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Agreed, I couldn't stop smiling as I read it, Arlene's personality shone through so clearly.
Thanks :) My intention was to write in a kids POV this time around , I’m glad you enjoyed it
 
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Jason: Yeah, so what is the topic for today?

Malcolm: I don't know, man, this is not working out.

Jason: What are you talking! It is going so well.

Malcolm: What is going well, again?

Jason: This! Talking.

Malcolm: Really? You think this is working?

Jason: I do.

Malcolm: Well, I don't.

Malcolm turned away from Jason.

Jason: Look, man, I need this.

Malcolm turned toward Jason.

Malcolm: Yes. Say it right. Don't say this is working. Say that you need this. That you need me. Say that you have something to learn from me. Say it right.

Jason, humiliated, went quiet. He needed this, this chat, this conversation. He thrived on the heat of a conversation, a disagreement. Malcolm wasn't interested from the start, but he went along for Jason's enthusiasm. After three evenings over a week, the enthusiasm had waned off. Only drab monologues spewed from Jason's mouth. Jason looked at Malcolm contemptuously. He looked at his house. The beautiful glow of a comfortable home gave him no pleasure. He needed excitement in life. His life had been a wreck ever since his girlfriend went out of station for work. Was he always going to be so dependent on other people for, for . . . for what did he need people? What? "Malcolm doesn't need anyone. He does his thing. He reads. He writes. But the bastard has no place to sit. He has no food to eat. Even his clothes are borrowed. He depends on me. But here he sits. And the audacity of telling me that he is doing me a favor. Favor my ass! If he can sit in my house, warmed by my heater, under my light, then I can pick his brain a little." Irritation got the better of Jason, and he switched off the light in the room. Malcolm had been through this before. Malcolm went to the kitchen to continue reading. He was reading a book, Six Guns and Society. The book was more interesting than anything Jason could ever talk.

Energized by the tiny violence he had inflicted in the form of discomfort to his enemy, Jason asked.

Jason: So, what are you reading?

Malcolm: A book.

Jason: Really? A book! What is it about?

Malcolm: Why don't you pick one and read yourself?

Jason: Yeah. Thoughts of other people in other places and ignore the life that is around me.

Malcolm: Pretty much.

Malcolm continued reading.

Jason thought about cooking some soup to release the nervous energy that had built up within. As he put on the stove, Malcolm asked.

Malcolm: What are you cooking?

Jason could not answer. He knew he should have answered. After all, he was preparing for one, and there was going to be none for Malcolm. His voice failed him. He could not utter a word. Malcolm sensed some tension, and he wanted to avoid it. For all his aloofness, Malcolm was a sensitive soul. He just thought Jason needs to develop his half-baked ideas before he starts blabbering about them.

Jason poured the soup into a bowl, and looking at it, Malcolm felt a twitch in his belly. He was hungry. He knew there would be none for him. He relinquished.

Malcolm: So, about what did you want to talk?

Jason: You know that I am writing a story. A thriller. And while I feel thrilled all over my life with nothing going on outside of me, for the life of me, I can't write a word of it.

Malcolm: Why? What do you need?

Jason: For one, I need my girlfriend back.

Malcolm: You have lived with her for years, and you have not published anything. That's not the reason.

Jason: Look, if you insult me, the way you do, it does not help my confidence.

Malcolm: You are writing a thriller, and a character in a thriller gets chased. When he is chased, he does not have confidence. He is being hunted and he has to run for his life.

Jason: There is also a character who chases.

Malcolm: You do not seem like a person who can chase anything. You feel hunted, and if you feel hunted, then you cannot write the hunter.

Jason did not know what to say. On these occasions, he usually slipped into self-pity.

Jason: What is wrong with feeling hunted?

Malcolm: What is wrong is you cannot even properly feel hunted. You toggle between fight and flight, flight, and fight all the time. You do not take the time to explore anything properly.

Jason knew he should have quieted down at this moment, but he had not known self-control.

