|
I accept harsh judgement for this.Chili posted:Anyone who hasn't signed up but still wants to compete may still submit a story but the wordcount will be limited too 500 words, and Bok Choy must be prominently featured in the entry. Pick whatever diagnosis you'd like. I don't care. Flash Fry 494 words Hoarding Disorder, Social Anxiety Disorder “This one.” Gail pointed at the bok choy topping the pile on the shelves of Sophia’s Sundries. “Not that one.” The owner, Sophia herself, shook her greying head over the heaped counter. “That one’s reserved.” Gail frowned. No one else was shopping and that was a bad start. She let her breath out slowly, calmly. Patience. She was a mom and a pro at patience. “Okay.” She pointed to a bok choy on top of the register. “This one.”’ “That one’s the display.” She squinted, seeing nothing decorative and no signage anywhere. “Which ones are for sale?” Sophia began waving her arm indistinctly around the shop. “Those, those, those…” The ones in the back corners were wilted and probably nourishing the newer arrivals. Gail followed a nearby gesture and snatched one up. “No touching!” Sophia snapped. “You have to pay first!” She put it down. “Sorry. But, I can buy this one?” “Well, that one is… You know, maybe you should check Walmart?” “I did.” You’re the only one with any bok choy, probably because you bought it from them like a misguided VC monopoly attempt, she resisted adding, and instead forced a smile. “I’d prefer to shop local.” Sophia didn’t hide that she was sizing Gail up like a new specimen for her collection. Finally, she relented. “That one is special. A rare cultivar. What do you want it for?” Dinner. “My own display.” “Outside?” “Um, no?” She hoped it wasn’t obvious she was fidgeting. “You aren’t going to eat it?” “Oh, no.” “Okay. Then, sure.” A very long time passed while they locked eyes, Gail fighting not to break it off. “How much?” “Twenty—“ “Do—“ “—dollars.” “—you take—what?” “That’s my best price.” The tiny shopkeeper crossed her arms, head raised triumphantly. Twenty dollars for a single bok choy? “It’s for my kids. They love stir fry—oh, and we need this for the table! It will look perfect.” Not exactly a lie. Sophia’s eyes narrowed. “No discounts.” Gail froze. One hand held the twenty dollar bok choy. The other was halfway out of her pocket with her credit card. She could walk. But it would be rude, wouldn’t it? And Sophia was friends with Amy and Amy ran the bookstore and Gail was in there every week with her kids and Amy would judge her if she was rude to Sophia because Sophia would definitely tell everyone— Gail slammed the card down on the edge of the counter. “Fine! It’s a great price!” “Oh.” Sophia seemed just as surprised. She moved almost mechanically as she rang it through in silence. “I’ll take good care of it,” Gail said gently. “Thank you.” The monopoly won. She took the bok choy home. She set the table, placed it between some candles, and took a photo to post to instagram. Then she made the best and most expensive stir fry ever and forbid any phones at the table for the duration of the meal.
|
#
¿
Dec 11, 2023 00:33
|
|
|
|
| # ¿ May 15, 2024 11:22 |
|
|
Week 593: The gift that keeps on giving One Week Getaway 561 words I’ll move into my undersea volcano lair the Monday after quitting my 9-5 because when you inherit a supervillain’s home, you also inherit their job. (What do you mean, who’s paying me? That’s very… personal.) Entrance will require a submarine because the roof is lava. The hallways will be tubes left behind by former flows. The cavernous, purposeless rooms will be lined with glass portholes so that guests can see sharks drifting by, waiting. All furniture will be oversized and incomprehensibly uncomfortable. There will be a washroom but I’ll cover every surface with my self portrait, judging you for using it. Tuesday will be for scheming. I’ll introduce myself to fellow shadowy cabals as Lava Lobster, Lady of Leduc. (Pronounced “le duke”—this is a Canadian joke.) I’ll wear Alexander McQueen armadillo shoes and a flaming red suit with a sequinned mask because no one will have the guts to utter the word “restraint” in my presence. The others will compliment me on my charming accent and I will entertain offers of alliance while cannily refusing to commit to anything too particular. It’s best to stay flexible and true to myself. Hump day sucks so I’ll spice it up by cruising around the North Pole in my nuclear submarine and melting ice with lava jets to spell out ominous riddles, causing an international incident with breathless media coverage. It will get people out of work for a bit and, more importantly, put me on the radar. Literally. I’ll hear word on Thursday that my ignominious predecessor cracked in confinement and revealed my location. The game will soon come to my hunting grounds. Friday I’ll install the lasers. Batman will arrive on Saturday. All his puns will be about hockey and I’ll despair at the disrespect shown to my theming. Nothing about Albertan seafood? For shame. (Quick geography lesson: it’s landlocked. Lava Lobster must necessarily be an eastern import and imposter.) But it will all make sense when Batman reveals that he already knows all about my plot to kidnap (NHL commissioner) Gary Bettman and hold him ransom in exchange for the early dissolution of Connor (generational hockey talent) McDavid’s contract with the Edmonton Oilers so that he can play for my team instead, because I’m not from Alberta at all! A dastardly plot emboldened by legalized sports betting! Then it will be my turn. What Batman won’t know is that I already have Bettman in hand, and the sharks are circling. (Here I’ll make a clever joke about betting and Bettman and possibly also Batman if I’m really on point. This is a supervillainy job duty.) Everyone has fallen into my trap—and I’ll activate the lasers that will entomb them in a watery grave unless my demands are met. But of course, I’ve underestimated my foe. Batman will have developed the Bat Bulwark, an armoured submersible capable of diving through lava to enter my secret lair through the roof against all odds—and I’ve forgotten about Robin! I’ll battle them both, using my height and ridiculous heels for high kicking opportunities, but ultimately I’m no match. Ii will turn out I really should have partnered with someone, after all… flexibility alone isn’t enough. By Sunday my reign of terror will be over. The lair, however, will remain until my return. There’s always next week—same bat time, same bat channel.
|
|
#
¿
Dec 16, 2023 05:42
|
|