You must use the words in bold. Keep it short and try to make sense.
Colours: turquoise, green, pink, aquamarine, magenta, black, indigo, maroon
Place: Venice, Vancouver, New York, Deer Lake, Disney World, the seashore, Florida, Mexico
Breadbox sized object: spatula, ring, water bottle, book, a bomb, key, nail polish
Smell of: coffee, gasoline, curry, popcorn, money, bo body odour, milk, perfume, brownies, cookies, dirty socks
The sound of: trains, wind, mufflers, wolves, coyotes, people, motorcycles, clock
The taste of: cotton candy, chocolate, vanilla yogurt, Pringles, medicine, bile, blood, muffins
A nickname: honey bunny, sweetie pie, baby, buddy, devil, asshole, pumpkin (punkin), picky, dork, punk, dude
A fruit: papaya, watermelon, mango, pear, mandarin orange, peach, cherries, strawberries, blueberries, grapes
Something we wear: jeans, a ring, silk scarf, underwear, sweater, a tie, bowtie, eyeglasses, cosmetics, perfume, a tux
Something shiny: diamonds, a bald head, ice, hubcaps (car rims), eyes, a knife, stars, gold, salmon, teeth, sequins
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Ernie and The Mango
Ernie always cut into his mango carefully, afraid to let any juice run onto the cutting board. This time he’d slipped, and the nick in his thumb oozed. Turning from the counter, he raised his hand to his mouth and tasted blood. It tasted like a rusty iron fence he decided.
The turquoise sea outside the window mirrored glints of light onto his whitewashed ceiling. The fan turned lazily, stirring the sultry air. Perhaps he’d best go down to the seashore and try to find that vendor with the bald head, shining as he perspired in the noonday tropical sun.
He was such an asshole, but he sold first aid supplies, hard to get in this remote paradise. He stank, frankly speaking, too. Ernie wondered why guys down here didn’t know that their b.o. offended—or did they and just not care about it?
He thought back to last year, the bomb in the Bali bar. He’d almost gone there, but at the last minute his work with timber wolves near Fort Simpson forced a change in plans. And then he’d had to see his boss in Edmonton and compliment him on his ridiculous polka dot bowtie.
Mango
I hold a knife, gazing at the mango on the cutting board. Suddenly, the mango turns into Kim’s bald head. “I want to kill you.”Grinding my teeth, I sink the knife into the mango. The juices run down along my fingers. I place the fingers at my mouth, licking on them. “Um, the taste of Kim’s blood might be like this.” I raise my head, look at the moon through the windows, and then release a long wolves-like howl from the top of lung.
Mary, my colleague and ex-girlfriend, is holding her wedding party in this evening. At this moment, she possibly is snuggling in Kim’s arms, and the two bitches probably were dancing crazily. I seem to see Mary is in a turquoise long skirt, her big boobs are pressing at that asshole’s beer belly, and her long hair is flinging out from side to side.
Kim is our big boss. He is very tall and fat with an overpowering smell of b.o. He always wears a bowtie in the office (maybe he thinks it will make him looks like a nobleman, but it makes me feel sick.)
I hadn’t realized that Mary was out with Kim until Mary told me that she was going to get married two weeks ago. At that moment, I thought the groom certainly would be me, Larry Chen; however, when I was told that the groom was Kim, I nearly passed out. After recovered from unconsciousness, the first things occurred to my mind was I wanted to lay a bomb at Kim’s big house that is located at the seashore in North Vancouver. However, I’m gutless to do it. What I can do is just cutting the mango everyday at home, and imaging that was Kim’s bald head.
Mango in the Line of the Duty
As a police officer, I have worked in the VPD(Vancouver Police Department) for seven years. Howard Rutter is not only my partner but also my best friend who is well known by his bold head. He envies my turquoise eyes, sharp nose, and wolf-like sound.
Catching a bad guy is danger: such asshole often has a knife, or a hand gun! So we always look out for one another in the line of duty.
“Mango!” Howard was calling me.
They named me by a fruit, but all right, I like it!
“Let’s go, Mango!”
One call was from the Airport near the seashore. They found a bomb in a luggage. Who is the owner?
“Mom, see, a dog!” shouted a little girl when I got the inside of the main building
“Wow, a purebred German Shepherd!” Every time I appear in the public, people always gasp in admiration like that, but I only concentrate on my task.
