I haven't written ANYTHING at all on my blog in weeks. I haven't even read a book cover to cover recently. I've just been so dang busy! All five of the munchkin bunch started school last week, and I began babysitting for three new clients at the same time. Once we get used to the new schedule, things will calm down and return to a normal state of chaos. Then, maybe, hopefully, I'll have the time to keep up with my reading and all my writing projects.
Since I had the day off unexpectedly, I decided to catch up on some of my emails and found a blog post offering me an opportunity to practice my short-story writing skills with a prompt. Here's the challenge:
Can You Save This Goober?
Just because she absolutely, positively very much ever loved ice cream, didn't mean he he every which time she went to buy won, had to remind her it wood make her fat. She exorcised regularly every mourning, newn and nite, like going bicycling, doing lots of skating all over the place, going around jogging every time she could get a really good chance to be able to do so and even parked her car far at the mol so she could walk too it for getting even more greatly needed wonderful exhilirating exorcise.
Hear he wuz making funn of her but he wasn't sew grate himself, just looking at his puffing when he was walking wuz enuf to loose her breath. Y did he pick on her? Was he thinking he was even better than she was? Wear was he getting that idea, coming off as being such a very great hunky marvelous one when he he never ever followed every each thing he was always and everyday, over and over, two many times for her to llisten without screaming very loud whenever she heard him saying it, told her to be paying attention to her diet.
She just new he wuz being two much of a criticisor, just wait and in some more very soon minutes she was going right up standing real close to him and and she was telling him off real good.
Bad, wasn't it? Well, here's my attempt at improving the story. My idea? Scrap everything but the basic plot of a woman wanting ice cream but being denied. So, here you go. Hope you enjoy! Oh, and click this link The Blood-Red Pencil: Save The Goober if you want to post your own or read what others came up with.
The light flickers on as we enter the aisle shivering in delight from the forbidden treasures resting frozen in their temporary holding docks and from the chill drifting through their glass enclosures.
My hand runs along the cool barrier protecting me from my weakness. My mouth salivates.
I sneak a peek in his direction; he isn’t looking. I fling the door wide and, as if the cold air billowing out has the ability to flash-freeze, I become paralyzed; only indecision is the cause of my immobility.
Coffee. Chocolate. Cinnamon Buns. Chocolate Fudge Brownies. Boston Cream Pie. Cherry Garcia.
Too many choices.
“Close it,” he says, noticing my condition. “You know you can’t eat that; it’ll go straight to your thighs.” His damp sausages squeeze my bony arm and he pushes the door shut with his dimpled knee. “Your treat is in the next section – pharmaceuticals. Come on.”
My feet refuse to cooperate as he tugs my away from my desire.
“Come on, fat-ass,” he repeats, pulling me down the aisle. Breathing heavily from the effort of dragging me, he puffs out, “You’re. Making. A. Scene.”
He thrusts me into the rack of boxes promising miracles. “Which will it be? Cleanse your system? Speed up your metabolism? Dissolve the fat with a pill and glass of water?”
The pig slaps my rear, startling me out of my dream of bananas and cherries and whipped cream.
“Why don’t you get all three? You need it.”
I imagine forcing him to swallow the poison while I devour spoonful after spoonful of Neapolitan ice cream; my size six fat-cells rejoicing at the end of their starvation. As I pick up the box guaranteeing my success at becoming his Barbie doll, the light flickers off down the vacant freezer aisle.