the leather coat, until he turned around with a wild, crazy grin.
“Goodbye, Melanie,” he said. His monocle flashed rose-red for a second, until it became obscured by the bazooka he lifted to his shoulder. Before I had time to react, a loud bang filled the air, and thick smoke covered Joey until he was only a spooky shadow among rainbow-chromatic gray.
A moment later a different bang, and our whole shack went up in pixie dust.
Goodbye indeed, Melanie.
I'm posting this more for your enjoyment (at least I hope you'll enjoy it) than for a complete crit, although of course if I've messed something up completely I'd love to know.
I wrote it for a little challenge I have going with a couple of friends. 400 words and two prompt words. Can you figure out the prompts?
***
How to dispose of a pixie
We'd had it with Melanie. Enough was enough. Every morning for the past three weeks, we had woken up sneezing, covered in pixie dust. The stuff got everywhere. We could go no-where without leaving a trail of rainbow-coloured glitter in the air around us. It was like dandruff, only worse. Dusting or sweeping didn't help. That just spread it around the whole shack.
The look in Joey's eye got wilder day by day, in time with the puffy rings darkening under both the mirror monocle and his right eye. I can't have looked much better myself. I couldn't remember when I had last slept a full night, without stirring half awake by Melanie's constant, maniacal giggling. I felt like I imagine a zombie would, shambling about and struggling to form coherent thoughts.
That Thursday afternoon, Joey got in the pickup and drove away without a word, leaving only a dust cloud shimmering in all the colours of the rainbow behind. I climbed into the hammock and dreamed about stomping Melanie to the ground. About sealing her into a glass bottle where she could choke on her own dust. I just had to catch her first.
I woke up to the sound of the pickup, disoriented at first. Clouds in every shade of pink coloured the darkening sky, and a gentle breeze whispered in the leaves above the hammock. Our whole hovel sparkled with pixie dust, and from somewhere inside, through a window hatch I had forgotten to close, the grating sound of Melanie's giggles drifted out.
Joey had something in the back of the truck. Something heavy and unwieldy, covered in a tarp. I was too tired to ask. A baseball bat? Bigger than that, both lengthwise and in thickness. I couldn't for my life imagine what good a baseball bat would do us, anyway, or three of them, or five. All I saw was Joey's back, covered in the leather coat, until he turned around with a wild, crazy grin.
“Goodbye, Melanie,” he said. His monocle flashed rose-red for a second, until it became obscured by the bazooka he lifted to his shoulder. Before I had time to react, a loud bang filled the air, and thick smoke covered Joey until he was only a spooky shadow among rainbow-chromatic gray.
A moment later a different bang, and our whole shack went up in pixie dust.
Goodbye indeed, Melanie.
