"...Huh?" by Casanova

Note: This piece is based on Raymond Queneau's Exercises in Style. Writers were given a very basic plot and then asked to tell a story in a certain style. Casanova has chosen to write a "confused" story.

Jacob Marley was dead.

Wait. Stop. That is not the beginning of our story. It's not even Christmas, that was months ago. Why would Christmas Charol come to mind? Anyway...

Now, which way was the library again? Take a right, then a right, then a right, then a right, then a left, right? Right.

Ah the library, it smells like the cafeteria. No, that's the gym. The library smells like books, but also a bit like dirty feet.

Charles is here to check out a biography on... no not a biography, it was book on penguins. Or was it a fiction? Yes, that was it, a fiction.

Oh, this is Charles, by the way. He likes to narrate life in his head. Especially his own life. He's doing it right now in fact. He talks in the third person in his head, but first person when talking. Or is it the other way around? No that one was right. For once.

But what's this? The fiction section is half full! Or is it half empty? I suppose it depends on how you look at the glass. No, no, no. Looking at the other shelves the fiction section is surely empty. This isn't just the common daze that Charles usually falls into, the shelves were nothing but metal... wait that's the public library, this school library has wooden shelves. A very common mistake.

Two students were standing by the shelves, conversing in hushed tones. One had white hair, wore large very large fashionable glasses from the 80’s, and was balding a bit. Perhaps the stress had deteriorated him. Oh, wait. That could be Mr. Andrews, a school administrator. Charles thought perhaps it was Leonard, the elderly man who had returned to high school to finally finish his education. Though that could be a television character and not a student at this school. The other student was not a student at all, but the school librarian, who looked a bit like J.K. Rowling, but also a bit like Ernest Hemingway. Or was it Gwyneth Paltrow and Morgan Freeman? Charles wasn’t sure. He didn’t even know who those people were, or who the school librarian was. Perhaps there was more than one librarian.

Charles decided to stay in the library. No, that’s not right. Charles decided to leave the library. He had no purpose there if the biographical section was empty, or was it the fiction section? No matter, Charles was illiterate and didn’t intent to read anyhow. Or maybe he was lactose intolerant. Thick skull or weak bones? He’d find out later, there were more pressing matters to attend to like ice cream in the cafeteria. Charles knew they’d have milky fudge pops, the sign on the door said so.

But before Charles could get to the hot… no, frozen fudge goodness, his friend Matt had news for him. Or was it his friend Ken? Were Ken and Charles even friends? Yes, of course they were friends, otherwise Ken wouldn’t say “I hate you.” so often. But Charles was fairly sure this was Matt.

Matt told Charles of a pie eating contest on the football field. Mmm, delicious apple pie. Oh, wait there were no pies. It was very clearly an animal sacrifice. This week they had an old goat. Oh, no that was that horror movie that Charles had watched last month, or maybe it was a scarring memory from his childhood, but he was pretty sure it was a movie. The football field had a bonfire going on. They were burning the fiction section. Or was it the biographies? Darn, Charles had to do research on the school librarian for a project… or was it Ernest Hemingway?

The doctor stopped Charles in this retelling of his story. “Charles do you honestly believe they were burning the fiction section?”

Charles was confused. “Of course! What else could have happened?”

The doctor continued, “Charles you fell off the bleachers at the school bonfire. You suffered pretty severe head trauma. The books in the fiction section were removed due to water damage from the pipe in the bathroom above bursting.”

Charles looked down, he was in a hospital bed. “Are you sure, everything seems hazy.”

The doctor smiled, “I know Charles, but soon enough your memory will return and everything will be back to normal. We’re going to run a few more tests, but right now I’m sure your family wants to see you. Your brother Ken has been waiting outside for hours. I’ll send him in.”

“Thank you.” said Charles, relaxing in his bed as he stared up at the floor.

Or was it the ceiling?

