Uncontrollable Nonsense

A11C4E23-BAC7-4B77-8CA0-F86D6BE8745CToday’s Sunday Writing Prompt from Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie is “uncontrollable nonsense” and we are tasked with “writing something that is actual nonsense, means nothing.”

So I decided to do something Teresa Grabs used to do on her old blog. She would let the word auto-select feature on her smartphone, I presume, pick the next word. So, in the example below, the next word would be “with.”36A91B7F-CDA2-44FC-96ED-CEEEE389C7BAI did “cheat” a little, in that the words in italics were words I used to get the conversation going. Otherwise, what follows is purely uncontrollable nonsense for about 90 words.

This is nonsense and it’s not so good. I don’t think we have any questions or comments about the topic. I’m glad you enjoyed the time last night and the day before when you were going on to the next week.

Forget about what you mean by the end of this world. Nobody knows how much they have been fooled by the way they have worked with their faith. I don’t have any other choice, but if I’m going through this anyway, I’ll let you know when I’m done.

So, how was that for a little bit of uncontrollable nonsense? Why don’t you give it a try?

Sunday Writing Prompt — Dear Diary

E1562735-14CB-434A-94A1-6CEB5A80D02CMarch 29, 2021

Dear Diary,

It’s been almost 15 months since the coronavirus plague ravaged the planet, killing more than seven billion souls, or 90% of humanity. Everyone I knew last year at this time — everyone most of us knew — succumbed to the virus. It’s been several months now since I last saw another human being, and she was almost dead. The animals have pretty much taken over the planet, running around, foraging, even feasting on the remains of human bodies. They must be immune. I must be immune, since I’m still alive.

I remember when this whole thing started and people treated it like it was the flu. Politicians and leaders were downplaying the virus, saying that it was the media that was blowing it out of proportion, telling us that the government had it under control and that it would miraculously disappear.

The religious nuts called it God’s curse on humanity’s sinful ways. But they’re all gone now too. God didn’t save the pious and now God is dead. Humanity is all but dead.

And soon I’ll be dead, too. I can’t go out anymore without risking being attacked by the coyotes, wild dogs, and wolves. There is little to no food left, no electricity, no heat. I’m not sure what good my immunity is doing if I starve or freeze to death or am devoured by hungry wild animals.

Well, Dear Diary, this may Very well be my last entry. Despite the danger, I’m going to venture out of the sanctuary of my home to replenish my supply of food and goods. If I’m successful, I’ll write again tonight. If not, well, at this point, does it really matter?

Written for the Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Sunday Writing Prompt. The challenge is to write a diary/journal entry.

Sunday Writing Prompt — Retro Diner

26A90F49-D47D-4D8D-BADE-C63999475FEF“Garish,” she said, looking around the place, an expression of disdain on her face.

“What are you talking about, Beth?” he asked. “This is a classic re-creation of a mid-century diner. It’s totally retro.”

“Oh, right, Andy,” Beth said. “Like you’d even know what an actual mid-century diner looked like. You’re a child of the late Nineties.”

“My dad used to take me to diners near where we lived,” Andy said, “so I know what I’m talking about. Look at these vinyl seats and all the neon signs and lighting. And these tabletop jukebox thingies, just like back in the day.”

“It’s so plastic,” Beth said. “They’re trying too hard and it’s not at all authentic.”

A waitress, frantically chewing a wad of gum, walked up to their table and handed Andy and Beth menus. “Can I get you some water?”

“Sure,” Andy said.

“Do you have any sparkling water?” Beth asked.

“You mean like seltzer?” the waitress responded.

Beth sighed. “Never mind. Still water is fine.”

The waitress spun around and left the table. Meanwhile, Andy, after looking at the menu, said to Beth, “Do you see the prices on this menu? This can’t be right. A burger for 95 cents. Add cheese for a nickel. French fries for a quarter and a Coca-Cola for a dime. This has got to be a joke.”

“Maybe they charge retro prices in this retro diner,” Beth quipped.

The waitress came back to the table with two glasses of water. “Can I take your orders?” she asked.

Andy read her name tag and said, “Hey, Betty, these novelty throwback menus are great, but can you get us the regular menus, please?”

Betty looked confused, reached over and took the menu from Andy and looked at it. “This is our regular menu,” she said.

“Come on, Betty,” Andy said. “A cheeseburger for a buck? A Coke for a dime?”

Betty’s cheeks turned bright red. “I know,” she said in a hushed tone. “Until last week our burgers were only 75 cents and Coca-Cola was a nickel. But the owner had to raise the prices on just about everything in the menu a few weeks ago because of a higher cost of living. It’s 1955, you know. Your money doesn’t go as far as it used to.”

