Monday February 17th, 2014

The exercise:

Write about: the handshake.

Took the night off work this evening and thankfully it wasn't particularly difficult to find someone to cover for me. I was feeling well enough to manage it (though it wouldn't have been very fun) but Kat is pretty sick still and I didn't want to leave her for the evening to take care of Max by herself.

Another sleep tonight, we'll see where we're all at tomorrow. Maybe I'll even be able to find time to catch up on some comments again.

Mine:

My little brother claims to be the president of some very important, very mysterious club. Top secret though, couldn't possibly tell you who's in or what they do or even what it's called. Those are just the fine print details, and that stuff has never mattered to him.

He has, however, made absolutely sure that one of the few things in this world he does care about has been included: a secret handshake.

That's what he calls it anyway. I've seen him perform the ritual on several occasions, paying far more attention than he figured anyone ever would. That means I know his secret. I know what he's really up to.

You see, the handshake varies each time he does it. Only the ending is consistent. That final move, the one he obviously enjoys the most, tells me all I need to know.

The big, stupid gorilla just wants a way to get away with punching people right in the face.

2 Comments:

Greg said...

It sounds like you're over the worst of it then, and hopefully Kat is too! My cold seems to settling in for the duration, but I can't see me having any space to take time off work until it's cleared up, so I think I'm just going to ignore it :)
Heh, I did wonder where your story was going, but I didn't guess the punchline! I like it, I may have to take up this secret handshake of his and try it myself. After all, someone stunned from a blow to the head is much easier to convince to see your side of an argument!

The handshake
"I've hired a doorman," said Dr. Septopus. He was looking extremely pleased with him, more so than usual, and was clacking his beak between sentences like a hungry raven. "Entry to and from the Headquarters of the Council of Nastiness will henceforth be mediated by him."
Sylvestra yawned, not bothering to put her hand over her mouth; the Green Lightbulb swayed slightly in his seat, not noticeably appearing to have heard; and the Red Lightbulb pulled his finger from his ear and inspected the end of it for earwax.
"To enter," said Dr. Septopus ignoring them all, "you will need to provide the secret handshake. To perform this, and I'll tell you only once, you place your first hand in the doorman's first hand; your second hand goes over the top, your third hand is bent like so, your fourth ha-- what is it, Sylvestra?"
"Third hand?" she said pointedly, inspecting her two. "Fourth hand? How many hands are needed for this handshake?"
"Seven," said Dr. Septopus. "But don't worry, the doorman has fourteen hands, so two people can be hand-shaking at a time."
"I don't have seven hands," said Sylvestra. "We don't have seven hands between us!"
"...I hadn't really considered the... handicapped," said Dr. Septopus, unable to stop himself smirking.

Marc said...

Greg - yeah, ignoring it is usually my go to move. I hope it works out for you!

Hmm, sounds like the good doctor has found a way to get some time for himself :D