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.Karma.
03-05-2017, 04:47 AM
March's 1st prompt is "Shaving monkeys is my favorite pastime."



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**You can thank a good friend of mine for the silly prompts this month**

ArtisticVicu
03-23-2017, 04:08 AM
"Shaving monkeys is my favorite pastime."

He choked on the water, staring at her wide-eyed. "And I thought I was crazy," he commented, passing back the canteen. "How in the world is shaving monkeys your favorite pastime."

She grinned at him, taking the canteen but not drinking quite yet. "Ok, ok, so partial lie. Making other people shave monkeys is my favorite pastime."

He smirked. "Aw, see? That makes more sense."

She giggled and his smirk fell. It sounded slightly unhinged but, then, so had her random comment. His concern expression turned into a deep frown. "Rachel, who am I?"

"Discord, God of Chaos," she rattled easily, all the while grinning at him. He noted that she seemed to be looking through him to whatever was behind him.

He tried another angle. "Rachel, what am I?"

"A traveler from another world," she rattled just as easily, but that hadn't been the answer he had hoped for. She knew what he was down to the molecule. He only appeared human because of her doing and she was actively in his head because of it. "And my best friend."

He blinked at her, thrown off by that. "B...Best friend?" he asked, his mind unwittingly pulling up memories of another that had called him that, one that was soft spoken and sweet, always putting up with him even as the disaster that he was normally.

He shook his head. He'd come back to that later. "Rachel." She looked up at his face, blinking. Concern constricted his chest. Her eyes were slightly glazed. "What do we desire?"

This...was an unfair question, one that would - in normal circumstances - get him smacked or at least get her to comment on how "their desire" was not a singular desire but several desires that some were shared and some that were not. But, seeing as his hunch was correct in that something was wrong, Rachel merely blinked again before stating with a giggle, "To see all the people shave monkeys."

She went into a laughing fit as if that was the most hilarious thing ever. Discord couldn't find the humor. He stood up, looking around. Oh, if only she hadn't bound his magic this would be so much easier.

"Can't unbind the magic," she chimed, almost singing the words. He focused back on her. Had she just read his thoughts or was he speaking out loud? "And the words are in your head, silly," she playfully chided, waving at him. He blinked at her before suddenly becoming very tempted at using the situation to his advantage. Well, till a thought came to mind.

"Are you drunk?" he blurted out.

She blinked at him before giggling. "You have to consume alcohol to get drunk, silly," she said, the edge of her words now becoming slightly slurred. "You're funny."

He reached over and touched her forehead. Even with it being such a poor way of finding out if she had a fever or not, Discord nearly recoiled at the heat. He scooped her up as he grumbled, "We have to find you some place to rest. You're not well."

She was a giggly ball of squirming body, acting almost like a five year old they had seen in the previous town from a week ago. "But I don't want to stop. We need to keep moving." Her giggles didn't subside. His grip on her tightened marginally as he picked a random direction.

"Any place we can whole up for the night, then?" he asked, trying to get her to help.

She let out another string of giggles and pointed - thankfully - in the direction they were going. "They're baking cookies."

While that didn't tell him squat about how far they had to go, it gave him a direction to move in.

The minutes turned into hours and when she suddenly stopped talking, the onslaught of panic in his veins froze his steps to the ground. He looked down at her, shifting her enough to press the back of his hand to her forehead again. He couldn't gauge if there was a difference or not. "Rachel?" he asked, concern nearly breaking his voice on her name.

"I'm tired," she muttered.

"Rachel, I need you to tell me how far out we are from the cookies."

She frowned, though it was only slight in her exhaustion. "Cookies?"

"Yes," he urged. "You mentioned someone was baking cookies."

Her eyes slid close for longer than he was comfortable with but, just as he was about to call her name, they opened again and her arm was moving to point where he had been walking. "They made cookies," she spoke, the words lulling together.

"How far?" he pleaded as her arm dropped limp.

Her expression twisted into the tired equivalent of extreme concentration. "Not very."

He rolled his eyes, anger briefly coming forward in the situation he had no skills of handling. "Not very," he grumbled, starting to walk. "That is not a dist-"

He stepped around a tree and his words died on his lips. There, across what could count as a decent lawn, sat a cottage. Or, at least, the closest thing to a cottage this world had. He would have wept for joy if he hadn't suddenly registered how limp Rachel was in his arms. "Ray, you have to stay awake for me."

No response.

His throat attempted to close and he crossed the lawn as quickly as he could, trying again. "Ray, come on. Stay awake."

No response.

He maneuvered her into one arm before pounding hard on the door, fear driving his hand. He didn't know what to do, where he was, and felt utterly useless because of it and that was not a feeling he quite enjoyed, thank you very much. When the door wasn't immediately answered, he pounded again.

The door opened, revealing a rather burly man with a plump woman standing behind him. They were both armed and ready for a fight but neither moved to attack first. "Can I help you?" the man asked in his gruff voice.

"My friend is sick and I don't know what's wrong or what to do," Discord croaked. "Please, you have to help me." He swallowed past the lump in his throat. "I can't lose her now."

The couple shared a look but it was the woman that nodded. The man lowered his weapon as the woman went farther into the home. He stepped back, opening the door wide. "Alright, come in. But you do anything to harm either myself or my wife, and I'll throw you both out after making sure you're not coming back."

