“642 Things to Write About” with 642 Things to Procrastinate With Pt. 2

And this is the rest of my sister and I catching up! What is the best thing and worst thing that could happen to us? Go to prompts 58 and 59 to find out!

Super random mofo for #60!

Prompt #54: Finding a bag of cash

My response:

Take a bunch of pictures of me with the money, and then I’ll turn it in to the police and hope that no one claims it in 30 days. I hope the local news catches wind of it and I get a key to the city and a monetary reward. At the very least, astounding recognition from all those who will benefit me in future.

Sister’s response:

First, I wouldn’t believe it. Second, don’t tell a soul, especially my family. Third, buy clothes, shoes, jewelry etc. Fourth, go on trips. Last, give the rest to someone less fortunate, maybe my family. I’ll probably end up telling them about it anyways.

Prompt #55: Would you rather win the Nobel Prize or be a rock star?

My response:

Well, my deepest love goes to writing. Although I want to be famous like a rock star, I want to write more than whatever rock stars do. I’d rather win the Nobel Prize because those who care about such things would be the ones reading my books, and not a lot of fans of rock stars would read the stuff I write. Nobel Prize for Literature, and I’ll have all the smarties reading volumes of my works. Oh, heaven!

Sister’s response:

Nobel Prize. People would appreciate and most likely be less critical of me. Not only that, but I’ll go down in history, even if I screw something up.

(Yay!)

Prompt #56: Thoughts on your favorite pet’s personality

My response:

We’ve never kept a pet long enough for me to really discern personalities from them, much less make one a fvorite, you know, with six kids in the home and all. All I remember is that I mostly hated the rabbits because they were shy and would run away, and that was just freakin’ irritating.

For about three days though, we had a lost dog at our house. He was extremely well-trained and well-taken care of, and for some reason, he liked us.

When I mean trained, I mean he could fetch, sit, shake hands and bark on cue. He just seemed eager to please and enjoyed our company. Unfortunately, such a great pet had to belong to someone, and that someone most likely wanted it back, so my parents searched for the owner, a man who was eeeeeeextreeeeemely glad to have the dog back.

Sister’s response:

Um, well, we did have this one pet, a bunny rabbit named Snowball or Snowflake (we had one of each). And she was reeeeally shy. But as I went out and played with her, she became attached to me. She even let me pet her until my other family came out. We did have a dog, but he ran away.

(One moment- we need to clarify these conflicting endings with our mom. Verdict: Sis was right! That dog ran away. I wonder why I remember it differently? Was that another pet?)

Prompt #57: The moment you knew you were no longer a child

My response: (How is sis supposed to answer this? Maybe they mean child child- or something)

I remember sometime in high school my brother didn’t do his chores. I told my mom and she said, “You did the same thing when you were a kid. Well, you’re still my kid, but you know what I mean.”

First, I had thought, No, I wasn’t like that. I did my chores, I did other people’s chores, I didn’t do that. Second, I’m not a kid? 

I had filled out an application to go to a science summer camp- now, I remember, sometime in 10th grade this was- and did it on my own, on a whim. I was accepted to the camp and realized all that I could do on my own, without anyone telling me. I was no child.

Sister’s response:

Since this is a late prompt, I’m going to the past of Friday, April 12, 2013. I applied to a JOB and had an interview. I’m grown, now…

Prompt #58: The worst thing that could happen

My response:

Well, this includes a lot of things, some reasonable, some unreasonable. The one with the longest term effects- like eternity- if some god proved itself without a doubt that it existed and wanted me to change my ways. Unless it was totally cool with me being a kink-loving sex-positive bisexual who has a fetish for homosexual lovin’, well, things would go to shit real quick.

On a more reasonable level, a number of things, the biggest is if certain members of my family die. To be honest, my niece, sister, and brother. Everybody else has a reasonable death date in my mind which bars are easily reset to different heights for any reason.

Sister’s response:

My mind is filled with knowledge of terrible things… My niece screaming from downstairs and finding out she had gotten a hold on a knife that my mom was using and her hand is missing. Not to mention my father screaming at the children, saying, “Why wasn’t anyone watching her?!” And I say, “Why was the knife sitting out in the open?!” and he breaks my neck and goes get the car keys while my mom sits there crying. I’m dead,  my oldest sister frozen in fear, brother acting like a hero, and my niece’s mom still sleeping on the couch, too tired to get up.

(Aaaaalrighty, then!)

Prompt #59: The best thing that could happen

My response:

At the moment, someone contacts me wanting to publish the Maléan series or, equally, I finally find my eye for art and start making drawings I’m truly proud of.

Sister’s response:

Finding that bag of cash.

(LOLOLOLOLOL…. Seriously, though, why is are best shorter than our worst?)

Prompt #60: Write a short story that is set in Detroit in 1956, in which a car floor mat plays a crucial role.

My response: (blaaaaaaaaaah- well, better than a tea cup in Argentina)

Six-year-old Ernest wanted a sister named Amber. Living in the dreariest part of Detroit with his doting Pa and pregnant Ma, that seemed like a possibility. He learned about amber and trees in school, learned that a group of trees, really large group of trees, bigger than parks and playgrounds, those trees were called forests and old trees oozed sap that got hard and that was called amber.

