To K.B.:
I apologize for offending you. What I did was insensitive, cruel and stupid. I did it for the spirit of fun but that's just a lousy excuse. You do not deserve it at all.
I alone accept full responsibility. J_____ and M_____ had nothing to do with it. I will not bother you again.
Guile Canencia
What if a drunk sits next to you in a bar, thinks you are his or her close friend and starts confessing “the truth?” This week's exercise is to write about what “the truth” is in at least 200 words. Here's what I did:
The End of the Conversation
(541 words)
It was raining hard when I entered the all-night diner. The place was deserted, save for an old man quietly sitting on the counter. I sat down on the eastern corner and dropped my wet jacket on the far edge of the table. I looked out the window — on Escario Street, headlights from passing cars filtered through the diner’s decades-old Venetian blinds, their glare partially blinding me.
The old man took the seat across me and I did not notice him there until he cleared his throat and spoke.
“Have you no shame, Ben?”
“Excuse me, old man?”
“Don’t hand me that bullshit! You may think you and your goddamn uncle own this town but I know the score. I may be regular folk but I ain’t stupid. I know what’s going on. I know what your kind have been up to lately. I know the truth about you and it don’t scare me, do you hear? I know the truth so don’t give me that bullshit, kid!”
“Sorry, sir. But I don’t know what you’re talking about — ”
“Oh, yes you do. We’ve been partners in the force for how long — seven years, eight? We’ve been through so much and all this time I thought I knew you. God, how wrong I was. I’ve always thought you were clean, decent in spite of your uncle’s reputation. I’ve always thought you’d be the first in your family to lead a respectable life. Well, tell me now, kid. When you and your uncle dragged that woman out of her house, after killing her husband and her two children. Tell me — did you think you could get away with it? Did you? Sorry to bust your ass but I saw what you did. I was there and saw everything. And now you’re going down, mister policeman. Because I know the truth now. And nothing, I mean nothing will stop me from telling the whole world about the crimes committed by you and your mayor of an uncle.”
He leaned towards me, took my collar and drew my face closer to his. I could smell his stinking breath as he continued to speak.
“Do you understand what I’m saying, Ben? And when I’m done, you and your uncle will rot in jail. I personally guarantee that, pal.”
I slumped on the chair as his hand let go. He continued to stare daggers at me as he lit a cigarette.
I reached out for my jacket, my right hand digging beneath the pockets. In a few seconds, I found what I was looking for. In one quick motion, I held up the semi-automatic handgun to his forehead and fired once. The discharge emitted a soft thud, its gunfire muffled beautifully by the silencer. The old man collapsed on his seat and then slid sideways.
I stood up, took out my mobile phone and dialed. A woman’s voice greeted me on the other line. I spoke clearly and slowly.
“Liz, I have a message for Ben and his uncle. Tell them that I found the old cop and he has agreed to keep his mouth shut about the incident. Okay, thanks. Bye.”
I picked up the spent cartridge on the floor and walked out the door.
This week's exercise is to write a humorous public relations announcement about any corporate event, real or fictional. Minimum of 50 words. I did three:
What is your favorite dish? Describe why you like it so much without using adjectives that are traditionally associated with food such as tasty, appetizing, mouth-watering, luscious, etc. The challenge is to come up with a creative way of describing food. Minimum of 300 words. Here's what I did:
Repast
(305 words)
Four pieces drop into my plate with nary a sound.
I tilt the now-empty container sideways —
Until it’s upside down.
I study the scarlet residue with reserved admiration.
While the last drop trickles slowly,
My hunger nears cessation.
I bend my head closer, closer to this solitary plate.
The smell seems to greet me “hello” —
Vampiric urges I must sate.
The sight of this foursome infuses me with ardent desire.
My proclivity for seafood dining
Increases by the hour.
I take the first one with my silver spoon and bit.
Roll and roll in my tongue it goes —
Sauce merging with spit.
The initial thought registers pleasure, and then awe.
The tender attribute of this Piscean flesh
Conveys no flaw.
It bleeds beautifully in my lips, a feisty flood of feasting.
Engulfing me in pure sublimity,
Taste buds near-bursting.
I wait for the expectant crack when teeth meets fillet.
But my chewing remains unopposed,
Unhindered in every way.
With unexpected glee, its lithe filaments they quaver,
Brushing inside my guileless cheeks,
Seducing me with flavor.
My spirit declares gluttony but my tongue screams delight!
Something that tastes this good can’t be wrong!
Ergo, it must right!
Now the bits are ground, I prepare myself to swallow
This crimson victual of incessant charm
Down my neck’s hollow.
And there it is, it lingers still, the faintest remnant
Of something resembling Beatlesque bliss
In my throat, for an instant.
The moment subsides, now I’m left with a mercurial smile.
My restless tongue pleads repetition —
I’ll concede in a while.
I utter pearls of gratitude for this marvelous mastery.