I put my nose to the handle of the luggage; it smelled like someone’s body odor. I started to track, followed the trail, and locked a target—a man who is wearing a bowtie on the end of the corridor. When he noticed me and wanted to escape, I grabbed him by the leg and hung on. I never let go until the suspect was safely in custody.
“Good job! Buddy!” Howard praised.
“Nothing,” I thought, “I’m a police officer.”
Only, I really don’t like the taste of the blood.
A Wolf and a Little Girl
I was wandering south wolves cave and found something unusual smell, human’s body odor. A guy was playing with a little girl down the cave. The little girl’s throwing water bombs toward him and the guy pretended wounding by the bomb. The little girl carefully cared him and said sorry for the harm bomb. She had beautiful turquoise eyes, and her face was shinning with bright smile. They looked so happy, and I wished to be there one day with them. I moved toward my home and dreamed playing with the little girl every day. After two year, I fond the little girl again on the seashore, and I decided to go down there and introduce myself to them. They were having a party with sweet mangos, grapes, and oranges which I had never had a chance to have, but it has so sweet smells. The guy had a tux with pink bowtie and the little girl had a white lace dress, and there were other humans such as several pink dress ladies, black suits gentlemen, and even a bald hair man with shinning white shoes. I stepped out from the bush, nobody care about my appearance but the little girl running toward me and hugged me with her soft arms. “Hello, cutty! Mom, come here, I find a doggy!” She called me doggy; I didn’t care how she’s calling me. I was happy with her like my dream. However, something strange feeling flowed over my head with human’s shouting. “Wolf! It’s a wolf!, honey! Stay away from it! Help her some body! Help her!” Human’s running away from me even if the kind little girl frightened about my approaching. “No, cutty, don’t leave me! It’s me the doggy.” I tried to explain why I came here and I wouldn’t harm anybody, but the asshole, the bowtie guy trigged a shot toward me. My blood spread around my head, and I fell down on the beautiful seashore. I closed my eyes with the little girl’s faint scream.
A day in Cancun
The view of the Caribbean Sea was breathtaking. Its colour was a gradation from emerald green to turquoise, merging into the perfect blue sky on the horizon.
The noise of the motorboats and the water skies was like a wolves’ growl so that we gave up napping on the beach beds. While my friends were getting mango ice cream at the café, I collected a variety of seashells. Suddenly, a smell of body odour with cigar smoke filled my nostril. A young native man with a bold head begged me to buy his handmade thick blankets. He said, “$150 for each.” Too expensive— he was cheating me—asshole! How could he sell such things in a humid air?
At night, we rambled through the seashore again because there was a fireworks display. We were so excited at watching the bombs-like sparkling fireworks.
After we had enjoyed the night beach event, we stopped at the seaside bar. Mariachi, the Mexican band wearing black bow ties, was gathering in the centre. Listening the folk song, my friends shared a bottle of tequila. I ordered a glass of Bloody Mary with double tomato juice. It tasted like real blood, so I added to it extra Tabasco sauce and some limes.
Thanks Brad, for your proofreading and feedback for my terrible writings.
Hi,Choi:
Finally,I've got why the Korean TV dramas are so popular in the most countries of Asia. It seems that every Korean is a good writer of TV drama. Although your writing is not long, it includes every element that would make tears come to the reader's eyes.
Hi,Ritsuko:
I thought my "mango" was pretty good;however,I have to confess now that your "Cancun" is much better.You used the words in the writing so smoothly that the readers will hard to figure out those words were required to be used. Especially, what you have given us by your wrinting is not a beautiful picture only, but a romantic atmosphere also.
I really enjoyed every one of them.
Larry's has "boobs" again (are you obsessed?) and is scary and funny at the same time; Catherine's shows her affection for animals well; Choi's is dramatic (I felt really sorry for the wolf); and Ritsuko's is: ahhhh, naaaaice, I wish I were in Mexico!
But Ritchan, don't be so modest; your writing is NOT "terrible" AT ALL! God!
Mine's gotten a bit longer...669 words!
Howling of the Wolves
My dad was a lumberjack, and we used to live in a cabin near the woods. We were literally surrounded by animals—birds, racoons, and wild rabbits—but at night, especially in the cold winter, howling of wolves in the distance scared me.