Jason: Do you know any book on this?

Malcolm: What will you do with a book? Make some soup of it?

Malcolm smirked and said.

Malcolm: Where is my soup?

Jason had not tasted the soup. He felt the bowl of soup slipping away from his hands. He would have to give the soup to Malcolm now. He got up and took the bowl of soup, gave it to Malcolm, and thought, "I just did something that I never believed I would end up doing."
 

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I have a prompt to write on. But the story has to be a dialogue between two characters. It can have intermittent description but the majority of it should be a dialogue, preferably a disagreement of some kind between two persons (more is allowed). The prompt just needs to appear somewhere in the dialogue.

Prompt: the audacity to pretend
 

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I overshot, sorry 😅 I couldn't shut up. Stopped randomly at some point in the scenario cause it was so long.

"I hung up the phone and drove all the way to Manchester in the green Peugeot, worried about the state I would find Andreas into. Had her sister come to visit and thrown a fit again ? I remembered vividly the small stock woman, her raven-black hair and the enormous square pink bag she had outrageously thrown in the street before crumbling on her floor, sucked down by hysteria when he refused to take her in to live with him. Andrea’s voice on the phone was deep and slow as if he had entered yet another dimension of wisdom, which I couldn’t but interpret as a sneakier stage of depression. I hurried under a sudden rain to Andreas’ neighborhood, a patch of dilapidated social housings with broken streetlights where I had never seen a single soul.

It would dawn on me much later than they were shunning my lover’s quiet but strange ways, the slick gait and funny smell emanating from everywhere, the hairs, the clothes’ fabric and the walls of the living room, where an unexplainable wind struck me still as I entered and made me doubt for a split second whether I was in the right place or had just unmasked another reality.


The first thing I saw when I came to my right mind was a stove with an aberrant turmoil of nuts and kale watered with soy sauce. A dense column of black smoke paraded above the hotplate, yet I couldn’t help laughing aloud as I strode towards the bed where he laid angrily chafing his knee, strawberry-strewn apron tucked up above his groin. He looked like a drag concept gone awry.

“You’re trying to get all your D vitamins in one meal ?”

He silenced my attempt at humor with a raised finger. It turned out his bad leg had snapped right under him. He could barely breathe and his knees still trembled from the fall, as they did after love.

“ Bring this” (The mute finger now pointed the cane) “We need to go to the beach.”

“ The beach ?” I had to refrain an instinct to mirror the fingering language and spoke too late, adding to the bizarre sense of dissonance which had accompanied me in spite of the appealing kale and strawberry extravaganza. “You look like you’d benefit more from a trip to the doctor."

“There’s no longer time for that.” He took the cane from my hand with such authority I took a few steps back. “Give me a lift, we’ll talk on the road.”

Yet as the car burrowed into the dusk he remained impassive and I couldn’t bring myself to speak, anxiously waiting for his statuesque half-face to turn and offer some modicum of meaning. Around us the pale purple sky charged with rain morphed and intensified like a fig waiting to burst. After a turn on the avenue to the sea, the bulbs of streetlights hooded with tree leaves irradiated a stabilo green light and unveiled his reflection in the windowpane, the other half of his face now clear as day – the sudden anxiety ravaging his eyes, the eyelids and mouth twitching like spiders caught mid-dream.

I brutally halted the car, just as the sea rode into view.

“Andreas ! ” I put my hand on his shoulders and forced him to look at me but his expression had became formal again. I took a deep breath.“You look lugubrious. Do you want to go out ? ”

“Yes.”

Fortunately the rain has subsided to a meek drizzle. We walked down the wide sand-marbled pier, to sit against the fence of wooden pillars posing like drugged models in front of the void. Andreas was studying the horizon with a slightly disturbing intensity. I laughed, not quite perfectly composed myself.

“And now what ? What are you looking for ?"

“Linda (it was her sister’s name). She’s coming.”

“What ? From where ?”

