Last week’s prompt was to include these five words:
Blossom Amputate Sink Pajamas Post-it
I’m rather disappointed with the low amount of submissions this week, hopefully next week will be better.
The waitress came over and set a plate on their table.
“What is this?” asked the customer, known as Gary for the duration of the mission. It had been selected as a typical earth name. His partner, sitting across the booth, was using the moniker George. They both stared at the plate.
“Babe,” said the waitress. “it’s an onion blossom. You ordered it, remember?” She looked at the two men with curiosity, head tilted slightly, and chewed on her gum. She said, “You two are something else,” shook her head, and walked away.
Gary pulled out a small, square, yellow pad of paper and a pen. The packaging had identified the product as Post-it Notes. A strip of applied adhesive on the back of each page kept it all together, but could also be used to secure an individual page to nearly any surface temporarily. It was doubtful the Post-it could be useful on their own planet, where technology had long ago surpassed the need for paper products, but it was clever. A clue about this race of beings.
Gary made a few notes about the onion blossom in a strange handwriting on the top page. Then he pinched a single piece in between the fingers of his left hand and used a dinner knife to slice it away from the main portion like a limb being amputated from a body. George carefully followed Gary’s lead, removing his own piece and sniffing the sample for a moment before delicately placing it in his mouth. They both chewed. It was crunchy. They both spit the food back onto the plate. Gary made more notes.
The other patrons of the diner were watching them. Tired men in billed hats, adolescents sharing fries and sodas, and the waitress behind the counter washing her hands in the sink. Gary understood that they had drawn attention to themselves and it was time to leave. They could cross “sample earth cuisine” off their mission checklist. He signaled George and they both rose from the booth.
“We are leaving now,” George announced in a flat voice. No one acknowledged the comment, but everyone stared.
The waitress came over, glanced at the fried onion, and said, “Didn’t like it, huh?”
Gary wanted to explain that his species didn’t have the proper digestive tract to handle earth food, but he said, “We are not very hungry.” He handed the waitress a twenty dollar bill and said, “Keep the change, please.”
She said thanks, and Gary and George walked out of the diner into the night. They would rest during the dark hours and resume the next item on their mission checklist: a study of earth clothing. Gary had heard about something called pajamas, and he wondered what those were like. – “Sample Earth Cuisine”, James Grange, Spring Creek, NV
There was an old copper pot in the farmhouse sink by the back door, full of amputated frog legs. That little Elly Rae thinks they’re just the cat’s pajamas. I don’t quite gather what they do with the rest of the little feller, but they don’t seem like the type of folk that let no parts go to waste. Ain’t got much to look at, but what they got is yours.
Seems the poorer folks get, the more they come to believe in the Lord’s kindness and the work of good Samaritans. Some folks get more charitable the closer they come to needin some. That’s all I can make of it, my kin never had that tender disposition. If there was enough to go around, then there’s enough to fight over, and its that plain. That’s mayhap how we’s got scattered up so far.
Christian hospitality never suited me much. When I hear the little ones ‘please and thank you ma’am’ its like a pebble in my shoe. I just can’t bear to watch these good folks beg the Lord for one more miracle. Sufferin’s better done alone. Don’t do the world no good to share it. Had to leave a post-it on the icebox this mornin, sayin ‘thank you for the kindness’.
Suppose I’ll just keep following the smell of peach blossoms down the road, til I find some proper folks on which to work my trade. Didn’t take nor leave no food or drink, but I’ll be dead and gone before I find vessel made of any ore that shines, that doesn’t find its way among my wares for at least a spell. Sweet Elly Rae will just have to do without tonight, unless the Lord is fixin to redeem all them unanswered petitions.
I ain’t out to be cruel, but the Lord made me as I am, and them as they are. If he wanted it any different, then the sun might rise and set on a kinder world. In that world them folks still got a copper pot in their sink, but them frogs still got legs too. Either way, Elly Rae ain’t gonna get dinner. -“The Copper Pot”, Dan Adler, Portland, OR
I went a little over the word limit this week, but I’m allowed to do that due to the fact that it’s my blog. Enjoy:
“How about this one, Amputations and the ‘Ghost Limb’ Phenomenon?” Jeffrey held up a large hardcover book with shiny paper covered with brightly colored medical photos. Maya glanced up at it for a moment before bending her head back down to the cardboard box full of anatomy books. She flipped through a book that held elaborate drawings of the skeletal structure of North American birds.
“Only fifty cents,” Jeffrey teased, wiggling the book about amputations in front of her face.
“Pass.”
“Ok, fine. Anything in particular you’re looking for?” Jeffrey set the book down into one of the boxes. He looked around at the other people, mostly college students like themselves, digging through the boxes of books the college library was trying to get rid of.
“I’ll know it when I see it,” said Maya.
“Ok, I’m going to go check out the fiction section.”
“Mm Hmm.”
Jeffrey walked to the opposite side of the quad where a cardboard sign shouting FICTION was propped up against another table of books. He scanned the titles, mostly bodice rippers and Tom Clancy paperbacks, but then he came across a Tom Robbins novel he had been meaning to read, Half Asleep in Frog Pajamas. A faded yellow post-it was stuck in between the pages. He opened it to the marked page, and saw one line had been highlighted in matching yellow: “You should never hesitate to trade your cow for a handful of magic beans.” After reading the line, he found himself looking at Maya, head still bent over the same box of books he had left her at. A sinking feeling overtook his stomach. He had never noticed until now, how round and full her butt was, and in fact, how large it had become. Her waist was almost non-existent; it was like her ass just continued up her torso.
He tried to remember the first time he saw her. It had been over five years ago, they had met as freshman and now they were both about to finish graduate school. He was sure that she had a waist then. She was happier then, too, he thought. Less withdrawn. Watching her now, she seemed like a zombie, walking slowly through the rows of books, eyes desperately searching the spines for the right title or author. Maybe she was searching for something else, too.
He walked over to the table to pay his fifty cents for the Tom Robbins novel. A girl, definitely an undergrad, was making change from a tin box for an older man in front of him. She was pretty, Jeffrey thought. He liked her red sweater and how her dirty blonde hair fell in curls across her shoulders. Her nametag said Blossom, with a smiley face in both “o”s. He handed her a dollar and smiled.
“Keep the change,” he said, before turning around and walking back towards Maya.
Bent Shelf Book Reviews 