On those nights, he sat on the edge of my bed and held me.
“It’s okay, sweet pea. Daddy’s here,” he used to say.
He was still in his flannel shirt and overalls—he often went a bar straight after his work—and smelled alcohol. Combined with his body odour, it made my nose wrinkle.
“You stink, Daddy,” I said.
“Oh, hush up. Sleep now.”
He then squeezed me and tousled my hair. That was our routine. I fell asleep in his arms.
So when he did not come back home one day, I believed he was eaten by the wolves. Once I got older, I imagined he was killed in a plane crash or a terrorist bomb whenever the horrible news was on TV. Still, I wrote him cards for Christmas and Valentine’s Day and sent them to my paternal grandmother in Yakima, hoping they would reach him somehow. But I received no reply. By high school, I had quitted it altogether.
Then one day, a letter arrived at my dorm. He would be in the town sometime and like to meet me, it said. I crumpled it hard and dumped it in the garbage, trying to forget everything about him, but a few days later, I was standing on the door step of the restaurant he’d chosen. I could not put away the place and the time on the letter out of my mind.
A maitre d’ with black bowtie escorted me to the table for two. The man sitting at the table was bold, and he stood up. He was tall and husky, but somehow seemed smaller than I’d remembered. Tentatively he extended his hand, but I ignored. What else should I have done? I didn’t know what to do or to say.
He cleared his throat and said, “Thanks for coming, Clare.”
I remembered his voice.
He wore a shirt—it desperately needed a press— and tie, but its collar and cuffs were too tight. Button holes around his stomach were stretched out as if the buttons would pop out in any minutes. He looked tired.
We didn’t talk much; he asked some questions, and I answered with as little words as possible. The food looked beautiful, but the prime rib tasted like blood, anything else inorganic. I stared at a picture of seashore on the wall and thought how boring a turquoise color of the sea was.
“Wow, what kind of fruit is that?” he said when a waiter served the dessert, angel cake with assorted fruits and cream.
“It’s a mango, sir,” the waiter scoffed, but he didn’t notice.
“I’ve never seen it before.” He raised his eye blows innocently and started to dig in.
After a while he put the spoon down with clink and wiped his forehead with the palm of his hand. He took a deep breath.
“Sorry, Clare, I’ve been such an asshole,” he said.
“I’ve gotten all the letter you sent to Grandma. I tried to write back, but. . .” he looked down and shook his head. His bold head was shiny with tiny droplets of perspiration.
“I’m a troubled man, Clair. I don’t blame you’re mad at me. I just wanted to say sorry. I’m so sorry that I haven’t been a part of your life. Sorry for my absence.”
He looked up to me, the face distorted, then he smiled.
“But I’m so glad to see you today. You’ve all grown up, and look. . .God, became such a beautiful young lady. I don’t know who’s to thank for, but I’m so grateful.”
I felt a lump in my throat. With those wrinkles and bags under them, his eyes looked old, but I still remember them.
“Daddy. . .” I began.
Oh, and I'll be an hour late on Thursday. Kids' Christmas concert at school!
Two Wise Vultures
There is a lush jungle adjacent to the seashore. The turquoise ocean stretches far beyond the horizon and looks like linking to the magnificent beautiful blue sky. The ripples wave towards the seashore one by one making regular musical rhythm, and the ocean smell accompanied with cool breeze adds to the jungle a lively and soothing atmosphere. All creatures are enjoying their peace and stable lives.
Two vultures, Dindin and Dondon, perch silently on a tall dead tree above the jungle.
“They say the bold heads are wiser than others. Don’t you think so?” Dindin breaks the silence.
“Nay, They just say it. Do they prove it?” Dondon disagrees with Dindin.
“We can prove it, you know, we are one of the most powerful species. See, our beaks and claws are stronger than others. No one dares to fight against us in bird’s world.” Dindin is proud of being a powerful species and continues, “Let me ask you a question; why do we instinctively to search for dead body odor? Don’t you think we should eliminate this destiny?”
“We were born by nature and we enjoy our food; our species still survive for thousands years.” Dondon explains his opinion.
“We can break the record and challenge the nasty tradition. I can not stand that we merely eat dead bodies. We can change our diet.” Dindin continues his creativeness.