“Just wait a few more minutes, you’ll see.”

I inanely looked into the same direction, unsure how the erratic vixen I reluctantly remembered would fit in such a still and crystalline landscape. The sea was flawlessly mirroring the silver sky and a the sun, now a vivid pink globe, hung a few inches above the waters.

“ I very much doubt it.”

But I was a fool for expecting an answer. Andreas ignored me, rose to his feet with unexpected bravado and began to remove his shoes and his socks. To my increasing dismay, it soon became blatant his jeans would follow the same fate.

“ What are you doing ? Can you explain me at least this ?”

His penis was now swinging in front of me like a failed joke under the plastic apron.

“It’s better if you see by yourself.”

“I see all there is to see. I’m worried. It’s 10 p.m, Linda’s home, there’s no one here ... Hey ! You’re not going swimming, ain’t you ?”

He had begun to amble towards the sealine and I was following him feeling like a clingy labrador. But he hadn’t time to answer. Just as the sun burst into the ocean, an immense voice ricocheted all around us, yelling Andrea’s name.

I froze and I saw Linda, twice her own height. Her bare torso and wild mane of uncouth hair were emerging from the sea, surrounded by huge radiating tongues of setting sun. She turned two aggrandized pupils at me, like some very myopic, very vengeful high-schooler.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to let him go.” The metallic voice seemed to come from inside my head. I fell on the sand, crunched by the sound as Andreas’ hand slipped from mine. Linda’s voice rung into my ears again.

“You’ll be able to move again soon, Caroline..”

Only then did I realized that my limbs were paralyzed, trapped into some sandy spell. I watched helplessly as Andrea’s walked towards the sea, at a firm’s pace first, then increasingly slower, as a picture in slow motion. Suddenly, his legs looked boneless, almost liquid : they flickered a few seconds on the edge of the sea before he stumbled into the water. He turned his head, locked his eyes deep into mine.

“I’m sorry, Caroline.”

My heart rose like a bursting peach. He hadn’t looked at me like that for – how long ? I had lost the count of lustless days. My tongued was charmed still, and thus I answered him with the most piercing and loudest silence. He seemed to understand. But what he understood I couldn’t say.

“ I wished I had the audacity to pretend I’m coming back.” He cracked a smile deformed by pain. “ I must ask you one thing if you let me.”

Yes.

“ Look at it for real. Just once.”

The repulsive sight trapped in my memory has been floating at the edges of my sight since days and it was floating once again, just below, past the sought-after face and the apron, just below where the frail legs had once been.

I yelled.

It was a massive merman tail, clammy, thick and greenish.

( ...)
 

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I have a prompt to write on. But the story has to be a dialogue between two characters. It can have intermittent description but the majority of it should be a dialogue, preferably a disagreement of some kind between two persons (more is allowed). The prompt just needs to appear somewhere in the dialogue.

