by Dani J Caile
"I don't think that's important right now..."
Thanksgiving- The All Week Story- Part 4 - Reasby Fen
(A flashback for one of your characters?in the flashback, you have to mention the Iron Writer, and one of the writers that participates in the group.200 words.)
"Wait!" The tall man stood over us. For a moment we did, but then the girl began CPR on her father like a professional.
"Wow, you're good." I was amazed at her skill and strength.
"Oh, he always has these, especially in situations like this." She nodded over to my tail.
"What?"
"Wait!" The tall man was back. "I just had a flashback!"
"Are you sure it wasn't a 'flush' back? You left a hell of a stink in there," I said, gesturing over to the cubicle. The girl made no response to my joke, busy with her chest compressions.
"It was from the Iron Writer, something one of the writers said...who was it? Tony, Tony Jaeger! Yes, it was him!"
"Who?"
"Exactly," said the tall man. "He was talking about doing something creative and wonderful...but nothing ever came of it..." The tall man stood silent, hanging over myself and the girl breathing into her father and checking for a rise in his chest. "Err...what was my point again?"
The girl and I looked at each other and shrugged.
"We don't know."
"Perhaps that was my point." He shook his head and went back to the wall, pacing its length.
Thanksgiving- The All Week Story- Part 5 - Reasby Fen
(a sudden snow storm, an odd televized event, and a short poem.159 words)
The main door suddenly swung open, and along with a gust of wind and snow, a small TV crew fell in.
"Okay, Ted on three, 1,2,3...and hello from CBC 'Fiction in a Flash'! Today we find ourselves in a...a...facility somewhere between...between...whatever." The host grabbed the tall man. "Hello! You have one minute to give our viewers some 'flash fiction'!"
The girl stopped her compressions and we watched in amazement.
"Erm...erm...a poem?" asked the tall man.
"Sure!"
"Right, yes, got it! I was once a sock puppet, I was told what to say, and when I wanted to stop it, I was told fu..."
"Okay guys, that's a wrap! It stinks enough in here without that! There was that sleepy gas attendant some 20 clicks back, I'm sure we can rattle something McCarthy-ish outta him!"
They left as fast as they entered. The girl turned to me.
"Is it me or was it snowing outside."
"Sudden storm if it was."
Thanksgiving- The All Week Story- Part 6 - Reasby Fen
(one of your characters sends an important letter, while another thinks about his/her past.200 words)
"Damn. What's your name?"
"Griff, my name's Griff." I raised my hand to shake but she was busy with her father.
"Daisy. Look, Griff, I've gotta go out and send an important letter. I saw a postbox a few yards away."
"A letter? But your father...?"
"Can you do this until I get back?" She placed my hand on his cold body and showed me how to do CPR. Properly, this time.
"Err, okay, got it."
"I know it's crazy, but..but...it's the snow, you see, the snow. I won't be long." And with that, she was gone.
Before I could contemplate the significance of it all, the tall man woke from his fifteen seconds of fame.
"You know, I had a chance once."
I continued to do as Daisy had asked, trying to bring life back to her dead father.
"A chance?"
"Yes, a chance, to be a writer. Oh, yes, I spent many a long night at my desk, writing away, churning out the words, the pages, the stories."
"Really?" This CPR was hard work.
"Yes, but once you've written one story about a lonesome vampire cowboy who's desperately in love with a snow princess, you've written them all."
Thanksgiving- The All Week Story- Part 7 - Reasby Fen
(Someone is saved, someone dies in the arms of another, a sunset. 141 words)
Without warning, the fat man sat up, pushing me across the restroom.
"What the hell!" I brushed off what slime and dirt I could.
"Where am I? Mmm, I'm thirsty, anyone got a drink?" asked the fat man.
The tall man rummaged in his labcoat's pocket and handed him a coke. The main door swung open and Daisy stumbled in.
"Help?help me?"
I ran over and caught her before she hit the floor, her head finally resting in my lap. She smiled up to me.
"Success. I did it," she whispered.
Daisy was dying and I didn't know why. A light shone threw the grimy windows of the cubicles.
"Sunset," said the tall man. "It's time, Daisy."
