Picking Up the Pieces [challenge piece] PG
Posted: Sat Jan 17, 2009 9:31 pm
Moonlight Mini Madness Challenge #1
Title, "Picking Up the Pieces," by: Bank1115
Starting Paragraph by: francis
Story by: NocturneInCMoll
Author's note: Thanks to Barb (Bank1115), for telling me about the challenge and encouraging me to participate as a potential remedy for my stalled muses.
Picking Up The Pieces
“She ran out of reasons to stay inside. It was way too early but she couldn’t contain her excitement anymore. Putting a stray strand of hair back into the clasp she pushed the sliding doors to the garden open and carefully stepped barefoot over the rough tiles of the patio.”
Josef reached over and shut the book Mick held in his hands. “—And that’s all the time we have for today, kids. Stay tuned for more next week!”
Mick shot him a glare before turning to smile and bid farewell to the children. He followed his friend out into the hall and crossed his arms expectantly. “What was all that about?!”
“Mick,” Josef hissed, “remind me again why you’re reading lame stories to children about to kick the bucket?”
Mick looked aghast at his best friend. “Because, Josef, they’re sick kids—kids about to ‘kick the bucket,’ as you so eloquently pointed out—bored to tears in a dreary hospital. Someone coming in to read stories to them makes their day. And it makes me feel good to see the smiles on their little faces.”
“I wasn’t asking why you’re reading stories to sick kids,” Josef interrupted him, “I was asking why you’re reading LAME stories to sick kids! As you said yourself, they’re bored to tears at this hospital—until, suddenly, enter Mick St. John—trying to bore them to death by reading stories about overexcited women who can’t keep their shoes on! Why are you trying to kill them faster, Mick?”
Mick growled at him. “Okay, Mr. Literary Critic, what would you read to them?”
“Oh, just you wait and see,” Josef said, smirking enigmatically. “After I sweep in here next week and completely blow their minds with my superior yarns, you’ll be picking up the pieces of your shattered illusions of what makes good storytelling for children.”
One week later…
“Hey, kids. Do you all remember my buddy, Mr. Kostan? He was here with me last week for storytime.”
“Hi, Mr. Kostan!” a chorus of kids shouted excitedly. Josef grinned at them all.
“Mr. Kostan asked me if I would let him read to you today. What do you guys think about that?” Mick asked them.
“Yeah!” the kids yelled, some of the more mobile ones bouncing in their beds.
Mick shrugged. “Okay, Josef, the floor’s all yours.”
“Why, thank you, Mick,” he nodded to his friend, then turned to address his audience. “Hi kids, you can just call me Uncle Josef,” he took a seat in the big armchair at the front of the room. “Storytime is going to be a bit different today. You guys”—he pointed to them—“are going to help me”—he pointed to himself—“tell the story. I’ll start, and every once in a while I’ll stop and you guys have to finish my sentence. Got it?”
The children nodded enthusiastically, eyes wide.
“Okay. Here we go, then,” Josef cleared his throat, “Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there lived a man named—” he cupped his ear with his hand and waited for the tots to respond.
“Mick!” all the kids shrieked.
“—Mick was no ordinary man, however. Mick was a—” Josef waved his hand in a circle to prompt the children.
“Garbage man!”
“Vampire!”
“Jellyfish!” one child yelled.
“Jellyfish?” Josef mouthed questioningly at Mick. “Spineless, no doubt,” he muttered under his breath. Mick smacked him on the back of the head.
“Let’s go with vampire; they’re cool, and they don’t smell,” Josef continued. “—So, anyway, Mick the vampire spent most of his time stalking—er, watching out for—a blonde reporter who had the most irritating penchant for getting into trouble that no woman in her right mind would even dream of getting into.”
Mick coughed and glared pointedly at his friend. Josef ignored him.
“He rescued her so many times, she should have erected a statue of him on her front lawn.” Josef lowered his voice and started whispering suspensefully, “One day, though, the tables were turned. The intrepid reporter found our hero vampire, Mick, dying in the desert. To save him, she offered to give him her—”
“Chocolate milk!” a little girl cried out.
“No, stupid, vampires don’t drink chocolate milk—they drink blood!” a boy reprimanded her. She folded her arms and scrunched up her face at him.
“Now, now, children—as this is a purely fictional story, chocolate milk was a perfectly fine suggestion,” Josef mediated. The little girl stuck her tongue out at the boy. “But we will go with blood, as it’s slightly more…nutritional. I mean, traditional.” The little girl pouted as the boy took his turn to stick his tongue out.
“—To save him, she offered to give him some of her blood, but he didn’t want her to because he felt like a monster," Josef rolled his eyes. "In the end, she convinced him by, I don’t know, fluttering her pretty little lashes or some other feminine wile, and Mick lived to stalk her another day.
“Mick realized he was in looooove with the reporter, but he refused to tell her because he was a yellow-bellied—”
“Rubber chicken!” a boy hollered.
“Excellent!” Josef exclaimed. “—a yellow-bellied rubber chicken! Who should really suck it up and tell her already so he can stop moping around and make sweet, sweet, vampire-human lo—” He felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder.
“Storytime’s over, Josef,” Mick growled. He cleared his throat. “Ahem—sorry, kids, but Uncle Josef has to leave right now, before he says something incredibly inappropriate and something very, very bad happens to him…”
“This is not the end!” Josef shouted as Mick dragged him away by the collar. “Do not go gentle into that good night, kids! Don’t let them censor you! Fight the power!”
The children could hear Josef’s voice slowly fade as Mick pulled him farther away. “Um…if anyone hears of my body parts scattered all over the interstate tomorrow morning, can you please send someone to pick up the pieces? I don’t do well in the sunshine…”
The end.