Prompt: the audacity to pretend

Phone rings
“Hello?” Picks up
“ Hey Chelsie !”
Click .dial tone . Phone rings again.
“Hello?”
“Chelsea dear - you better not hang up on me or else I’ll drive over .”
“ Ugh mom I don’t feel like talking right now !”
“ Why are you so mad at me ?”
“ You told Nathan that I want to go out to dinner with him .”
“ He told me that he finds you attractive.”
“I don’t find him attractive.”
“ Chelsie you’re turning 30 next month - your time is up, if you don’t find a partner now you may never have kids .”
“ I’m hanging up ...”
“ Nathan is a great catch - he drives a Tesla and has his own house and he has his eyes on you . What’s the harm in going on one date with him?”
“ I am perfectly capable of being alone and I don’t need a man in my life ...more so if the man looks and acts like my own mother !”
“ Now now dear - you do know that most of your friends are settled with kids already or are in long term relationship, I’m just doing you a favor - you’re going to be over the hill soon ... no man wants a wife over 30 , you’re lucky that Nathan asked about you and if he’s anything like me then you’re even luckier - I raised you and you turned out fine. “
“ Exactly that’s why I don’t need a man in my life .”
“ But I really like Nathan.”
“Then why won’t you go out on a date with him then.”
“Chelsie that’s no way to talk to your mother !”
“Look mom - I’m sick and tired of your concerns . I’ve told you many times over that I am not interested in dating anyone as of this moment and it’s likely that I’ll never get elope . I have no attraction towards Nathan and I would appreciate it if you were to not bug into my personal life .”
“ Oh please - I know you’re being prideful right now you have the audacity to pretend that nothing is wrong but deep down you’re lonely.”
“ I’m fine mom.”
“ I saw your profile on okcupid and e-harmony .”
“ That’s enough !” Click. Dial tone . Phone rang again
“ Mom I said enough already !”
“ Mom ? I didn’t know my voice sounded that feminine .”
“ I’m sorry who is this ?”
“ It’s Charles .”
“ Charles ? I haven’t heard from you since senior year of high school , what’s up?”
“I bumped into your mom at the grocery store and she gave me your number said that you were single and looking ... hello ? Hello? Chelsie are you there ?“
Click . Dial tone.


Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk
 

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Next possible prompt : anything this photography will inspire you.

View attachment 869917


“ Hey taxi! Wait !” I said chasing after the yellow cab but it disappeared into the night fog . I shouldn’t have gone out so late , I thought to myself. I looked down at my phone and realized that it was out of battery . “Just my luck “ I murmured to myself .
I walked across the streets and notice that a few block down the lights were still on in the Claremont Hotel , perhaps I could ask the receptionist to let me use the phone I thought to myself . Why do I always get myself into trouble.
Just then I heard the sky rumbling and it started raining .
“Great just great !” I said hugging onto my UC Berkeley sweatshirt - suddenly ! I felt a cold wind behind me but as I turned around I saw a man in his early 30s with an umbrella standing behind me .
“ It’s awfully dark and foggy tonight , why are you out so late ?” He asked in a British accent “ Come here before you catch a cold from the rain .”
He said “ Don’t worry , I won’t hurt you .”
I looked at him and then at the foggy street of Berkeley- I suppose it’s safer to be next to this stranger . He was lean, tall and elegant looking.
“ Im walking over to the Claremont Hotel ,” I informed him
“ I’ll walk with you.” He said kindly.
“ Actually...can I borrow your celll phone ?”
“ I don’t have a cellphone, sorry . But I can walk with you to the hotel, I see you have a Berkeley sweatshirt on .”
“ You went there ?”
“ I did .” He said “ I took a psych class.”
“Im a psych major ! “ I said “ Did you have any classes with Professor Chiovarelli ? He’s was the reason I became a psych major .”
“Tell me about it .” He said
We walked and talked for a while and I felt an instant connection with this British stranger- despite barely meeting him just a few moment ago . I told him that I was partying with some friends and was the last to leave the party thinking that I could Uber - only to find out that my phone ran out of battery . I mentioned the mishap of chasing after the yellow cab and we laughed about it.
“ It was the weirdest party yet - people were dressed as if it was the 50s/60s but I enjoy vintage and all those old fashion stuff.”
“ The 50s/60s isn’t as vintage as say the 1900s.” He joked
“Well that’s Victorian .” I said “ But yeah - I was too busy texting on my phone instead of enjoying the party so by the time the party was over - everyone left and I realized I didn’t have enough battery to Uber - and then well you know the rest - I tried calling the cab driver but he drove off .”
“ I’m forgetful myself .” He said “ In fact if I didn’t see you drench in the dark I wouldn’t even know how or when I got here either .” He said
“ Why are you here so late ? I asked him, “ it’s after midnight.”
“ I’m a night owl - I sleep during the day .” He winked at me
“ What are you a vampire?” I joked
“ Maybe .” He chuckled and smile at me - he had a great dimple smile
“ I don’t see any fangs .” I teased him
“ I’m harmless.” He said to me “But you should be careful around here. “Did you know that the Claremont Resort used to be a castle but it got burned down and then rebuilt later ? A man built the house for his wife and daughter but unfortunately his wife passed away.”
“ No way , that’s pretty romantic, building a castle for your significant other.”
“ It is pretty romantic huh ? Now it’s just a haunted hotel .”
“ Haunted - are you scared ?”
He chuckled, “ No but a young lady like you shouldn’t be alone , it’s not safe to be here at this time .”
“ Its Berkeley, I know, my friends car got broken into the other day .”
“ Be careful around this city at night .”
“ Lucky for me , I have you here .” I said
He smiled at me “ I’m not always here though .”
I walked closer to him to get some heat but it was still freezing , it’s always cold here “ It’s cold alright , by the way my name is Madeline, what’s yours?”
“ William Thornburg .” He smiled
“Thornburg - your last name sounds familiar.”
“ Look it up later .” He said with a wink
“ Well we’re here now , so I better leave .” He said .
I walked into the hotel only to realized that I was holding William’s black umbrella.
I ran back outside looking for him “ Will ! Will! You forgot your umbrella silly !” I shouted out but he had already disappeared.
I walked into the hotel lobby and asked the receptionist if I could borrow the phone , called my sister to pick me up .
As I was waiting , I smiled at the thought of the handsome stranger whom had kept me company and looked down at my umbrella and saw the word Thornburg carved on it.
I woke up the next morning , I decided to google more about William Thornburg- not much came up for his name , but I learned that there was a Will Thornburg who used to own the Claremont castle back in the 1900s, he built the castle for his wife and daughter .
“ That’s odd why would he tell me his name is William .” I said to myself
I searched for the picture of this William and realized that he looked identical to the gentleman that have helped me in the rain .
 