“What should we eat then?” Dondon is persuaded by Dindin and intends to try it.
“It was long time ago, I heard from my sparrow neighbors, Chichi and Gigi, who talked about fruit. They said one of the delicious fruits, mango, has nice smell, sweet, juicy, and is full of fiber, that won’t cause them to get fat.” Dindin offers this information.
Dindin suggests this new idea he created that they should eat fruit instead, and then they try to discover it. They are looking for mango around the jungle, but they have never seen mango since they were born.
“Oh! What an asshole you are! How can we eat this ribbon?” Dindin complains about a bowtie that Dondon found and thought is a ma
“You said nice smell and fiber stuff. You didn’t tell me what kind of shape it is.” Dondon still doesn’t have any idea about mango.
“It should be a round shape. Don’t you see all fruits are round shape?” Dindin answers with his own image.
“Does it contain any sound?” Dondon still confuses with it.
“It may make sound like wolves. If it hasn’t any sound, how can sparrows find it?” Dindin imagines and says to Dondon.
Finally, Dondon finds a round shape thing, a bomb, which a few wolf cubs are playing with it. When the cubs play, they make wolves sound. Dondon invites Dindin to make sure it is the right mango. Then they grab the bomb from the cubs.
Chug,--- Boom,---“ When Dindin and Dondon try to open it, it blasts off and makes a huge deafening sound suddenly.
“Whoa!---Quack!---“ their bold heads are bolder than previous ones and their whole bodies are also naked like the dead trees, so that they lick some blood oozing from their bold heads.
Hello again,
I’m so impressed with your stories—Larry, Catherine, Choi and Hiromi.
Larry: Your story always makes me a laugh. I think you are good at writing stories with first person’s point of view. I like a story told by first person better than third person.
Catherine: I bet you like mystery stories. This story is interesting! It’s like a TV detectives series—a sort of comedy –a good combination of a beautiful nimble detective and a dull, ugly male detective.
Choi: Last weekend, I was in Okanagan and saw a coyote family, looking for food on my snowy yard. When they saw me, they ran away. I hoped them to stay alive. Unlike human beings, the life of wild animals is just survival. In your story, the wolf didn’t obey the natural rule so that it is killed…ha, I felt so sad about the wolf.
Hiromi: Honestly, among your stories, I like this one best and am hoping to read more.
The first and second paragraph reminds me of the poem, “My Papa’s Waltz.” Do you remember it? I’m curious about the protagonist—how did she feel about her father while she couldn’t see him? And, I’m looking forward to reading the sequel.
Thanks for sharing your stories with me. Additional thanks, Larry and Hiromi, for your comment on my writing. Compared to your writings, mine is like a traveling journal, isn’t it? I’m lacking in imagination! Anyway, I’m glad that you could sense a scene of Cancun.
I’m going to read Suzanne’s writing, see you.
Here's a comment from Larry:
Hi, Suzanne:
What two poor vultures!
Your story is like Aesop's Fable,it tells some
philosophy. I think the human being should learn from
these two vultures' experience, that is, don't try to
eat or own something that not yours. For instance,
we've been trying to contact the aliens on the other
planets. I believe this such stupid idea just like the
two vultures were looking for mango.
The Faded Spy
"Would you like something to drink? I have apple, orange, tomato, and mango juice." the stewardess asked..
"No, thanks." Victor said briefly.
Looking down from the SA Flight 77, Victor was strained: a wolf chased him with the same speed of the plane he was on board. Victor had an illusion about white cumuli.
"Is it an ill omen?" He sighed deeply. Victor sweated from his bald head to toes with anxiety, soon he felt strongly his body odor.
A few weeks ago, Alexander Litvinenko, Victor’s co-worker, was killed at the Starbucks in London by drinking a glass of water-a polonium-20. Victor was shocked and speechless with amazement of Alexander’s sudden death. As a smart spy of the KGB, Alexander had worked for over 20 years for his fatherland with full of patriotism, however the Putin Administration threw him away like an old shoe. Alexander made a bitter mistake of putting his faith in Putin who couldn’t be trusted.
Not to be the second Alexander, Victor secretly planned to take refuge in US. However he felt the drag net of the KGB moved in, he hurriedly booked, flew to Zurich and transferred to Venice. Thinking of Alexander, Victor clenched his fist tightly.
