Last Wednesday's Words, take Two
My first story was posted last Saturday, but not many of you found it hidden among everything else I had there then.
The words were:
joyously; delicatessen; appropriate; bundled; introduced; ruffle;
improvise; consternation; whirlpool; disaster; shabby; fanciful.
Here is my other story using those words:
Full Moon Revenge
Over and over, joyously, he plunged the knife into the chest of his victim. He gleefully imagined the consternation on his mother's face when the police would later identify her best kitchen carver as the murder weapon.
Last time, he had been forced to improvise with a barbecue skewer, which now lay at the bottom of the lake.
He raised his head, lifted bloodied hands and howled at the full moon. Quickly shedding the shabby clothes he had stolen from a charity donation bin, he hurried home to shower. He loved to watch the whirlpool of blood tinted water as it swirled its way down the drain.
Glancing at the clock, he saw there was plenty of time left before his mother came home. This kill had been the fastest yet. And he had left the body to be found this time instead of dragging it deep into the cave he used to play in as a child. At the back of that cave was a chasm and at the bottom of that lay three 'boyfriends' and all their belongings. Well, everything they had brought to their home anyway.
He thought back to the day in the delicatessen, a year and a half ago now, when he had introduced his mother to Muriel Gleeson, who was looking for more members for a book club. Muriel was a disaster in terms of fashion sense, fanciful hairdos, and too many ruffles on all her clothes, hardly appropriate for a plump widow with three chins, but her book club was popular and it would be a good way to have his mum out of the way for three hours at night twice a week. His own cover story was a study session at the library twice a week, telling her he wanted to get top grades for his history assignments.
Most book clubs met less often, but Muriel's was a gossip circle as well, with the women bringing plates of snacks along with their books and knitting.
After dressing and cleaning the shower, he went to his bedroom and felt around under the bed for the clothes he had bundled up and stuffed as far back as possible. The next set of shabby clothes. He knew he would need them. Maybe not soon, but eventually.
His mother was bound to bring home yet another 'boyfriend'. Another man who would take advantage of their home and her cooking and laundry skills. Why couldn't she see that none of them really loved her? Why couldn't she see that some of them tried to get into his pants as well as hers? Why didn't she wonder when they all 'left town' suddenly?
The latest 'boyfriend' had stolen one of her credit cards and tried to use it at the delicatessen where he worked serving coffee and sandwiches after school and on weekends. He'd pretended the eftpos machine wasn't working and made the man pay cash.
He held the card now, and studied it carefully to make sure he hadn't knicked it with the knife during the stabbing. He'd slide it down beside the cushion in her favourite armchair; when she found it she would think it had fallen out of her purse which often rested on the arm of that chair.
He went to the kitchen and placed the knife in the dishwasher where all the dinner dishes waited, then started the hot wash cycle.
The words were:
joyously; delicatessen; appropriate; bundled; introduced; ruffle;
improvise; consternation; whirlpool; disaster; shabby; fanciful.
Here is my other story using those words:
Full Moon Revenge
Over and over, joyously, he plunged the knife into the chest of his victim. He gleefully imagined the consternation on his mother's face when the police would later identify her best kitchen carver as the murder weapon.
Last time, he had been forced to improvise with a barbecue skewer, which now lay at the bottom of the lake.
He raised his head, lifted bloodied hands and howled at the full moon. Quickly shedding the shabby clothes he had stolen from a charity donation bin, he hurried home to shower. He loved to watch the whirlpool of blood tinted water as it swirled its way down the drain.
Glancing at the clock, he saw there was plenty of time left before his mother came home. This kill had been the fastest yet. And he had left the body to be found this time instead of dragging it deep into the cave he used to play in as a child. At the back of that cave was a chasm and at the bottom of that lay three 'boyfriends' and all their belongings. Well, everything they had brought to their home anyway.
He thought back to the day in the delicatessen, a year and a half ago now, when he had introduced his mother to Muriel Gleeson, who was looking for more members for a book club. Muriel was a disaster in terms of fashion sense, fanciful hairdos, and too many ruffles on all her clothes, hardly appropriate for a plump widow with three chins, but her book club was popular and it would be a good way to have his mum out of the way for three hours at night twice a week. His own cover story was a study session at the library twice a week, telling her he wanted to get top grades for his history assignments.
Most book clubs met less often, but Muriel's was a gossip circle as well, with the women bringing plates of snacks along with their books and knitting.
After dressing and cleaning the shower, he went to his bedroom and felt around under the bed for the clothes he had bundled up and stuffed as far back as possible. The next set of shabby clothes. He knew he would need them. Maybe not soon, but eventually.
His mother was bound to bring home yet another 'boyfriend'. Another man who would take advantage of their home and her cooking and laundry skills. Why couldn't she see that none of them really loved her? Why couldn't she see that some of them tried to get into his pants as well as hers? Why didn't she wonder when they all 'left town' suddenly?
The latest 'boyfriend' had stolen one of her credit cards and tried to use it at the delicatessen where he worked serving coffee and sandwiches after school and on weekends. He'd pretended the eftpos machine wasn't working and made the man pay cash.
He held the card now, and studied it carefully to make sure he hadn't knicked it with the knife during the stabbing. He'd slide it down beside the cushion in her favourite armchair; when she found it she would think it had fallen out of her purse which often rested on the arm of that chair.
He went to the kitchen and placed the knife in the dishwasher where all the dinner dishes waited, then started the hot wash cycle.
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Very, very different to your last take on the words.
ReplyDeleteAnd also excellent. Mind you, if only his mother had listened to her boy, perhaps some of this bloodshed could have been avoided. It seems that have ignited something perhaps better left unlit. I really don't like the pleasure he finds in it.
Hmmmm....a violent start to the week - not only from the news bulletins! Do you have something you need to tell us, River?
ReplyDeleteI think I'll stick with the music of Gordon Lightfoot and the tennis!
Sorry, I didn't get around to reading your stories making use of the words until this morning. I'm not sure how I came to miss your earlier one. Well done.
You can lock Norman Bates back in his room now. Stephen King would be proud of you for your second tale.
Elephant's Child; the mother is young and perhaps a bit foolish, an unwed teen mother and the son has inherited his father's schizophrenic nature (if that's possible).
ReplyDeleteLee; nothing at all I need to tell you. I write what the words tell me to. Mostly sweetness-and-light stuff, which surprises me considering the TV shows I like and the books I read.
Wow.......where did that come from? Fantastic.
ReplyDeleteDelores; seems my mind has a hidden dark side which likes to come out and play occasionally.
ReplyDelete