"What?"
"Griff?"
"Yes, Daisy?"
"Tell me something about yourself. Where are you from?" She coughed and grew weaker.
"Reasby, Reasby Fen."
"Nice place?"
92 - Howard's End
(Molasses flood, a Hobson Choice, the last person alive on Earth, a quilting bee)
"Daphne, erm, please excuse me for asking, but just what exactly is that dirty great big green thing out in your garden?"
The whole gathering paused in their sewing to hear the answer, as they'd all been dying to ask that same question for the last two hours. The bee had been busy putting their latest masterpiece together but now they waited for a reply.
"It's Howard's."
"Oh, right." A sigh went through the group, as though this was enough for them. Of course, for Mavis, it wasn't.
"So, what is it?"
The rest of the bee busied themselves with sewing, Mavis was in a dangerous position. Would she suffer the wrath of Daphne or was this one of her 'better' days, if there ever were any?
"It's his latest weapon." Daphne sewed with more vigour.
"Weapon? Against who? What?" If she'd got this far, she might as well go all the way.
"Ol' Bert down at Number 22. For 14 years Ol' Bert has created the greatest and strongest rum you've ever tasted in your life."
"I see. And so what exactly is that?"
"That?" Daphne's sewing needle was going full tilt.
"Yes, that?"
"Molasses."
If they could, they would have stepped back, but they couldn't, so the bee immersed themselves in their quilt.
"Mo?mo?molasses?"
"Yes! Brown, sticky molasses from the refinery. Howard said with this he'd finally knock Ol' Bert off his perch as a champion among rum makers and get him an offer he can't refuse from the local rum-runners." Smoke rose from her needle.
"Mmm, wonderful, Daphne. But, don't you think it's a little 'overkill', this?this container? How much does it hold?"
"Forty-five thousand litres." More smoke. The group were worried that Daphne's handiwork would set the quilt alight, some of them getting ready with jars of homemade lemonade to throw over her.
Their attention was taken by the sight of Howard himself walking past the open French windows of the patio, holding a drill with a large drillbit. He knelt down and started drilling the bottom of the container, getting ready to put in a tap connected to his homemade equipment. Mavis saw that Howard was successful and started to plug it with his tap, though the dark, viscous liquid was having trouble flowing. A few bangs of his hammer didn't help, with ominous rumbles coming from inside the large container. What happened next was in slow motion.
Suddenly, the whole side of the container exploded, with a wave of black, thick molasses like a mini version of the Boston Molasses flood covering first Howard, then the garden, then the patio, French windows, the living room, the quilt and finally the bee.
The two women holding the jars of homemade lemonade threw them over Daphne's face, cleaning off some molasses.
"I don't care if he's the last person on Earth! I'm going to make him an offer he can't refuse!"
Daphne, with needle
in hand, raced out into the garden and chased after her husband.
Twelve Days of Christmas Iron Writer Style Day 1 - A Christmas Story.
(Red Ryder BB gun, turkey-eating dogs, double dog dare. 400 words.)
The zombies were all over the place, nowhere was safe! I had to find a vantage point and some way to defend myself before they took over completely! I scrambled through the undergrowth, getting caught in the barbed wire fence separating the concrete jungle of man from the wilderness of the wild. My beloved Winchester was where I had left it, leaning against a tree. I loaded her with the few remaining bullets in my pocket and scanned the area.
Up ahead were two zombies devouring their prey. I hit the dirt and aimed my Winchester. Every shot had to count. With the stock firmly in my shoulder, I fired my first shot. Bulls eye. One zombie fled, leaving the other confused. I moved the cocking lever and hit the trigger once again. The other zombie screamed and ran away, following the first. Victory was mine!
A dark, foreboding shadow loomed over me, I knew I was doomed, they had found me! The zombies were attacking me! I spun around and aimed my gun, only for it to be hit out of my hands.
"What are you doing? You just shot Barney and Rover!" screamed Grandma as the two dogs in question sprinted off, howling in shock. "I gave them some Thanksgiving turkey scraps to finish! Leave them alone!"
"They're the zombies, Ma!" I kept low, they might come back for blood and revenge.