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Prompt “ What are you doing here ?”

Or continue a story that you have written on here already



Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk
 

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Discussion Starter · #152 ·
I promise I will continue to be active here after my exam which is on the sixth.
What’s your exam? And yay that you plan to write more!
 
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Next possible prompt : anything this photography will inspire you.

I admit I’m not very good at writing stories
and this may end up very corny and cliche but I’ll give it a shot.

The Song from Our Memories

This birthday party was a disaster.
His forty-fifty birthday was a complete and utter disaster until it was not.

Amelia, his younger sister, insisted that, “Alfred, don’t you remember that we used to have not even enough money for a cake."

The days of begging and wandering around looking for scraps of food, anything they could find was a blessing. Asking strangers for money only to distrustful eyes and even more disdainful glares as they ran away. Days when they only had the clothes on their backs and the warmth of their parents to take comfort in. When the entire world was against them, they at least had each other. Huddled under a blanket with hushed whispers of an imagined birthday party gorging on whatever food they could find while Amelia played the imaginary piano and sang happy birthday for each of us. She never forgot to sing and play for every single one of us every year. This year was different, Amelia had a real piano, but the warmth was not there anymore. It left along with momma and poppa. Momma and poppa died a few months back, and Amelia was never the same again.

We promised to celebrate our birthday happily each year when we had the money. The cakes, the party hats, the streamers were things we dreamed about. We are going to have a birthday party today no matter what!

And that was when the nightmare called his birthday started.

Amelia went and prepared everything like a fearsome bridezilla on her wedding day. God bless whom ever she may marry. She went about baking a chocolate cake with real candles lit with flames. She bought loads and loads of party decorations brimming with color sticking them everywhere from the living room to the bathroom and sent out the invitations to anyone in our small social circle she could think of.

She was so happy planning the entire thing.

It’s been so long since I’ve seen her smile.
A genuine and radiant smile beaming from cheek to cheek
as if nothing wrong could ever touch us again,
until a loud crack of thunder bough along with a pouring shower of rain.

The smile slipped off her face as she practically runs out the door.

I grabbed her arm before she can exit out the door and ask her

“Amelia, what’s wrong?”

