You are SO lucky.... I almost didn't get this posted! Phew! Glad we dodged that bullet. So I have nothing exciting or interesting or witty to say... Not that I do that on normal weeks, but I have an excuse this time. ;) Today's sentence is so very random (Thanks, Mark!) that I am fascinated to read what you all come up with. So enough with the rambling; Get writing! :)
If you need to read the full version of the rules, go here. Otherwise, here's the short version:
Rules:
1. Up to 500 words
2. Keep it clean (nothing rated R or above)
3. Start with the given first sentence.
4. Optional Special Challenge
5. Include Twitter/email, word count, Special Challenge accepted
6. The challenge is open for 24 hours on Tuesday EST
Oh, and feel free to change pronouns, punctuation, tense, and anything in brackets to fit the story/pov/tone. I'm not going to be TOO picky... Our judge however...
Our Judge today is Mark Ethridge also known as @LurchMunster. Check out his blog here. Read his winning tale from last week here!
Your first sentence for FINISH THAT THOUGHT #38 is:
Chickens have lips.
Your SPECIAL CHALLENGE from the judge is:
The spring equinox.
AAAAAAAND WE'RE OFF!!!
Chicken Lips and Other Mysteries of God
ReplyDelete“Chickens have lips.” Adam watched as the news sank in.
“What do you suppose it all means?”
That had been the question since they had woken up that morning. Their farm was changed, they couldn’t see any hills, or neighbors around them. Out front, their extensive garden was in its place, but instead of the garage and driveway there was a large orchard.
Because they were farmers, creatures of routine, Adam went to feed the animals while his wife fixed breakfast. That was when he noticed the chickens.
“I don’t know, but I think it means we aren’t on earth anymore”
They made a fearful journey to see if the family graveyard was still beyond the garden. It was. In silent pain they both stared at Timmy’s fresh grave. Timmy Anthropoi, Age Seven. Taken Too Soon. The words on the temporary marker sent his wife retreating to the house. Adam was, once again, was paralyzed. A moment later he felt a gentle hand on his should and it brought him back to the house.
“What is happening? Where are we?” Adam asked
“You are in a place, I created so that you could learn the truth.”
“Who are you?”
“I am the Lord.”
“So tell us what it is you want us to know.”
“I already did. Since you didn’t understand it in words I will not teach it to you that way again. You will learn it through experience.”
It wasn’t prayer; it was face to face. But one thing remained the same, they felt much better, even though they didn’t get direct answers to their questions.
After God left they ate breakfast—bacon, biscuits, eggs, and some fresh fruit from the orchard. They had never had this fruit before, it gave them a head-rush. Adam asked about it. She mentioned it was the only tree of its kind in the middle of the orchard.
An idea came to Adam’s mind and he rushed out to look. He became cross with her.
“Why did you pick this tree?” he demanded.
“I wanted to try something different. What difference does it make?”
“Don’t you see? God placed us here in a garden just for us. One tree in the middle is different than all the others. My name is Adam your name is Eve. Don’t you see it.?”
“If you realized this why didn’t you tell me?” She demanded. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re thinking?”
God approached them. “What have you done?”
“We ate of the fruit.” Adam was sobbing, but quickly his tone turned to accusation. “Why did You do this to us? You knew we make this mistake. Why?”
“Are you not responsible for your actions?” God asked.
“But it’s impossible for us. Life is too complicated we cannot get it right all the time.”
“That is true. And it’s my pleasure to forgive you. If you will receive it.”
Adam stormed away. Eve stood confused. God watched with the understanding of Omniscience. Over the next several months, God waited while Adam went through the motions of harvesting the garden, milking the cows, and gathering eggs.
Finally Adam tried to step out of his routine to make a permanent marker for Timmy’s grave. He went to the workshop. But seeing the dried blood, he froze. He had never cleaned up after the accident. He froze for a long time, then he fled.
Just outside the shop, God stood waiting. Timmy was with him.
Timmy ran to Adam. “I’m sorry, daddy. I know I was supposed to wait on you. You trusted me with the key, and I wanted to surprise you, to make you proud.”
“It’s alright, Timmy. It’s okay, I forgive you.” They cried together. Then they cleaned the tools and made the marker. Timmy Anthropoi, Died at Age Seven, Waiting with Jesus.
Adam forgave himself for giving Timmy the key. Eve forgave her husband as well. Finally they accepted the forgiveness of God.
They awoke the next morning back on earth. The chicken’s no longer had lips, the orchard was gone and they had the courage to keep on living.
686 Words
@CharlesWShort
I realized rather late in the day, I was working on the wrong word count. The only cure I know of is, perhaps our hostess would be so kind as to delete the entry for me.
DeleteStraitjackets & Marionettes
ReplyDeleteChickens have lips.
The wind, forceful with its hand, pushed me onward from tree to tree. It wanted me to escape. We both did.
They will tear out your eyes.
A White Coat yells somewhere behind me. This time, the shivers down my back aren’t from the cold. The wind carries me better than my own legs do. I can’t seem to get them underneath me well enough to run.
The mouse ran up the clock.
My foot catches on something and I fall, tumbling end over end down the small hill I hadn’t seen before. A rock stops my decent and the cry escapes my lips before I can stop it.
Shut up you oaf, they’ll hear us.
Tears pour from my eyes and fall to the ground as I get on my hands and knees. I have to keep moving. Wet leaves from last autumn and every autumn before that soak my pants. My slippers disappeared. I know because I can feel the cold ground instead of warm fuzz against my feet.
Run. Run. The White Coats are coming. We have to run!