"Just wait until your Old Man gets to hear about this one?!" Grandma stormed off but stopped at the rosebed next to the patio on her way into the house. "What the heck happened here? Did you destroy all my roses?"
"I got caught in the barbed wire, Ma!" I showed her the tears in my shirt.
"Barbed wire? Look at your shirt! Ruined! And look at my prize winning roses! That's it, I'm taking that damn BB gun!" She stomped over and picked up my gun.
"But Ma! My double dog dare with Clarence?"
"Forget it! If you wanna see your Red Ryder BB again, you sort those roses out!"
And so the battle was still on, the zombies were out there, somewhere, loose to roam and attack their prey as they saw fit. I, and I alone could save the world from destruction! I will be back! Barney and Rover ran across the garden, this time heading in my direction with snarling teeth?
"Ma!"
Twelve Days of Christmas Iron Writer Style Day 2 - It's a Wonderful Life!
(Write your own version of what happens when a bell rings! It has nothing to do with angels, and everything to do with gargoyles and demons! You must use the words: Garland, Baubles, Charlie Brown and Stella. 400 words)
The bell rang as the door opened. Another customer entered his shop of trinkets and fancies.
"Good evening, sir, and how can I help you on such a warm and wonderful night as this?" asked Baphometh, the owner.
"Good evening. Erm, I just noticed you have some Christmas items on sale, and well, seeing as yours seems to be the only shop open in the whole street, well..." The customer took off his hat and gloves. "Sorry, did you say warm? It's snowing outside."
"Oh, sorry, sir, did I say warm? I meant cold." The demon stood up from the unseen burning flames engulfing his chair.
"Although, now you come to mention it, it is rather warm in here..."
"Yes, sir, no expense is spared for our customers. Christmas items, sir? Please step this way." Baphometh trotted around the counter and showed his customer the aisle for yuletide novelties.
"I say, isn't it a bit late to be celebrating Halloween?"
"Sorry, sir?"
"The get-up. The horns, the tail and hooves. Jolly good costume, though."
"Why, thank you, sir. I shampooed my tail only last night. I think perhaps sir will find all the baubles, garland and decorations you could wish for."
"Thank you, yes, there does seem to be a spendid selection?erm, are these gargoyles?"
"Yes, sir, you have a keen eye. Christmas gargoyles, all the rage, sir."
"Oh, really? They're slightly, well, ugly."
"Well, sir, they are gargoyles." Baphometh slapped his swishing tail on the floor.
"Quite. What I'm really looking for is?refreshments."
"Refreshments, sir? This isn't a corner shop, sir." This one was beginning to irritate him, making his face redder than usual.
"Not even a drink or two? Some Stella Artois? Peanuts?"
"Peanuts, sir? If I recall correctly, I do have an old Charlie Brown video in the storeroom somewhere?"
"Charlie Brown? No, no, peanuts, salted or honey roasted? I'd even settle for some pork scratchings."
"Now you're talking, sir. I just knew I could help you, sir. I've had a pig on the roast for quite a while now, I'm sure its skin is ready." Baphometh skipped across his shop, sure of a sale.
"A real pig? Any chance of?"
"Oh, yes, just right!" He stroked the roasting body on the spit and licked his fingers, beaming back at his customer.
"But that's?that's?!"
"A pig, sir, yes. Stole a whole country's pensions and more to boot?sir?"
Twelve Days of Christmas Iron Writer Style Day 3 - Love Always
(one character is Alan Rickman, the song Billy Mack, "Christmas is all around". 400 words.)
"What are you watching?" Dave jumped on the sofa, spilling the popcorn all over her. "Ah, Mr. Bean!"
"No. I hate Mr. Bean." She picked up what popcorn she could and sat there crunching away.
"Oh no! It's that stupid love movie, isn't it? That one with poofy Nighy doing "Christmas is all around me", with a parody video of Robert Palmer, and that Hugh "Oh, I?I?I?I always seem to get those p...p...p...parts, don't I?" Grant! He gets the girl yet again! Well, isn't that a surprise!"
"Shut up, I'm watching it."