"Stinker" by Bruce Steppes

It was an ordinary Tuesday. But not like any other Tuesday prior to this specific Tuesday, or even the next Tuesdays that followed. It was a Tuesday that was exact and a day that everyone would recall with a sharp memory the events that took place in the science hall. I was turning the corner of the math hallway with a book in hand and a juice box in the other, when my friend Stinker darted towards me. I could see by the beads of sweat that rolled off his face and the wet body fluids that spread through the armpits of the same shirt he's worn for five days straight, that something was horribly wrong. 

Besides the chaotic scene that had already approached me and standing in my way, I began to ask him what was wrong as I released the apple juice- filled straw from my mouth. Stinker itched his gigantic belly and took exactly 62 seconds to catch his breath before he announced that there was an atrocious smell coming from the science hallway. I was sick that day and my sense of smell was of no use, so I had to trust what Stinker had told me. I motioned him to lead the way but I noticed the hallways quickly emptied when Stinker got near. I watched in pure horror as he pulled his wedgie out approximatley 3 times as I followed behind him to the destination, but I quickly shook the sight out of my head. He began to tell me how he witnessed two teachers run as if escaping some sort of death, but he could not see what they were so afraid of. 

We arrived in the science hallway but saw nothing but emptiness. No signs of sweaty gyms socks or left over lunch from last week. No over-flowing garbage can or a chemical experiment gone wrong. I saw nothing but empty space. But then it happened... It happened so quickly that an adult cheetah could not escape it. If I had been given a two minute head start to run away from the foul smell that I was about to endure, I do not think I could have made it. Babies cried all over the world and young children wept in their sleep during nap time. A recession had begun in our economy and somewhere in Ohio a young boy lost his vision. These events were caused by the unimaginable and unthinkable. Stinker Valinski let out a loud and obnoxious fart that could have potentially destroyed mankind. It was a firecracker that ripped through the hall and left astronauts wondering about the sounds on earth. He burnt a hole through the bottom of his shorts that also blew his lunch money right out of his pockets. The floor was dusted in black smoke and his shoes had separated from his socks that were now hanging on the ceiling. But then it came and even Sherlock Holmes could not have been able to detect it. 

It was an odor that left Charlie still wondering about Willy Wonka and his chocolate factory.  The smell was putrid and I could feel my eyelashes slowing disintegrating as my eyebrows were burning off.   Stinker turned around to find that I, his now hairless friend, had nothing left of my juice box besides a melted straw. Men, women, and children filed out of their classrooms holding their mouths and noses. Classical music filled with sorrow began to play in the background as weak individuals fell to the ground by the torment of stinkers fart. Classmates helped each other up and a teacher hurried to push a kid in a wheelchair who got stuck in the doorway. The scene was heartbreaking.  Stinker Valinski was the source of the issue and he did not even know it. The exterminators came to take him away, and that was the last of Stinker and his stink bombs.

"Salvation" by Bear Force One

Many a time have I induced my father’s ire;

I consistently refuse to ever give in to his desire.

“One day you’ll be just like me boy,” he affirms to himself.

Desperately hoping sins of the father really do become sins of the son.

Many a time have I induced my father’s hate;

Perhaps it’s true that I really will become nothing at this rate.

Broken bottles, smoldering filters, impulsive insults, and derisive glares

Provide a soundtrack and background to a nightmare that seems never-ending.

Many a time have I induced my father’s disgust;

My honest wishes for the future only lead to further distrust.

“You can change dad; you have it in you,” I encouragingly whisper to myself.

But all that courage dissipates when I see him come home every night, bleary eyed.

Many a time have I induced my father’s regret;

He stares at me like some part of the past he wants to forget.

Though his body may ache and quake and his lungs wheeze and seize,

His face only shows true anguish whenever his calls back home are left ringing.

Many a time have I induced my father’s affection;

He announces to me over and over how I’m his path to absolution.

However, did you ever truly love me father?