Discord nodded, stepping into the home. That sounded reasonable. After all, he was an unknown stranger to them. For all they knew, he could just be using this as a cover to get close.

He shuddered, disgusted by the thought.

m139
04-06-2017, 12:42 PM
Shaving Monkeys is my Favorite Pastime

It is the first day of school. In the kindergarten rooms, some youngsters cry as their moms and dads hug them and wave goodbye. Soon, many of them will be distracted by the fun activities and games that the teacher and his aid have prepared for the day. In a second grade room, a teacher helps each student to his or her respective desk, giving them a pencil as they sit, and trying to cement the names and faces in her mind. In the middle school, two seventh graders are in the hallway, laughing and talking. A teacher pokes his head out, find the source of the noise, and shoos them off to their homerooms. He smiles as he returns to his classroom. He remembers when they were six graders- a troublesome duo, they were. In the high school, all the students gather in the auditorium, and the upper grades welcome the new freshmen to the school. After, the principle gives a speech before its off to classes. And thus begins the day.

The day continues, and the hours pass. Class time, lunch time, and class again. The kindergartners have had and finished their nap. The second graders have all been issued their new and shiny books. The seventh graders have caught up on all the gossip concerning the events of the summer. The freshmen have cycled through their classes and received their syllabi and first assignments. Throughout all the schools, the bell rings. It is time to head for home.

In front of the high school, a brown haired freshman girl waves goodbye to one of her newly made acquaintances. She likes this new friend, and hopes that, with time, they will become good friends. For a while, she dwells on this though, happy. It will be good to have a friend in this strange new school, in this strange new city. A friend to share lunch with, gossip with, enjoy activities with-

Suddenly, she remembers an assignment she has in her backpack from the English teacher. Like most English teachers, she had wanted to get something of a writing sample from each of her students. However, instead of a normal writing assignment, like "What I did this Summer", or even a short summary of the required summer reading books, she had asked that each student answer the question of this prompt: "Who am I?".

"Who am I?" the girl though, as she began the walk home. Good question. She did not know, and yet her teacher was making her write an answer. She remembered how the conversation had gone at her lunch table- English had been right before lunch period, and since no one really knew anyone else, a bunch of them had sat together. The conversation had flowed from then.

One of the boys, a rowdy one named Matt, had scoffed and pulled out a crumbled sheet of paper, which he had been writing on while others went to through the lunchline. "This," he said, slamming it on the table, "is my essay." He began to read. "I am me. My favorite food is hippopotamus steak. My favorite place to go on vacation is Antartica. My favorite pet is a unicorn. My favorite pastime is shaving monkeys." he paused. "Obviously, I'm not done yet. But if a teacher asks a stupid question, she should get a stupid answer. Everything she needs to know about me is right in front of her or in school records."

"Even so," said Claire, a girl with perfectly straight hair and perfectly manicured nails, "Don't you think it's being a bit bold."

"Not a bit bold" said Matt, "It's a LOT bold!" he started laughing, and a couple others at the table joined in, before finally one stopped and asked Claire what she wrote.

"Well," she began, looking pleased to be asked, "I obviously have not begun yet, but when I do, it's going to be quite simple. I will start with saying, 'I am Claire', then I will name my parents, and slowly go through all the major events in my life that were important to me. Then I will end with my name again."

At the end of Claire's statement, most of the people at the table nodded, but one boy, Brad, shouted, "Boring!"

The table turned to him. After looking at everyone to make sure they were paying attention, he elaborated, "Not that it is bad, it's just simply so... normal. I'm with Matt here, do something unusual. Except Matt's approach is nothing unusual."

"Oh?" Matt took the bait, "Then what are you doing, Mr. I'm-Better-Than-Anyone-Else?"

Brad smiled as if he had just received a complement. "Well, since you asked, I'm going to draw a picture."

"A picture?" exclaimed Claire, "But... this is English, not art."

"And?" Brad challenged.

Claire was at a loss for words... "It's... It's..." she stammered, "It's just not right for English."

The boys all laughed.

Suddenly, another girl, one who had been so quiet in class that no one knew her name, interjected. "I'm with Claire." she said, "And English is the study of the written language." She then turned to Claire, and continued, "Do you mind if I use a little of your idea? Not the whole thing- just the start with the name part."

"Sure," said Claire, glad to have found at least some ally. "Then what are you going to do,... um, can I have your name again?"

"Marie. I'm Marie. And I'm just going to describe myself as I am now. 'I am the yellow of the melting sunset, soft and shy..." she paused, a little embarrassed at having shown her poetic side to a bunch of strangers.

"Go on," encouraged Claire, but Marie kept her mouth shut. The conversation soon moved away from her, and shifted over to poetry in general, which Marie was quite competent on, to sports, and then to other things.

The girl, although she joined in the other conversations, had not answered the question in front of her peers, for she still did not know what she would say. She still did not know when she reached the front door, nor did she know at dinner time, nor even when she went to bed that night. It was only in the morning, a few minutes before she had to leave for school, that she finally knew what she wanted to say.

A few days later, the teacher asked to speak with her after class. After all the other students had gone, the teacher asked, "Tell me, why did you only put your name on ths paper? Where is the answer?"

The girl responded. "The answer is before you, and could not fit on a piece of paper. If I tried to write it, there would not be enough room, and even if I could have written it all, the answer would have changed too much by now to even be accurate. I am more than any piece of paper, and I am more than I was a moment ago. There is only one thing that defines all of me: my name.