She explains everything in a panic. “Your birthday party! The cake! The presents! I left everything outside.”

She nearly barrels out the door before I stand up and block her way.

“It raining outside. You’re going to get soaked. I don’t need those.”

“Yes, you do. You need cakes and streamers and present and- you NEED those for a birthday party.”

No, I don’t-

You do-

I don’t-

You-

I DON’T.

I NEED THEM THEN !!!

Tears that started streaming down her cheeks turn into loud sobs, tears dropping like raindrops on the windowsill.

“I need them.”

It is a quiet and hushed admission in the middle of a loud storm.

“We already lost momma and poppa. We at least need a birthday party. They would’ve wanted that. I wanted that. I wanted you to have a happy birthday. There nothing and no momma and papa. Her words broke off into another fit of sobs.

"This birthday party was a disaster and I’m sorry.”

“No, this is not a disaster.” My voice rings out confidently, surprising even myself admist the silence.

“H-How is this not a disaster”

You could practically hear the absurdity of it in her muffled and tear strained voice.

“We didn’t open the birthday presents yet”.

“There are no presents.”

“Not yet”

“I would like a birthday present”.

The request quiets her tears.

I picked up the cone hats from the ground and put one on her and me.


“I want a song as my birthday present.”

“Play the piano just like you used to.”


A small smile graces her flushed streaked face as stands back up on unstable legs and hobbles to the piano.

“What song would you like?“

“The usual”

“The usual it is”

With a nod of her head she touches a piano for the first time and plays a song.

A horrifying mishmashed tune vaguely resembling happy birthday rings out from the keys she smashes. She never really did truly learn to play the piano even when we no longer lived on the streets. She claimed that the best songs are the ones that we shared from our memories and none of her other song can ever live up to its wonder and magnificence. Amidst the honestly horrifying tune an unstable but joyous voice rings out.

“Haa~ppy Birthday toooo~ you



Haaa~ ppy Birthday toooo~ you



Happy Birthday ~ to Alfred



Happy Birthday to you.
 

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That was very good, actually ! Tender and witty, I just love how funny your dialogues are and how you movingly describe the sibling relationship.
 

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That was very good, actually ! Tender and witty, I just love how funny your dialogues are and how you movingly describe the sibling relationship.
Why thank you!

This prompt could have took an entirely different turn because I had too many possibilities around in my head. With the dark tone and setting I was either going to write one of three things:

1. A weary husband and a bossy wife on the brink of divorce and actually divorcing over a failed birthday party.

2. A possible dark birthday mystery because of the third pair extra of foot steps and nobody being there

3. Retired musicians (from the piano) celebrating the birthday of a deceased friend who came back to celebrate with them (after death).

It turned out to be neither of these things and somehow turned a bit more lighthearted then I thought which is a good thing because sometime I write stories that get a bit convoluted and dark.
 

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Why thank you!

This prompt could have took an entirely different turn because I had too many possibilities around in my head. With the dark tone and setting I was either going to write one of three things:

1. A weary husband and a bossy wife on the brink of divorce and actually divorcing over a failed birthday party.

2. A possible dark birthday mystery because of the third pair extra of foot steps and nobody being there

3. Retired musicians (from the piano) celebrating the birthday of a deceased friend who came back to celebrate with them (after death).

It turned out to be neither of these things and somehow turned a bit more lighthearted then I thought which is a good thing because sometime I write stories that get a bit convoluted and dark.
Haha I love those ideas. Particularly n°2.
 

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Discussion Starter · #157 ·
I couldn't find this thread today for a WHILE and that worried me, so I've got to bump this thread. No choice. This thread is too important.
 

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Prompt: While you are facing life-changing moment beside somebody you love (make up whatever situation you want) in the middle of a city you live in, the city is suddenly teemed with swarm of grasshoppers.

872310
 

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“Annalee Michaels, will you marry me?”

Frank’s eyes were glistening moistly, his slightly upturned nose pink and quivering ever so slightly.