Praise to him whose dexterity created
This gastronomic poetry.
I sit without a word, except for one contented sigh.
I stare at the remaining three pieces
Then I let out a cry …
… God, I just love sardines!
Instructions: Pick a writing partner and write two halves of a short story about three friends marooned on a desert island: Frank, and lovers Fred and Jenny. Writing perspective is in first person, and Fred is telling the story.
In the first part, bring the story elements to a crisis. The crisis reaches its climax when Fred finds out that Frank -- because of desperation, hunger, and growing insanity -- has killed and cooked his girlfriend Jenny for food. One of the writing partners will write the events leading to the crisis, e.g. how they were marooned on the island, why the food supply has run out, the tension growing among the three friends etc. It is your task to write a compelling starting point and run up to the climax.
In the second part, bring the story elements to a resolution. After Fred finds out about the grisly act committed by his friend toward Jenny, one of the writing partners will write the events leading to a resolution. E.g. how will Fred react? Will he seek revenge and kill Frank? Will he flee the island for fear of getting murdered and eaten next? Or will he join Frank and partake of the gruesome repast? Or do you have something more sinister in mind? It is your task to write an interesting ending for the story.
Here's what Jam Jovir (my writing partner) and I did:
Survivor
(629 words)
By Jam Jovir
Our trip started smoothly — or so we thought … I remembered the last moment of that gruesome flight — the blinding white light and the deafening sonic boom that followed and then darkness …
It’s been three days since I was awakened by faint murmurs and Jenny’s painful slap on my face. It seems the three of us survived a dance with death just to wake up marooned in a small island which only God knows where.
Why did I drag myself and my Jenny into this mess? The picture of Macau and paradise just looks so vivid and promising that I did not hesitate to accept stupid Frank’s offer for free tickets and accommodation to Sinampeng. My God what have I done? If only I had cancelled this trip, we would have been better off at home with delicious food and a warm and cozy bed.
Food … that’s all there is to it. I can feel my body tremble just at the thought of it, but Frank ate up the last coconut two days ago. I cannot go fishing as the inlet is now lined up with hungry Tiger sharks spying for their next meal.
All that I can see on the horizon is just an endless sea and not even a speck of anything that can rescue us from this torture.
I think I’m hearing voices now, weird … they sound like voices off from a hotel commercial urging me to eat Frank to survive, but I think I’d rather die of hunger than to live with the thought that I ate my friend or my girlfriend just to survive.
Just then, I heard Jenny cursing Frank for eating up all the coconuts instead of sharing a ration for us to pull through until we get rescued, and Frank was aiming to hit my girl! Luckily, I managed to get in between the two and managed to jab Frank right in the face for him to realize what he has done.
I saw him walk away to the water’s edge and Jenny teary-eyed took a hard look at me and went away. I figured I’d doze off and erase the day’s tension away…
Is this a dream? Strange … I think I heard Jenny screamed or was it just the wind, but I can smell something cooking and man I woke up drooling.
I sat up to Frank’s calls for me to eat, but mindful as ever took it a notion to find Jenny and have her eat with us. I looked around the water’s edge but to no avail. I ran straight up to Frank and asked him but he only shrugged off and said that she’s maybe off swimming as the sharks have already left. He handed me a bowl which I think he got from the plane’s wreckage. I helped myself to that really wonderful stew, which tasted strangely but nevertheless wonderful. Somehow I can feel an eerie stillness in Frank which makes me uneasy. He took a few moments off to walk to and fro in my back and then he suddenly leaned to me and said in my ear, “Fred, I have a confession to make, I killed Jenny. She was a nuisance and I could not help my hunger so I thought it best to kill her for the two of us to survive. That delicious stew is her.”
I dropped my bowl, gave a deep sigh. With a sudden grasp, I grabbed Frank’s neck and muttered my last words, “You’ve really done it this time Frank, you’ll pay with your life! You’re wrong for only one of us will walk away and it is only me … me I tell you! Ha ha ha!”
Strange…I can feel cold tears falling.
The Hunger
(352 words)
By Monster Paperbag
I stood numb on the sand. I stared hard at Frank, probing his beautiful and tantalizing eyes for some trace of sense.
But he didn’t stare back for long but took a step back, turned around and collapsed slowly on the ground, facing the other way.
“Why?” I asked loudly, almost shouting. He made no reply and no movement. His back, deliciously tanned and bronzed and gracefully adorned with sensual and fully-developed trapezius and latissimus dorsi muscles, seemed to taunt me with a mysterious and seductive ambivalence.
“Why, Frank?” I shouted this time.
He turned his head sideways while his slender neck glinted as the sun slowly caressed its surface, reflecting fervent beads of sweat trickling down his smooth and elegant spine. His hair swayed with the ocean breeze, partially obscuring his delicate forehead where amorous strands of hair met and slapped his dainty brow.
“I was hungry,” he whispered, his voice trailing away. His lips danced when they moved and for a second, I caught a glimpse of his long and lovely tongue as he momentarily opened his mouth.
