The exercise:
Welcome to the 500th day in a row of Daily Writing Practice. I'd like to mark the occasion by... carrying on as usual. That number up there is just going to continue to get bigger and bigger and I'm not planning on celebrating every milestone.
Though I'll admit that 500 is a very pretty number.
Anyway, the prompt, as hinted at yesterday, is: stiff upper lip.
Why did I think it was so funny at the time? Because I had just got home from a trip to the dentist to get three fillings done and my upper lip was frozen. Yes, I am quite creative, thank you for noticing.
Mine:
Ever since the operation all his smiles were halved - not in number, but in appearance. The doctors had told him that the chance of nerve damage was insignificant, that they had performed the procedure thousands upon thousands of times without incident.
But then, he had never been a very lucky man. He should have known, he realized afterward. If someone was going to find the needle in the ten acre wide haystack by stepping on it, he was the guy.
Knowing this did nothing to change the fact that his upper lip would never move again; that all his kisses would be only half felt; and that the jokes would follow him for the rest of his life.
As he set the timer on the explosive strapped to the chest of the struggling surgeon, he wasn't sure this would make much of a difference either. But as he tightened the duct tape around the wrists and feet of all the assistants and office staff that had so cheerfully greeted him on the fateful morning of his accident, he decided that it was worth a shot.
3 comments:
Holy Zarquon's singing fish! Not only is 500 a big number, but you've managed to whip up something, in my opinion, exceedingly dark compared some of your other bits.
As for my offering, it's going off in a different direction, but oh well.
- - - - -
Douglas sat on a bench at the bus stop, perfectly content, next to his number 42. He'd always thought it was a good number, a nice number, one he figured you could take home and introduce to your family. 42 was just a decent number.
Then Douglas looked up across the street. As a semi moved out of the way his eye was caught by a rather froody looking fella closely followed by a number. And, oh, what a number! Three digits, nice and wavy, an overall sturdy number. Douglas bit his lip in admiration, completely failing at hiding his admiring stare as the frood and the 500 continued down the sidewalk.
Then his eyes drifted back to his lovely, faithful 42, who was trying not to be jealous at the moment. He glanced between the two numbers, and sighed. "42's been good to me all these years, even in the afterlife, I'd never leave it." He paused to whistle. "But oh, what a number!"
- - - - -
Hey, at least it's relevant. Not only that, but I can some-what connect the stiff-lip reference, in that I happened to go to the dentist today. Not all that interesting, but I did have a pretty good idea for my next "Lunacy" chapter. So it's all good. ^^
I like 500, it's D in roman numerals :)
@Eloo: Great story! I definitely wasn't expecting your dark little twist there at the end :)
@g2: Also a great story, I like the idea that people are followed around by numbers. I wonder what numbers you and Eloo would pick then?
And I hope neither of you were traumatised by the dentist.
Stiff Upper Lip
"Implants?"
"Where?"
"Breast implants. I can give you a nice pair of 38DDs. I think I might have some others somewhere too... hmm, actually... oh well. I'll just should some breast implants in other places too, you'll look a bit lumpy at first but you'll soon get used to it."
"No, Dr. Monsanto." For the first time the Green Lightbulb sounded firm and determined. The doctor looked disappointed.
"There's no additional cost, and it'll give you things to play with when you get lon--"
"NO, Dr. Monsanto. Just the stiff upper lip, please."
"Are you sure?" Dr. Monsanto pouted, his shock of white hair somehow pulling in around his face as he did so, almost as if it were independent of his head. "I can do extra limbs you know. I did Dr. Septopus's."
"You gave him his seven legs?"
"I gave him twelve." Dr. Monsanto glared at the Green Lightbulb, and then relaxed, sighing. "Fine, a stiff upper lip it is then. Why on earth do you want it anyway?"
"I'm a villain, Dr. Monsanto, and all the coolest villains are British, and they all have stiff upper lips. Er, how will you be doing the surgery?"
"I will insert these iron pins here into your top lip, and then this small but incredibly powerful magnet into the base of your nose."
"Wha--?"
"You'll have to use plastic cutlery after this," said Dr. Monsanto as he pushed a chloroformed rag into the Green Lightbulb's face. The Green Lightbulb sagged in his chair, losing consciousness, and Dr. Monsanto eyed the tray of spare implants that he wanted to get rid of.
"He'll never notice one or two...."
g2 - thanks, I do try to mix it up here every now and again :)
That was a wonderfully unique, HH inspired bit of writing by the by. And I look forward to what you've come up with for Lunacy.
Greg - yeah, neither was I :)
Thanks though. And the dentist was fine. I'm an old hand at it by now :P
Poor Green Lightbulb. Never catches a break. Entertaining as hell though :D
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