Did I ever truly love you?  

The Treat Connoisseurs of 5th Period

Note: This exercise was inspired by this article in the New York Times' Dining and Wine Section.

Fleur de Sel Salted Caramel by Lola Lane

A smooth baby’s bottom, freshly powdered and cleansed. A sticky summer’s day given life by succulent watermelon and the endless outdoor possibilities.  The mouth-watering sensation you feel as you scroll through a tumblr page of Ryan Gosling wearing limited clothes. Satisfying like the blast of air conditioning that saves you from the clutches of a 100-degree, middle of July, summer day.  Fleur de Sel Salted Caramel:  experience life. 

Sea Salt and Turbinado Sugar Dark Chocolate Covered Almonds by August Rain

It’s the unexpected. The person you never would’ve believed would ever mean so much to you. It’s life and death wrapped together. Two opposites coming together, making up your universe. It’s the bitter taste that the day leaves in your mouth, washed away by the sweet relief of your bed in the early morning hours. It’s the beginning and the end melted together, the moment that makes the rest of week worth every struggle. 

Horseradish Cheddar Potato Chips by Bear Force One

It’s just another regular day of your ordinary life as you open up a bag of generic, stale chips to eat away at your boredom. But suddenly, the Cheddar God himself, sitting upon a golden majestic stallion with nostrils flaring and eyes wild, bursts through the ceiling and ropes you away to the land of infinite flavor. Angered by your transgressions against all that is good taste, he flings you down a mountain steeper than the Space Needle itself and summons a raging and violent wave of gooey-goodness cheese and fiery wasabi tall enough to blot out the sun. The fear and trepidation you feel as you plunge in a near free-fall combines with pounding adrenaline and an overwhelming sense of exhilaration as the delicious wave of spice and nice washes over you. As suddenly as you came into this world, you come back out, somehow teleporting and landing gently and smoothly right onto your familiar couch. In front of you, an unmistakable yellow – Horseradish Cheddar Chips. Come on, take a chance, make your day special.

Fleur de Sel Salted Caramel by Casanova

One bite, and suddenly you are transported to a world of lovely caramel goodness. A clean cut, attractive man approached you, he smoothly sits down beside you. “Hello…” his voice is as calming as the ocean breeze. You can tell he’s sweet, the kind of man who’d bring you flowers, just because. Everything around you is soft, it’s like being wrapped in your favorite bed sheets, and the warm embrace of a man. That, is Fleur de Sel Caramel.

Cowboy Bark by Adrenaline

A beautiful young woman is walking down the beach. She’s wearing a flowing silk dress and her hair is blowing in the wind. She wears no shoes and you close your eyes to feel the soft sand beneath her feet. It’s so soft and warm, yet you can feel each of the individual grains beneath your feet as though they are part of you. You open your eyes and are terrified. You see a huge wave is about to crash down over her. The water must be from the deepest depths of the ocean because it looks almost black. Then she turns to it and it’s frozen, turned into ice midwave. She turns to you and beckons with her small, delicate hand. You go and as you near her you turn to the waves and touch them. Out of curiosity, you break off a piece and put it to your lips. It’s crunchy and you can taste the salt of the black sea. This is eating cowboy bark.  

Gummy Tummy Penguins by Platonic Soulmate

A field of green with busy buzzing bees at work. Chewing your favorite flavor of gum while licking the frosting off the top of a sprinkled covered cupcake. A large candy covered meteor strikes you exploding with a surprising sugary blast. The yummy taste goes into your tummy and leaves you craving for just one more gummy. 

Cowboy Bark by Percival Brendan Noble the Third

Do you know what a contradiction is? When two complete opposites are somehow merged into one. But of course, one can't exist without the other. Where are the superheroes if there are no villains? And can you be a superhero and a villain at the same time? Yes, yes, you can actually. Opposites can exist as one. A superhero can be a villain. Cowboy Bark somehow combines crunch with smooth, salty with sweet. 