For a moment there, I wanted to refuse his explanation. I have lost the love of my life but the fleeting mourning gave in to fancy yearning. It has been so long since I’ve changed my old ways but Frank, that bastard Frank, that vile Frank, my buddy Frank, challenged all things that I have led myself to believe in.
I took one long stare at the murderer of my mate. This time he stood, faced towards me and stared back. “I need a dip,” he whispered as he took off everything.
It has been so long since I’ve changed my ways. But it was all coming back to me, now. It has been so long since the last time. I felt feverish as I continued to gaze at his bare torso, at his flawlessly defined six pack and navel, at his exposed thighs, at his curvy backside, at the way he carried his huge, and lusciously long … stride.
At that moment, I realized I was hungry, too. Forgive me, Jenny.
This week's exercise is about connecting an idea with another different idea. Below is a list of sentences.
1. It was inevitable.
2. I couldn't believe it.
3. It wasn't what I expected.
4. She came like she said she would.
5. He nodded and quietly walked away.
6. Does he suspect something?
7. She wanted to see me.
8. It's not over yet.
9. I'll never know.
10. Not really.
Instructions: Pick any two sentences from the list and connect them together by writing prose in between the two sentences (250-300 words). Here's what I did:
The End
(298 words)
It wasn’t what I expected.
The end came like a thief in the night. It bore through our mountain of trust and carved a valley of uncertainty amidst our seven-year-long union.
I couldn’t believe it. When I opened the discovered letters, my mind searched for substantiation even as it desperately issued denial at the merciless betrayal. Still, the words from the pages, they clawed at my mind: Does he suspect something? Are you sure you’ve kept my letters hidden from him? We’ve got to keep it secret from him for now. He mustn’t know.
The search for my lover ended in failure. Cold reality seeped in, haplessly aided by the sight of her empty closet and cabinet.
In subsequent nights, I howled to the winds at this tribulation. As the last speck of my dwindling hope trickled down the hourglass of nothingness, a new seed of optimism sprouted in my desert in the form of a message delivered frigidly to my lost world. She wanted to see me.
It’s not over yet. I gathered myself, mustered my remaining strength.
She came like she said she would. And so did her new consort. I stared daggers at him, murderous intent restrained only by confusion and what little sanity left. He nodded and quietly walked away.
I stared at her and the question leaped from my tongue even before I thought of it. It burst through — angry, demanding, pleading — “Why?”
She just stood — a ghost of my waking — silent, unmoving, unreal. “I’m sorry,” was all she said. And she, too, walked away.
For a moment, it seemed my heart had grasped everything. It seemed my heart knew what to do in order to survive. Not really.
Can I bear the sight of them grieving at my wake? I’ll never know.
This week's exercise is to put oneself in the persona of either a deaf, deaf-mute, crippled or blind person, then write a poem or prose piece at least 200 words long. I did my piece a la Beastie Boys, here it is:
The Blind Barber of Junquera
Attention! Yo ladies, yo gents, come out!
The Barber of Junquera is in the house.
Come on now everybody, lend me your ears.
I got a nifty story that will live on for years.
My name is Kevin and you heard me right.
I run a pretty parlor that opens at night.
I’m good for nothing, except with scissors.
I’ll shave your bony head with nothing but razors.
Why open at night? You ask me now.
I got no time for questions, leave them for now.
Just sit on my chair and don’t you worry.
We got a lot of time, there’s no need to hurry.
I once had a customer you’ve never even heard of.
His curls, like a girl’s, he wanted to get rid of!
He told me to look. He’s out of his mind!
I would if I could but I’m friggin’ blind!
Well what could I do? It’s what he wanted!
This freakin' wicked dude’s wish must be granted.
So I told the guy, “Be bold and be brave.”
I did away with all his hair in one swift shave!
Next was a Mom, she’s 30 years old.
She wants her black hair to shimmy-shine like gold!
I said, “Say what?” “Like gold”, she replied,
“Shimmy-shine, anytime, a source of pride!”
Oh heaven forbid! I’m stuck in a dilemma.
“What color did you holler? You tell me now, Mama.”
The color of blonde was what she yearned.
But all I see is black, as far as I’m concerned.
I thought for a minute, maybe for three.
I looked up to the ceiling even though I can’t see.
And then — whapack! The perfect idea!
I dowsed the lady’s head with Agua Oxinada!
And now you’re here, a word to the wise.
You look pretty dandy to my useless eyes.
I’ll trim your hair, and your goatee!
I’ll even shave your eye brows, I’ll do it for free!
‘Coz here I am, the one and only!
The Barber of Junquera, that’s right you heard me!
Thanks y’all, for hearing my fable.
I’ll see you later, though that’s impossible!
Word! Break it down!
This piece was partly inspired by another Beastie Boys rip-off creative writing exercise in Paperbag Writes.
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