"For the thousandth time! I've just got a Cam copy of 'Fury', Brad Pitt's latest. Can I plug it in?" Dave took out his pendrive and went over to the flatscreen.
"No! I'm watching this!"
"But you've seen it before! Even Alan is crap in it! He only uses the acting skills in his little finger!"
Alan Rickman popped his head out of the box next to the sofa.
"Did someone mention me?" he asked.
"No, Alan. Get back in the box."
"Shhh! This is a good bit!"
"There aren't any...oh, this is when that old neighbour kills the lover, yeah, that is good." Dave jumped back on the sofa and devoured some of her popcorn. "Oh, isn't Freeman in this one? Can't wait to see 'Hobbit part 3'."
"Shhhh!"
"'Hitchhikers' was great. Okay, the BBC TV series was better but at least they tried...plus Alan was the voice of Marvin."
"Did someone??" Alan popped his head out again.
"No!" shouted Dave.
"I didn't know that. Really?"
"Yeah, he didn't have to use ANY acting skills in that one."
"Dave, why have we got Alan Rickman living in a box in our lounge?"
"He's trying out some method acting for his next role."
"Oh. Right."
They sat together, watching. Before she knew it, the credits were rolling. Dave was sleeping on her shoulder. Flicking through the channels she came across 'Dirty Dancing'. She flopped Dave's head off her shoulder and went to get some chocolate. By the time she'd come back, he was half-awake.
"Swayze? Don't tell me, it's...what's the time?"
"Late." She sat down and broke off some of the chocolate bar. Dave stared at her. "What?" He didn't stop. "What?"
"Happy anniversary," he said, passing over a golden necklace.
"Oh! I...I thought you forgot!" She turned her head so Dave could put it on her neck.
Twelve Days of Christmas Iron Writer Style Day 4 - The Muppets Christmas Carol
(You must use the Muppets as characters, Michael Caine, song: "I want a hippotamus for Christmas". 500 word max)
"You're only supposed to light the bloody candles!" screamed Michael, shivering in the cold night air and watching his hou
se burn down to the ground.
"Err, sorry Michael," apologised Fonzie. Perhaps this 'anniversary get-together' wasn't such a good...a burnt Kermit ran up to them, out of breath, his green skin smoking.
"Michael, Michael! Have you seen Miss Piggy? I can't find her anywhere?"
"Sorry, Kermit, the last time I saw her was when she was dancing on that pole while singing 'I want a Hippopotamus for Christmas'."
Kermit's mouth opened wide and he turned to the burning building.
"But...but that means she...she could still be inside! Ahhh!"
Before Fonzie could grab him, Kermit was running around in a panic, screaming, his arms flailing about. A muppet fireman rushed by with a hose and Fonzie swiped it.
"Hey!"
"Kermit!" Fonzie hit Kermit full in the face with a 100 pounds per square inch jet of water, stopping him from his headless chicken act. A chicken ran past, closely followed by Gonzo.
"Come here, my sweetie!"
"Thanks, Fonzie," spat Kermit.
"Any time, my friend."
"Err, can you point it at my house now, please, Fonzie? Because it's bloody burning down!" Mr. Caine was quite irate.
"Sorry, Michael."
All three of them stopped and smelt the air.
"Is that...?" asked Fonzie.anYes, it is," said Michael. "But I don't think we should dwell on it just..."
"It's...it's...bacon! I can smell...bacon!"
"Don't worry, Kermit," said Fonzie. "There are plenty more pigs on the farm."
Twelve Days of Christmas Iron Writer Style Day 5 - The Grinch that stole Christmas!
(Brian Rogers as the Grinch, five gold rings, the roast beast, a ten and 1/2 foot pole. 500 words)
Every Iron
In Iron Writer Land
Loved procrastinating a lot.
But Brian Rogers
Who dressed as the Grinch
Did NOT!
Brian hated procrastinating! That whole waste of time!
He'd sit there and watch and say "That's a crime!"
"Who cares about who did who and why and when,
If all you ever get to know is the size of their pen!
One with a twinkie, another a 10 and a half foot pole,
It's kinda sad if that is your goal..."
But
With Christmas ahead,
All the presents, the feast,