The above photos depict some sort of crime scene. It's up to you to piece them together and write the story. It's best to keep the tone light and humorous. The best story wins cookies baked by yours truly . . .
--Anne
Thursday, February 18, 2010
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It all started with an innocent game of Scrabble.
ReplyDeleteHe looked across the table at the innocent little red penguin. She was so sweet, so elusive, and so devastatingly gorgeous!
And she spurned him. She crushed his every word. His "tyranny" paved the way her triple word "Qiviut". Smirking, she placed the tablets with a staccato beat onto the board. She had won. Who knew the girl had ever heard of Inuits and their coat lining materials? Wasn't she from the other pole? Annoyed, he stalked away, amongst the cheers for her victorious word.
He needed fresh air. As he walked through the snow outside, invisible, but for his red nose, ears, and paws, he pondered the little penguin. He thought of her wide innocent eyes, that belied her evil intent. Yes, she had done it on purpose. She had humiliated
him. He needed revenge.
He was thought little of in his social circle. They didn't understand that puppy dogs needed bacon every morning. He had to bulk up, didn't he? What better way than to munch down bacon? So what if his bulking up produced a fluffy mid-section? Cuddly, they called him. Hah! Cuddly, indeed!
And his shoes! They always, ALWAYS, made much fun of his shoes. Turquise blue in color, they brought to him a bright spot, every single day. Not to mention his Podiatrist told him he needed to wear lifts to help correct his stature-challenge. His beloved turquoise sneaks hid the lifts perfectly! Medically speaking, they were a must, he muttered to himself.
No. NO! He would not allow himself to be laughed at for yet another thing. He had always been the Scrabble champion! They could not take that away from him!
Silently, walking along the snow drifted road, he plotted. The snow was slushy, yes, but in an hour or so it would begin to freeze. Then she would emerge, waddling down the street to her apartment at the end of the road. There he would strike.
Ferver mounting, he laid out a plan in his puppy dog mind.
Later that evening, as the wide-eyed penguin said her goodbyes, the puppy dog slipped out the back door. Scrabble-shame on his mind, he shuffled quietly to the shed where he had replaced the worn shovels earlier, and found them still warm from where is fluffy paws had held them.
They had laughed at him for the last time, he thought to himself. That little uppity penguin had galvanized his shame, and she had to pay now.
Hearing the door shut, and the shuffle of little penguin feet, he made his way to the corner of the house. Spying down the street, he saw her shuffle along, wide eyes staring straight ahead.
It was now or never.
Sneaking along the bushes heavy with snow, he slipped past the house mail box, numbered forty-three. She was almost there. As her little flat foot stepped onto the black ice, he shouted, "Tyranny!"
Startled, she slipped, fell, and hit her little penguin head. Right before she drifted off, her blurred vision caught a glimpse of a red nose, red paws, and red fluffy ears. "That doesn't look very promising," she thought to herself. Darkness swept over her, and she remembered no more.
The next morning, the neighborhood was in an uproar. The poor little dear penguin from down the street had been found, hanging in the icy winter branches, frozen to death!
"She was so sweet!" said one neighbor. "I can't imagine who would have wanted to do this to such a little penguin!"
"The last I saw of her, she was walking down the street," said the host of the game night she had been attending that night. "I can't imagine why a penguin would freeze! She had just transfered here from Antartica as part of an exchange program!"
Sweetie the Dog, folded his morning paper, smiled. Oh yes, he thought to himself as he flipped his morning bacon, I am still the Scrabble King!
~Tasha (This was TOO much fun!!) :)
The bold, white S blurred, melding with the smoky red backdrop. A rage induced haze engulfed the small, dark eyes of the shoes. The laces twitched, reaching out for a brief moment to flex its knot menacingly. Dark images surfaced, a tile cracked and broken beneath a soiled sole; a trail of blood-like red plastic leading to a freshly dug hole in a nearby field.
ReplyDeleteHaving had its murderous vision, the shoe relaxed. It had to be patient. The ground outside was still too hard, a deep snow having recently covered the land and enshrouded the mailbox. Stretching from where it lay on the floor, the shoe turned to look outside and froze, surprised to see two eyes staring at him hauntingly.
The eyes that watched him were inhuman, seemingly beady and bird-like yet they somehow knew the evil that was in the shoe’s heart. The shoe, surprised at first, quickly became angry as the eyes followed him like two balloons, always silently floating just behind him. The shoe knew what had to be done. The eyes had to be closed.
The shoe waited patiently, knowing that when the time was right he would elude the eyes and, for a brief moment, have a chance to strike. The hours inched by, the shoe rocking back and forth, in anticipation of the kill. Finally, the eyes disappeared. The shoe began to move. Slowly, quietly, the shoe crept across the road, looking for the eyes. Ice covered the path but the shoe stepped over, careful to keep from slipping, only occasionally silently sliding to the next clear patch. It was going to find those eyes and stomp them into the abyss.
The dog looked out the window, his morning bacon crackling next to his paw. Something had caught his eye, a sneaky movement. Pausing to look, he didn’t catch anything but as the cooking meat sent sizzles of grease into the air it again. At first only a green blur, his vision focused, bringing a lime green shoe into view. The dog yelped in excitement as he fought a sudden yet terrible urge to chew the shoe. Trembling, torn between the bacon at paw and the shoe in sight, the dog cocked his head, barked, and ran outside after the shoe. It was going to be a good day for the dog and the last day for the shoe.
So, who won?
ReplyDelete