Someone calls my name. They’ve gotten closer. I crawl to a tree and pull myself up onto my jello legs. The bark cuts into my fingers like tiny swords and the blood makes the tree sad.
Let them kiss you goodnight.
Tree to tree to tree. I slip, catch myself, fall, get back up. Tree to tree to tree. Can’t stop.
They’re gonna get cha.
Am I moving at all? The world spins and that’s when I crash to the ground. I scream out in pain. What hit me? I hear his voice. A White Coat. They found me. He’s saying something but I don't listen. I’m too sad. They pierce my skin and I flinch. Soon I will be asleep, I know the routine. The man picks up my already sagging body as he drags me back to the cold room.
“Chickens have lips. They will tear out your eyes. The mouse ran up the clock. Shut up you oaf, they’ll hear us. Run. Run. The White Coats are coming. We have to run! Let them kiss you goodnight. They’re gonna get cha.”
“What’s he saying Harry?” Another man shows up from behind a tree.
“Something about chickens having lips. Who knows? Let’s just get him back to the doctor before one of his others wakes up.”
Chickens have lips. Chickens have lips. Chickens have lips.
412 Words
Special Challenge Not Accepted
@CaitlinStatus
LOVE this.
DeleteTilting Axis
ReplyDelete327 words
@stellakateT
challenge accepted
Chickens have lips. That was all that was typed on the A4 sheet of paper. Finding it on the seat next to me on the train going home, I wondered what the hell it meant. Lips, chickens have beaks, never liked birds of any description because of their ability to peck. Feeding ducks always held me in dread, tiny children offering up stale bread and walking away with all their fingers in tact. I imagined torn digits and blood squirting out big time, mothers fainting and fathers beating off the predators.
I opened up my lap top and typed in the three words. Pictures of varieties of fowl appeared and a detailed description of beaks and a definite no to lips. One definition was an indirect way of saying yes like, is the Pope catholic or do camels cross deserts?
I looked up and scanned the faces of my usual companions. Creatures of habit we all seem to want to sit in the same seats at the same table. Miserable Mike who always scowls, Arty Farty Pamela reading the galley leaflets with a dreamy expression all over her face and Gorgeous Greg who seems to be asleep the entire journey and miraculously wakes up seconds before his stop. Made up names of course we never spoke to each other. Wondered what they called me Aloof Adele or Efficient Elise. I pride myself on my sharp business suits, severe hair style and designer brief case.
I watched her pick up the note, hoped it would start a conversation, she’s so beautiful. Bet she has eyes only for the bloke that sleeps all the time. He has perfect symmetry. Girls like that. Thought I might invite her to the Chicken Festival. No chickens just great music, great food and even greater company. Start of the Summer Equinox, the earth’s axis tilting like she tilting mine. Would it hurt me to start a conversation with her? Do Chickens have lips?
"Cliché"
ReplyDelete“Chickens have lips.”
“Pigs fly.”
“The moon is made of green cheese.”
He stopped and grinned at me. “Money grows on trees.”
I snorted at this one. “If only!”
“Not too shabby, eh?”
“It’ll do, I guess. For now. However, my expectations are quite high.”
“I’ll do my best not to disappoint.”
“Make sure you don’t, or I’ll be forced to have you replaced.”
He grimaced in mock horror. “No! Not after a lifetime of training. Please consider my suffering! My sacrifice!”
“Irrelevant. You’re either prepared or you’re not.”
“Baby, I was born ready.”
“All right. Go ahead then. Hit me.”
“Cats have nine lives.”
“Bzzzt. Pathetic. Try again.”
“It’s raining cats and dogs. Now I’ve got fleas.”
“Ha. Okay, that was a good one.” Oops. My turn. Easier to make fun of him than it was to come up with my own. “I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth. Gave the doctors fits.”
“Well, I counted my chickens before they hatched.”
“I led a horse to water AND made him drink.”
“So what? I took wooden nickels. On purpose.”
“I judged a book by its cover.”
“I took all my eggs and put them in one little bitty basket. Broke every last one.”
“Big mess.”
“Yeah, yeah it was.” His grey eyes met mine. “Are you ready?”
“No.”
“Liz, it’s been a week.”
“I don’t care.”
“We can’t keep playing this—”
“I bit the hand that fed me. Sorry, Mom.”
“Liz.”
“Drove by hell the other day; the road really was paved with good intentions. You should’ve seen the potholes!”
“Liz!”
“What??”
“I can’t keep playing anymore. It’s been a week. You’re going to have to face it.”
“I don’t have to face anything. Rome really was built in a day. It was Daylight Savings…”
“Fine. My turn.”
The look on his face terrified me. “No need. I’m doing great on my own.”
“You have to stay strong for the family.”
“Pbbbbt. Dislike. How about—I looked a gift horse in the mouth. Needed fillings.”
“Elizabeth.”
“Shut up.”
“Here’s another. You’re holding up so well.”
“I like my version better.”
“Time will heal your wounds.”
“That’s not fair.”
“It was for the best.”
“Stop it.”
“You need to move on.”
“I said stop it!”
He spoke quieter now. “It happened for a reason.”
I clenched my teeth and looked away, eyes stinging.
“I know just how you feel,” he said. His voice sounded different this time. Ragged, almost, and something in my heart began to burn.
“That’s en—”
He gripped my shoulders and turned me to face him. “You can always have another child,” he whispered.
For the first time in eight days, five hours, and thirty-two minutes I let the empty high chair fill my eyes.
And in the biggest, most horrible cliché of all, I crumbled to the floor and cried myself a river.
482 words
@postupak
This is stupendous. You give a new meaning to "weaving a tale." Amazing how you have told a sad tale through such casual dialogue.
ReplyDelete