“Oh my God, yes! Yes!”

I squealed in delight as he adjusted the white gold diamond(?) ring onto my ring finger. The photographer snapped our photo – me ecstatic on my feet, Frank nearly crying on bended knee.

Frank stood back up and wrapped his arms around my waist. “I love you,” he whispered in my ear.

“I love you, too,” I said, but my words were drowned out in a deafening cacophony.

Wagner’s “Flight of the Valkyries” was blasting from the rooftop restaurant’s speakers. From every set of speakers in town, in fact.

“What… the… frick?” I saw Frank’s mouth forming the words, but I didn’t hear a single syllable.

The patrons around us were screaming, covering their ears. Luckily, Frank and I were fans of dubstep, and immune to further auditory damage.

Suddenly, all the speakers went dead. There was blissful silence, at first.

Then, the buzzing.

The beating of a hundred thousand wings from a swarm of biblical proportions.

The swarm of flying insects grew from a fist-sized blot in the distance to an enormous sheet blanketing the entire horizon.

“RUN!” Frank screamed at me, pushing me toward the exit.

The exit was already being mobbed by dozens of restaurant staff and diners, all desperately trying to flee. I saw a man headbutt another to get ahead.

Frank screamed out in existential agony.

I grabbed his arm and ran toward the emergency staircase, where a group of diners was already booking it down to the ground. We descended the stairs in a blind panic, a writhing mass of fear on legs.

By the time we made it down the three flights, the streets were in pandemonium. Display windows had been smashed, car alarms were ringing, and several buildings were on fire. Crowds of people were running down the boulevard and forcing their way into any shelter they could find.

All this we observed through a thickening haze of beating wings and infernal buzzing, as the swarm came for us all. I could feel the crawling of hundreds of tiny feet on my face, hands, and wrists, and pain where the razor-like wings left tiny cuts on my skin.

“RUUUUUUUUU-U-U-U-U-U-U-NNNN!!!!”

Frank pushed me in the direction of the clamoring crowd. His eyes were wet with tears, his gaze fixed on mine.

“Frank, I can’t leave without you!”

“Yes, you can! I love you, Annalee Michaels! I’ll never forget you!”

“Frank, this is insane! Come with me!”

“Save yourself, I’ll hold them back!”

I punched him in the face and dragged him with me back inside the restaurant. There were already half a dozen people clustered inside, shuttering the windows and smacking at the roving insects with menus.

(Note: Added this bit later because the change in tone seemed way too abrupt, even if this is a shitpost...)
 

"WHERE ARE YOUR WEAPONS?" I shouted to the startled bartender.
"W-what?"
Frank grabbed him by the collar. "WE ARE THE LAST OF HUMANITY! WE MUST FIGHT TO THE BITTER END!"

The bartender gave him the stank eye. "Shit, son, they're just grasshoppers."

"What?"

An old-timer seated at the bar nodded in agreement with the bartender. "Uh huh. They'll move on soon enough. Just stay inside, they're not out to get ya."

"But I've never seen anything like this before," I said.

"Yeah, me neither," the bartender said. "But I checked the news, they said it's no big deal. This happens sometimes, it's their mating season or something."

"Oh, I've seen this before, alright," said the old-timer.

The bartender gave an annoyed sigh. "You've seen everything before, Earl."

Earl turned around on his stool to face us. His furrowed eyebrows were white and bristly, his mustache large and imposing. The deep lines on his weathered face spoke of hardship and adventure.

His voice was hushed and measured as he began to regale us with his tale.

"It was the summer of '86. Me and my boys Ray, Jack, Big Jack, Lil' Jack and Steve were out by the lake, fishin' and sippin' Jack Daniels and listening to honky-tonk tunes on Big Jack's lil' portable radio..."

"Shut it, Earl. Nobody wants to hear your stories while sober."

"Ya don't gotta be mean about it, Carl."

