tooth soup

photo credit: Pro-Zak

potential/consider/light

from Jaime’s prompt

The day was so sunny and warm that Carl had decided to sit outside to eat his ham and salad sandwich. As he relaxed his buttocks into the grooves in the park bench and took great, cheek-stuffing bites of his sandwich, he closed his eyes and considered himself completely at peace. That peace was interrupted some seconds later as a short, sharp crack to the side of his head rammed his eyelids open and caused him to swear bits of lettuce onto the path.

Carl looked down and saw that a tiny chunk of light had landed in his lap. It squirmed there, alternating between its wave and particle natures, before settling into a half-state akin to that of a glow worm. Carl set his sandwich aside and picked up the light delicately between thumb and forefinger and placing it on his palm. `Poor little guy,’ he murmured. `Can’t decide what you want to be, eh? Never mind, we’ve all been there.’ The chunk of light continued to roll around miserably. Carl sighed. `Listen, you just need to take stock of your options and make your decision to the best of your knowledge. And keep in mind that making these decisions doesn’t necessarily close the door on anything you might want to do in the future.’ The light paused mid-wriggle. `In fact,’ continued Carl, `quite often you’ll open doors to places you might never have considered. Probably the worst thing you can do is not make a decision.’

The light stayed stationary for a moment, and then rolled onto its side and thinned out, becoming a two-dimensional wavelet and scooting off into the air. Carl waved and sat back on the bench to continue his moment of sandwich. It really was about time he handed in his notice.

photo credit: SpirosK

Byzantine/refrigerator/alley*

from Matt’s prompt

The lights of Vegas dribbled across the alley, reflected as they were in the oily juice that seeped out of garbage bins and assorted boxes lining the walls. Sifting through this detritus were two men engaged in a constant chatter as they wrecked fingernails prying open tin cans in search for items of some vague value.

“Do you think perhaps we will uncover the famed secret gold of Lord Ganasse tonight, Roger?” said one, his words slurring together even as his eyes drifted apart.

“I deem it most likely, Damien. Most likely,” the other replied, listing in his stride until he ended up falling sideways into a stack of mouldy newspapers. From his newsworthy recliner, Roger pointed at a rusted refrigerator with its door lolling open. “There, Damien, a cold case for you to open.”

“Right away, sir,” replied Damien, and stumbled towards the fridge. Upon reaching it and yanking it sdoor open, he stood stock still and, in a voice that sounded slightly less like his words were cars in a highway pile-up, said “Roger, my dear fellow, I think you’d better come here.”

After a few failed attempts, Roger gained his feet and wandered over to where Roger stood transfixed. He gasped as he saw what was contained within the whitegoods. A man, dressed in Roman garb, bloodied and broken in as many places as was presumably necessary to fit a six-foot-tall human into a space much less than that.

“Good Lord, I think you’ve stumbled onto something here, Damien. A Byzantinian Emperor, preserved in a freezing box in order to preserve his life until he could reanimate and resurrect his legions of power!” Roger’s voice rose to a shout and he slammed the door shut, grabbed his friend by the hand and fled the imagined wrath of a murdered ex-employee of the Caesar’s Palace casino.

—

*Characters shamelessly based on That Mitchell And Webb Look‘s Sir Digby Chicken Caesar and co.

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