Ernest also knew that Pa got real mad at a white man because he hurt Ma, and somehow the white man hurt Ma enough to make her pregnant. For some reason, the dark spot underneath the old car mat was something Pa didn’t want anyone to know about.

“Not until Ol’ Man Pepper can fix it,” Pa had explained, fingers sweaty as he arranged and rearranged the mat, and he repeated, “Not until Ol’ Man Pepper can fix it.”

Ernest didn’t get a birthday present this year because they needed the car fixed, but his sad Ma was awful proud that he could count from 1950 and figure out his age. Maybe she was proud enough for him to name the baby.

On the way home home from church that morning, they stopped at a donut shop for a Sunday treat. Pa, Ma, and Ernest stood in the colored line. In the white-only line were some police officers. They looked at Ma, who Earnest always heard was pretty for a black woman. At least, that’s what all the white men told her when she took Ernest with her on errands.

The officers came up close to them. They were behind the cord which sectioned them off. To Ernest, the cord was the horizon beyond his wildest dreams. It was better on that side because even if you were fourth in line there, you would get your food before the first people in the colored line. How great it would be to be white!

“You have yourself a pretty pregnant glow there, girl,” one of the men said, leaning on the cord.

Ma squeezed Ernest hand. She had always been quick to say ‘thank you’ and be polite when people complimented her, especially white men. Now, she faced the counter and became stone.

“I said you’re pretty, girl!”

She said nothing. Pa coughed nervously and stood at her shoulder to block the white man’s view. Ernest could see this a bit and watched the white men to see what they would do.

The one who spoke whispered to the other; they both looked at Ernest’s family. As they waited in their long line where they were the only people, the officers were seen to and so was the rest of their line. Then it was their turn, finally, but they didn’t serve chocolate donuts to colored folks and so they all got plain. Ernest was happy because the white donuts were sweet, and nobody liked chocolate colors anyway.

They exited the shop and the officers were there. Said that some boy’s- a white boy- had his bike stolen and they thought perhaps Ernest had taken it and wanted to see inside their car. This confused Ernest there weren’t any white children in their neighborhood.

Pa told them there as no bicycle in their car.

“Well, then there’s no reason why we can’t have a look-see, right?”

The white men had a look-see, then. Ernest’s toy truck was on the car mat. He remembered. The officers checked the back seat and the trunk and Ernest said, “He can have my truck, since he lost his bike.”

The officers smiled at him, looked at each other.

“That’s kind of you,” said the flirty one. “I think I’ll take  you up on your offer.”

Pa’s hand clenched as the officer took the toy, pinky touching the mat. He threw the truck up in the air and bid them good day. His friend followed him. When they were gone, both Ernest’s parents let out deep breaths.

When they were in the car, Ernest asked with his usual eagerness, “Can we name the baby Amber if she is a girl?”

“Child, we’ll name your brother Mary if that’s what you wanted,” Pa answered with a shaky chuckle. Ma joined in on his laugh.

Not quite sure if that was a yes or no, Ernest decided not to push his luck and gave the mat a little kick instead, feeling the emptiness of the air of where his toy used to be.

Sister’s response:

A baseball team, the Detroit Tigers, are going to the championship game. Six people are sitting in a taxi to go to the stadium. After practicing for an hour on a muddy field, they hadn’t washed their cleats.

“Please wipe your feet outside. I don’t want my car floor mat to be too dirty,” said the taxi driver.

Five of the guy did as the were told. The sixth guy laughed and stated, “Whatever, you just don’t want to clean it.”

As they were piling into the car, the sixth guy purposely wiped his feet on the floor mat.

The taxi driver ground his teeth and started driving. As they arrived at the stadium, the five guys climbed out to greet the rest of the team. The sixth guy told the driver, “Thanks for the shoe cleaner! ” and did one final wipe.

The map slipped from under his foot, and he fell out of the cab and cracked his head on the curb.

“You’re welcome.”

(So cool.)

Promp #61: A woman thinks she might be living next door to her grandson.

My response:

The old woman lived alone now. Like father, like son, her only child left as soon as he got some woman pregnant. The old woman made do with what little she had in her comfy apartment where the landlord was no shark and was always willing to lend a very helpful hand.

There was a child and his mother next door. The boy’s name was Tyreese and he liked her peppermints. His nose had a bump just like her son, Tyrone. The resemblance as the next few years went on began to show in odd ways. The shape his eyes took when he squinted in the sun. How he licked his lips when he was lying. Every time he kicked aimlessly when he was bored and waiting for her handmade apple pie.

The mother was never around, having to work most of the time, doing enough for Tyreese to get the CPS off her back, but no real mom. She handed that off to the old woman, it seemed.

Tyreese liked her, and the old woman saw whatever bad seeds that implanted themselves in the boy’s father and grandfather didn’t take root in him.

The old woman kept what little distance they had though. She couldn’t bear to lose another one.

Sister’s response:

Hm… His olive skin… Thick, dark hair… Clean cut nails… He couldn’t possibly be…My son would have told me about it… Why wouldn’t he?… Not only that, he goes to that house before visiting me… I must find out… I shouldn’t go to that kid’s house… His mom would think I’m weird or something… I should ask my son instead…

(Woooooooo!)

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