The exercise:
Trying out a new prompt that I'd like to bring back every now and again. I shall call it the Bad Day Prompt, with the idea being that each time we'll write about someone in a different profession having... drum roll please... a bad day.
Let us begin with: a superhero.
I was going to provide a link to a proper list of superheroes for you to choose from, but all the ones I'm finding are pretty craptacular. Sorry about that.
Temperature stayed above zero today. I am in favour of this trend continuing.
Mine:
The Flash
He loves playing hero -
Thwarting evil, saving lives;
Grateful not to work one
Of those boring nine-to-fives.
But this cold, lonely night
Has turned his thoughts quite sour.
Now, if given the choice,
He'd ditch his super powers.
Sure, moving fast is great -
He's always ten steps ahead;
But it would be better
If he could slow down in bed.
4 comments:
I like the idea for the prompt! Of course, as I am reminded by my solicitor friend, a profession has a regulating body and members have to pay fees to maintain their professional status. Which gives me plenty of inspiration for a bad day... :-}
I do like that you've chosen to make yours a poem, and I like the way the story progesses one stanza at a time. The last line made me smile, which I think was the intent ;-)
Gambit's Bad Day
A curl of smoke wafted towards the ceiling, rising from the glowing coal of Gambit's cigarette. He exhaled, blowing a smoke ring with casual arrogance, and tapped his foot. He was waiting in the office of Accreditation, the regulatory body for superheroes, mutants, and working-class mothers. As the smoke ring reached the ceiling a little red light started blinking rapidly and the howl of the smoke alarm screamed at him like an enraged banshee.
"Bayou mothe–" he spat, startled. Reflexively he pulled the cigarette from his mouth and flicked it upwards, imparting it with kinetic energy. It glowed briefly neon purple, then punched straight through the smoke detector, silencing it, and embedded itself a couple of inches into the ceiling. Still lit.
"Aw crap," he said with feeling.
"Mr. Gambit?" The secretary had walked through an office wall and was staring at him with suspicion in her eight eyes. "Are you alright? I thought I heard an alarm...."
"Nope," he drawled, getting to his feet. "But I think you've been keepin' me waitin' long enough darlin'. I'll come back tomorrow and pay ma fees."
"We open at nine," said the secretary, still regarding Gambit with hostility.
"Thank-you so much, darlin'," he said, and vanished through the door before she could notice that the ceiling was smouldering and about to burst into flame.
The kids are screaming --
Won't be left at daycare,
Traffic's delayed,
There's chaos at the office,
and a mess at home.
What's superhero mom to do?
Oh, and one more thing. I expanded the poem I wrote for the lost letter prompt a week or so ago and you can find it on my blog: The Lost Letter
Greg - ah, Gambit. You've chosen one of my favorites (him and Nightcrawler have always captured my imagination).
Love the way you've handled this scene :)
Morganna - nice take on the prompt! I have to admit I wasn't quite sure where you were going with it at first :D
Ooh, I do like what you've done with your lost letter poem. Great extension of the original.
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