Beth looked at Andy and then back at the waitress. “What do you mean it’s 1955?” she asked Betty.

“1955,” Betty said. “March 15, 1955.”

Andy stood up and looked out of the diner’s windows. He turned pale, sat down in his seat and pointed toward the windows.

Beth looked toward where Andy was pointing and saw that the diner’s parking lot was full of cars from the early Fifties. And that’s when Beth started to scream.

Written for this week’s Sunday Writing Prompt from Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie.

The Interrogation

DB9380F7-F0D3-4829-A5CB-F35A31CE1BC0 “We’ve got you dead to rights,” the first detective said.

“So you might as well confess because we’ve got the goods on you, pal,” the second detective added.

“What are you talking about?” I asked. “Why am I here? What are you accusing me of.”

“Oh, playing it coy, are you?” detective one said. “We got a search warrant and found the body in your basement.”

“The body?” I asked. “What body? And what’s the deal with a search warrant?”

“We got a call from your neighbor and she said she saw you drag a body into your house last night,” detective two said.

“You mean old Mrs. Higgenbotham?” I asked. “First of all, she’s blind as a bat. Second of all….”

“We saw the damn body, pal,” detective one interrupted.

“The guy’s face was a mess and you put a plastic bag over his head,” detective two said. “Probably death by asphyxiation.”

I couldn’t help myself. I started laughing. “Listen, my job is to design window displays for the local department store. What I dragged into my house last night was a plaster mannequin that I need to repair. 7F070DE8-E3F2-42C5-BE08-B5C3D0E8E8DBDetective one’s cellphone rang. “It’s the medical examiner,” he said to detective two. Then, talking into the phone, he said, “Yes, Doc, I see. Yes, I’m sorry for wasting your time, Doc.”

Then he looked at me and said, “You’re free to go.”

Written for today’s Sunday Photo Fiction prompt from Donna McNicol (photo credit: MicheleBlanche) and for Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie’s Sunday Writing Prompt.

Sunday Writing Prompt — Paybacks Are a Bitch

1369DED4-11F8-4620-A1E3-C67A0D958A85Jason was taken by surprise when he heard the landline ringing. He hadn’t used the landline in years and, given that he hadn’t received or paid an invoice from the old phone company, he didn’t think it was even still connected. He hesitantly picked up the old receiver and listened to about five seconds of loud static. He was about to hang up when he heard a familiar voice say, “Jason, it’s Jonathan.”

Breaking out in a cold sweat, Jason slammed down the receiver. The phone immediately starting ringing again. Jason picked it up and held it to his ear. “Don’t hang up, Jason,” he heard the voice say.

“I must be having a nightmare,” Jason said. “There is zero chance that I’m awake.”

“Oh, you’re awake, I can attest to that,” the voice said.

“Impossible!” Jason said. “You’re dead, Jonathan. I know because I killed you.”

“I thought we had a strong bond, Jason,” the voice said. I thought our friendship was real.”

Jason’s voice took on a snide tone. “You call what we had a friendship? We were business partners until that time you talked me into taking that excursion to the Cayman Islands, remember? That’s when you dropped the bomb on me and said you were wresting control of the company we built together from me.”

“Jason,” the voice on the phone said, “you and I both know what you did. You were embezzling money and were bleeding the company dry. You left me no choice but to squeeze you out.”

“There’s always a choice, you bastard,” Jason said.

“You’re right, Jason,” the voice said. “And you made a choice to sabotage my scuba diving tank. Do you have any idea what it feels like to drown?”

“You deserved to die, Jonathan,” Jason said. “You tried to steal my company from me.”

“It was our company, Jason,” the voice said. “But you know what they say about paybacks, right?”

The electric shock that came through the receiver of the old landline phone took about 30 seconds to fry Jason.

“Paybacks are a bitch,” the voice said.

Written for this week’s Sunday Writing Prompt from Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie. The tale I chose to tell was a slight variation on this theme: Imagine that you receive a call from the other side from a person now deceased but once significant in your life (for better or worse). You now have the chance to tell them whatever you like, including any unfinished business they may have had. It could also fit into this theme: Imagine you receive a call from someone who wishes to connect or reconnect with you. This can be a high school sweetheart, a child placed for adoption, a childhood friend, an estranged relative, etc.

Also written for these daily prompts: Daily Addictions (zero), Your Daily Word Prompt (attest), Word of the Day Challenge (friendship), Fandango’s One-Word Challenge (snide), Ragtag Daily Prompt (excursion), and The Daily Spur (control).