"Well don't just sit on your ass, help me clean up these broken plates. Damn tourists stampeded out of here and left the place a mess."


The grasshoppers were mostly gone in an hour. Some lingered, congregating on open surfaces and hopping in a leisurely fashion.

Frank and I made our way home, to our little two-bedroom bungalow on Peach Tree Avenue. We got cleaned up and disinfected each other’s wounds with soft cotton balls to the sound of Billie Holiday playing from the living room stereo.

We cuddled in close that night, gazing soulfully into each other’s eyes.

“Baby,” Frank whispered, his eyes alight with love. “I’ll always put you first.”

“I know, baby,” I said. “And I’ll always be there for you.”

“Even if I’m…”

He turned into a grasshopper.
 

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“Annalee Michaels, will you marry me?”

Frank’s eyes were glistening moistly, his slightly upturned nose pink and quivering ever so slightly.

“Oh my God, yes! Yes!”

I squealed in delight as he adjusted the white gold diamond(?) ring onto my ring finger. The photographer snapped our photo – me ecstatic on my feet, Frank nearly crying on bended knee.

Frank stood back up and wrapped his arms around my waist. “I love you,” he whispered in my ear.

“I love you, too,” I said, but my words were drowned out in a deafening cacophony.

Wagner’s “Flight of the Valkyries” was blasting from the rooftop restaurant’s speakers. From every set of speakers in town, in fact.

“What… the… frick?” I saw Frank’s mouth forming the words, but I didn’t hear a single syllable.

The patrons around us were screaming, covering their ears. Luckily, Frank and I were super into dubstep, and immune to further auditory damage.

As if on cue, the speakers all cut out at first. There was a blissful silence, at first.

Then, the buzzing.

The beating of a hundred thousand wings from a swarm of biblical proportions.

The swarm of flying insects grew from a fist-sized blot in the distance to an enormous sheet blanketing the entire horizon.

“RUN!” Frank screamed at me, pushing me toward the exit.

The exit was already being mobbed by dozens of restaurant staff and diners, all desperately trying to flee. I saw a man headbutt another to get ahead.

Frank screamed out in existential agony.

I grabbed his arm and ran toward the emergency staircase, where a group of diners were already booking it down to the ground. We descended the stairs in blind panic, a writhing mass of fear on legs.

By the time we made it down the three flights the streets were in pandemonium. Display windows had been smashed, car alarms were ringing, and several buildings were on fire. Crowds of people were running down the boulevard and forcing their way into shelter they could find.

All this we observed through a thickening haze of beating wings and infernal buzzing, as the swarm came for us all. I could feel the crawling of hundreds of tiny feet on my face, hands, and wrists, and pain where the razor-like wings left tiny cuts on my skin.

“RUUUUUUUUU-U-U-U-U-U-U-NNNN!!!!”

Frank pushed me in the direction of the clamoring crowd. His eyes were wet with tears, his gaze fixed on mine.

“I can’t leave without you!”

“Yes, you can! I love you! I’ll never forget you!”

“Frank, this is insane! Come with me!”

“Save yourself, I’ll hold them back!”

I punched him in the face and dragged him with me back inside the restaurant. There were already half a dozen people clustered inside, shuttering the windows and smacking at wandering locusts with menus.

The grasshoppers were mostly gone in an hour. Some lingered, congregating on open surfaces and hopping in a leisurely fashion.

Frank and I made our way home, to our little two-bedroom bungalow on Peach Tree Avenue. We got cleaned up and disinfected each other’s wounds with soft cotton balls to the sound of Billie Holiday playing from the living room stereo.

We cuddled in close that night, gazing soulfully into each other’s eyes.

“Baby,” Frank whispered, his eyes alight with love. “I’ll always put you first.”

“I know, baby,” I said. “And I’ll always be there for you.”

“Even if I’m…”

He turned into a grasshopper.
:ROFLMAO::ROFLMAO::ROFLMAO::ROFLMAO::ROFLMAO:
🤭
 
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