“What an asshole! I’ll reveal the truth of your death.” Victor muttered.
“Ladies and gentlemen, our plane will be landing in a few minutes, please, fasten tightly your seatbelt.” The pilot announced .
Victor peeped through the window. The peaceful turquoise seashore made him relaxed.
“Oh, Lord, please help me.” Victor prayed.
.
At the bureau of information, Victor got the map of downtown of Venice, however he couldn’t find the location of the American Embassy. Although the bowtie senior officer smiled to him, Victor didn’t ask anything because his strong accent could be a trouble. He looked straight without batting an eye.
“Yes, I got it. 142 Main Avenue.” He wrote the address on his left palm. Quickly, he held his small bag and turned his head.
Bang. He clashed against the marble column.
“Ah!” Victor crouched with scream and closed his eyes. There are twinkling stars in the yellow sky. The thick liquid spilt from his left eye, nose, and inside of his mouth. Victor wiped blood off with his left hand and swallowed the salty liquid.
“Excuse me sir. Are you okay? I called the emergency, please wait a second.” The officer said with embarrassment
“No thanks.”
Victor ran away to the taxi stop.
As soon as Victor took on the taxi, he stuck his hand out to the taxi driver.
“142 Main Avenue” was written with blood.
The driver turned deadly pale with horror. The ambulance was passing away with blowing a siren.
“It’s almost done.” Victor bit his lips.
Alone in the Seashore
Ann stood by the seashore alone in an early December afternoon. The wind was blowing like a lonely wolf’s howling. Her favourite turquoise sea wasn’t drawing her any attention at that moment. Her thoughts were flying back…
Don – my husband looked weird with a bowtie and a bald head at our wedding, for I never saw him wearing formal clothes without a hat. Whenever we were in the seashore, I always joke that the sea is sparkling like his bald head. He just gave me a smile and touched his head for a second.
He was a car mechanic. I complained his BO after his work all the time. He must think that I acted like an asshole, but he never said that to me.
Recently, Don was hurt by a tire which exploded like a bomb. It’s not serious, but he needed a surgery. A week ago, my mother-in-law took care of all the kids, so I could stay with Don in the Hospital and cut some mangoes for him. Without his physical work around the house, I felt so exhausted and tears running down my face. “I don’t like to be alone.”
“Not to worry, I’ll be always with you!” He said.
The wind blew right in Ann’s face. It seemed she was in the metallic smell surgical ward with blood on Don’s body again, while a lone seagull was crying across the sky.
Ann couldn’t help bursting into tears anymore. (She has to be strong in front of Don’s 82 year-old mom and her own 11 year-old son and their 6 year-old and 2 year-old sons.) She knelt down on the sand and cried out: “He didn’t die of the injury but the surgery. I wish I never complained anything of him…”
Words
It is a beautiful day on the Island of Saint Thomas. The beach is crowded with tourists and islander’s alike. There are people forming a crowd near the seashore. The turquoise water sparkles, blinding me as the pinpoints of light refract and bounce off the bald headed man in the middle of the commotion on the beach. “What an asshole!” I mutter.
A woman wearing a flower-print muumuu and yellow sun hat rudely elbows her way past me. I can smell her B.O. It acridly fills my nostrils and I can feel the contents of my stomach begin to rise. I finally get a good look at the attraction that has so drawn everyone. The guy must be drunk or high. He’s standing on the beach wearing nothing but a bowtie and an ear to ear smile. The bitch with the hat elbows past me again and I consider hand delivering a bomb hidden inside a mango to her room. I make a mental note to find out which hotel and which room she’s staying in.
It has been an extraordinarily long time since I’ve killed without pay. In this case I’ll make an exception. Maybe I’ll kill both of them. The sickness has not gone away and won’t I imagine till my blood lust is sated. At times like this I feel like a wolf. I must hunt. I must rid the world of all drunk, tacky tourists.
HELLO!
IS ANYONE OUT THERE?
Yes, but I think more attention is being paid to the more recent assignments, Stacey.
I'm going to suggest that we "workshop" pieces on a regular schedule. If a student wishes to have their piece examined by all, then we can accomodate that--plenty of feedback, but not on everything we write.
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