Title, "Picking Up the Pieces," by: Bank1115
Starting Paragraph by: francis
Story by: NocturneInCMoll
Author's note: Thanks to Barb (Bank1115), for telling me about the challenge and encouraging me to participate as a potential remedy for my stalled muses.
Picking Up The Pieces
“She ran out of reasons to stay inside. It was way too early but she couldn’t contain her excitement anymore. Putting a stray strand of hair back into the clasp she pushed the sliding doors to the garden open and carefully stepped barefoot over the rough tiles of the patio.”
Josef reached over and shut the book Mick held in his hands. “—And that’s all the time we have for today, kids. Stay tuned for more next week!”
Mick shot him a glare before turning to smile and bid farewell to the children. He followed his friend out into the hall and crossed his arms expectantly. “What was all that about?!”
“Mick,” Josef hissed, “remind me again why you’re reading lame stories to children about to kick the bucket?”
Mick looked aghast at his best friend. “Because, Josef, they’re sick kids—kids about to ‘kick the bucket,’ as you so eloquently pointed out—bored to tears in a dreary hospital. Someone coming in to read stories to them makes their day. And it makes me feel good to see the smiles on their little faces.”
“I wasn’t asking why you’re reading stories to sick kids,” Josef interrupted him, “I was asking why you’re reading LAME stories to sick kids! As you said yourself, they’re bored to tears at this hospital—until, suddenly, enter Mick St. John—trying to bore them to death by reading stories about overexcited women who can’t keep their shoes on! Why are you trying to kill them faster, Mick?”
Mick growled at him. “Okay, Mr. Literary Critic, what would you read to them?”
“Oh, just you wait and see,” Josef said, smirking enigmatically. “After I sweep in here next week and completely blow their minds with my superior yarns, you’ll be picking up the pieces of your shattered illusions of what makes good storytelling for children.”
One week later…
“Hey, kids. Do you all remember my buddy, Mr. Kostan? He was here with me last week for storytime.”
“Hi, Mr. Kostan!” a chorus of kids shouted excitedly. Josef grinned at them all.
“Mr. Kostan asked me if I would let him read to you today. What do you guys think about that?” Mick asked them.
“Yeah!” the kids yelled, some of the more mobile ones bouncing in their beds.
Mick shrugged. “Okay, Josef, the floor’s all yours.”
“Why, thank you, Mick,” he nodded to his friend, then turned to address his audience. “Hi kids, you can just call me Uncle Josef,” he took a seat in the big armchair at the front of the room. “Storytime is going to be a bit different today. You guys”—he pointed to them—“are going to help me”—he pointed to himself—“tell the story. I’ll start, and every once in a while I’ll stop and you guys have to finish my sentence. Got it?”
The children nodded enthusiastically, eyes wide.
“Okay. Here we go, then,” Josef cleared his throat, “Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there lived a man named—” he cupped his ear with his hand and waited for the tots to respond.
“Mick!” all the kids shrieked.
“—Mick was no ordinary man, however. Mick was a—” Josef waved his hand in a circle to prompt the children.
“Garbage man!”
“Vampire!”
“Jellyfish!” one child yelled.
“Jellyfish?” Josef mouthed questioningly at Mick. “Spineless, no doubt,” he muttered under his breath. Mick smacked him on the back of the head.
“Let’s go with vampire; they’re cool, and they don’t smell,” Josef continued. “—So, anyway, Mick the vampire spent most of his time stalking—er, watching out for—a blonde reporter who had the most irritating penchant for getting into trouble that no woman in her right mind would even dream of getting into.”
Mick coughed and glared pointedly at his friend. Josef ignored him.
“He rescued her so many times, she should have erected a statue of him on her front lawn.” Josef lowered his voice and started whispering suspensefully, “One day, though, the tables were turned. The intrepid reporter found our hero vampire, Mick, dying in the desert. To save him, she offered to give him her—”
“Chocolate milk!” a little girl cried out.
“No, stupid, vampires don’t drink chocolate milk—they drink blood!” a boy reprimanded her. She folded her arms and scrunched up her face at him.
“Now, now, children—as this is a purely fictional story, chocolate milk was a perfectly fine suggestion,” Josef mediated. The little girl stuck her tongue out at the boy. “But we will go with blood, as it’s slightly more…nutritional. I mean, traditional.” The little girl pouted as the boy took his turn to stick his tongue out.
“—To save him, she offered to give him some of her blood, but he didn’t want her to because he felt like a monster," Josef rolled his eyes. "In the end, she convinced him by, I don’t know, fluttering her pretty little lashes or some other feminine wile, and Mick lived to stalk her another day.
“Mick realized he was in looooove with the reporter, but he refused to tell her because he was a yellow-bellied—”
“Rubber chicken!” a boy hollered.
“Excellent!” Josef exclaimed. “—a yellow-bellied rubber chicken! Who should really suck it up and tell her already so he can stop moping around and make sweet, sweet, vampire-human lo—” He felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder.
“Storytime’s over, Josef,” Mick growled. He cleared his throat. “Ahem—sorry, kids, but Uncle Josef has to leave right now, before he says something incredibly inappropriate and something very, very bad happens to him…”
“This is not the end!” Josef shouted as Mick dragged him away by the collar. “Do not go gentle into that good night, kids! Don’t let them censor you! Fight the power!”
The children could hear Josef’s voice slowly fade as Mick pulled him farther away. “Um…if anyone hears of my body parts scattered all over the interstate tomorrow morning, can you please send someone to pick up the pieces? I don’t do well in the sunshine…”
The end.
I had lots of fun writing it.
Great fun this one. 