Monday April 8th, 2013

The exercise:

Write about: the kick.

We had a nicer day here, with the sun managing to slip between the clouds for most of it. Finally got around to doing some work in the yard - hopefully we'll be able to get on top of that this week and make it less of a hassle for the rest of the year.

Mine:

"He did what?"

"You heard me, mother. He left the table without a word of thanks for all the effort I put into dinner."

"That's disgusting! It's like his manners were dissolved by all the wine he drank."

"I don't think he had any, actually."

"Even worse! That boy simply deserves a swift kick in the pants."

"Oh mom, I don't think you can call dad a boy anymore..."

6 Comments:

Greg said...

Sounds like Spring is getting into full swing where you are then, and the work is picking up accordingly. It's raining here this morning, but that's definitely a change from the snow :)
I really like the line about his manners being dissolved by all the wine he drank. That's superb, and I may have to wait a few weeks and then steal it ;-) The whole conversation is rather nicely done too – was this a conversation you overheard Kat and Max having and then wrote down? :-D

The kick
Lissajous leaned on the door, pushing the lock out slightly, and slipped a metal card into the gap thus formed. It didn't want to go at first, and he had a moment of panic thinking that it was too thick. He pushed harder against the door, feeling sweat spring out on his forehead, and then the card slipped further and sprang the lock with a click. He grabbed the door-frame to stop it slamming open, and choked off a nervous laugh. He felt silly for thinking the door wouldn't open now.
He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. It clicked again, locking.
There wasn't much light, just a thin window above his head that ran the length of the back of the room, but it was enough to see the squat, safe-like machine sat on the concrete floor. Thick cables ran from the back of it and tangled around each other like spaghetti, eventually disappearing into a metal conduit and from there to other places in this facility. On the front were two needle-meters, one flickering slightly in a green zone and the other pointing to 10 on a scale that went up to 50. Below it was a dial like a safe's combination lock: numbers up to 100 and no other markings, not even one to tell you what number was currently chosen.
What had the guard said? Oh yes: Just kick it, it's nowhere near as robust as it looks.
Lissajous took a deep breath, and kicked the front of the machine.

morganna said...

Greg -- I want to know what happens next!
-------------
Knowing
It is
Coming, yet
Ka-thump!

Aholiab said...

The Kick

The small town of Mesa View nestled snugly below the tabletop formation that inspired its name. The citizens of the community made good use of the flat, open land that seemed to almost hover above them while they went about their everyday lives. They had built a community center with softball and soccer fields on this expanse of real estate that would have otherwise been relegated to bountiful crops of tumble weeds.

The high school soccer team was hoping to go to the State Championships this year and wanted to raise money for new uniforms and equipment, and to help pay for some of the travel expenses for out-of-town games. When they approached the local radio station to ask for sponsorship, the owners put together a program that would both advertise their station and benefit the team.

Two hundred new soccer balls were purchased and taken to the community center where each one was painted with glow-in-the dark logos for the station. Advertisements were broadcast for weeks before the event which had been dubbed “Sky Kick 2013”.

As the sun set on the evening of the event, people were enjoying barbecues in their backyards, drink stands conducted brisk business, and the junior high band paraded through the streets. Everyone turned their attention to the top of the mesa waiting for total darkness. Suddenly a single glowing orb flew from the sky and fell toward the town. Then dozens more followed in majestic arcs as the team kicked them far over the observers below. This man-made meteor shower of soccer balls cascaded over the town to the delight of the children, and the chagrin of a few insurance agents.

In the end, damage was minimal, the radio station gained good publicity, and the team won third place in the Championships.

Marc said...

Greg - snow? Ugh, I shall not complain about the rain again.

The spaghetti line is a great one, as is the solution to such a daunting machine :D

Morganna - hah, nicely done :)

Aholiab - that is, I must say, a rather brilliant bit of promotion :D

Love the line about the insurance agents, as I was thinking along those lines myself.

David said...

Let us be clear about one thing, Jesus did not save me. The kick to the head did. I laid there on the ground. Head bleeding. Sirens ringing in my ears. More kicks. To my legs. My chest. Another to my skull. Those were inadvertent, the feet of fleeing prisoners jumping over my incapacitated frame in the dark. Gunshots. Certain death. Not for me. But for Joe. He knew the plan's flaws. Yet, he still followed. He had nothing left. None of them did. He thought I did. So I got his boot to my head. And a splitting headache. And my life.

Marc said...

David - that could make for a very good opening to quite an intriguing tale, I think.