So Heather mentioned that she was in need of a prompt that would 'force' her to write fiction. Well. I do love me a challenge. This is what I've concocted:
I'm going to give you a scene, along with a small cast of characters, and you get to write what happens there. Warning: I may have had a little too much fun coming up with this.
A pub. There is a bar along one wall, several tables placed haphazardly about the room, and a jukebox in the corner. The jukebox only plays ABBA songs.
Barry: standing on the bar, Barry is a unicorn. With a drinking problem (thus the whole 'standing on the bar' thing).
David: seated at a table by himself, David is a dragon. Who happens to be a hopeless romantic. That only speaks in rhyme.
The bartender: is Superman. Not as in he's a really super guy, but the actual Superman. Why is he working in this pub? You tell me.
The waitress: is named Molly. She's a mime. With a French accent.
One last character is about to enter the pub: yours. He/she can be whoever/whatever you like. They can interact with other characters or merely observe things. I leave that decision in your capably creative hands.
Heather, if you can get non-fiction out of that... I'll have the nice men in white coats come pay you a visit.
The sign over the door loudly proclaims that this establishment is called "We Wuv Whiskey". I pause to listen to it a few more times to make sure I heard it right, then pass through its doors. The opening notes of ABBA's Dancing Queen is the first sound to reach my ears. The second comes from the unicorn staggering across the bar to my left.
"I am not cut off, ya cranky old wanker!" He (at least I think it's a he) shakes his massive head from side to side, causing the empty beer cans that adorn his horn to rattle loud enough to drown out the jukebox for a moment. "Why don't ya go race a speeding bloody train and let a 'corn drink in peace?"
I quickly decide that a seat at the bar is not in my best interest, so I scan the room for an empty table. It appears the only remaining unoccupied table is next to a dragon who seems to be using his talons to write something in his napkin.
Maybe I should keep looking for another place to eat.
"Come lad, come have a seat now!" the dragon calls in my direction with a friendly wave. "Don't be afraid, I'm allergic to cow!"
I'm not sure I believe him but I'm starving and it would be rude to ignore him. So I moo softly and make my way over to him, the bell around my neck marking my progress for all to hear. Easing myself into a chair, I scan the menu that occupies the middle of the table.
"Never been here before?" the dragon asks through a thin puff of smoke. "I highly recommend the boar. Although the omelette also makes me roar. The fries, however, I do not adore."
Oh, how terribly nice! I nod my thanks and he smiles graciously before returning his attention to his napkin. I steal a glance while I wait for the waitress to arrive and, if my eyes have not yet failed me, he seems to be working on a poem entitled Oh Molly, My Sweet Honeybee, How Many Villages Must I Raze To The Ground For Thee?
Poor fellow. I know exactly how he feels.
Well, perhaps not exactly, but close enough.
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