Horseradish Cheddar Potato Chips by Phil

A soft-spoken child with a wild side. A pleasant surprise. An unexpected visitor. The climax to any story. A crunch like the freshly fallen snow on a winter morning, but a heat like a wicked summer day. Sharper than you favorite comedian. Bolder than your favorite superhero, rushing off to save the world once again. I welcome you to my world. I welcome you to try our Cheddar & Horseradish Flavored Potato Chips. Take the dive.

"Where I'm From" by Lola Lane

I am from white radios and an endless stream of NPR

From glasses with foggy lenses and Giant-brand graham crackers.

I am from dog hair on the couch

From the worn-out, laid back warmth.

I am from the purple tulips that live for one second in Spring

From the cherry blossom tree that plagues our house with allergies

I am from movies on Christmas and Sunday night pizza.

From Clare and Kate

I’m from losing everything that can be lost and eating too fast

And from screaming one moment and laughing the next

I’m from don’t get chocolate on your dress and you’re young, you’ll bounce back

And from be the wish you want to see in the world.

I’m from DC United games and from ice cream of course

I’m from Washington, D.C.  and Irish,

Chili and Easter egg dish.

From dad riding his bike from New Jersey to California,

In two months with 200 dollars.

I’m from the dusty photo albums under the couch,

From the adventurous, the have napped and have worked out

From the try-ers and the cry-ers,

The bold and the loud,

The ones who know not everything is worth it.  

April 2014 Data

"Where I'm From" by Percival Brendan Noble the Third

I am from pencils

From oranges and chopsticks

I am from the creaky wooden floors

And cold toes that poke out from underneath the blankets.

I am from the giant tree that sits in the middle of the backyard

The bamboo that grows from behind the shed

I’m from opening presents the night before Christmas Eve and foodies

From Mom and Dad and Michelle and Yvonne

From Gu je 1

From A yi 1 and 2

From Kauh fu 1 and 2 and 3 and 4

From Suk suk 1 and 2 and 3 and 4

I am from Yvonne hogging all the juice boxes

And Dad playing chinese chess

I’m from eating every grain of rice in my bowl

And saying hello to all my family members before doing anything

And knowing all the Barney songs by heart

I’m from red envelopes at Christmas, Chinese New Year, and birthdays

Mushy rice and ginger and medicine soup

From Michelle hiding in her room all the time because she is such a teenager

From photo album after photo album filled with my 90s-child selfies

I am from hating Kindergarten with every fiber of my being

But letting school seep into every aspect of my life

I am from skirting around my culture

And suddenly embracing it with an unexpected pride and passion

I am from China (and Vietnam) but also Arlington Hospital

From two different worlds

That have merged into one

"Between a Rock and a Hard Place" by Hiram McDaniels

“I think I want to go home,” I muttered.

“What?”

“I changed my mind! I want to go home!”

It was a little late to have a change of heart now, with only open air separating me from a long drop into the blue below. From this height it would be like hitting concrete.

My sweaty fingers were wedged into a crevasse in the rock face. I squinted up at Dan, once my climbing instructor, now a dark smudge edging out the light. He was so far away. A wave of vertigo surged up through my ribs and I nearly lost my grip.

He rappelled down to meet me. “You’re nearly there,” he tried to encourage me, checking the line connecting my harness to his, but all I could hear was my heartbeat thundering inside my skull as I tried not to look down. What ever had convinced me to scale this cliff? Mankind was meant to keep its feet on solid, flat earth. It was pure hubris to climb above one’s station. I would be struck down and fall to Earth for daring to get so close to the sun.

“You’re not going to fall,” Dan said, and I realized I had said that last bit out loud. He gave a long-suffering sigh, easily clambering sideways and up again, hardly looking at the rock as his chalked hands and feet expertly found each gap. I, on the other hand, was quaking in place. Any movement could be the one that sent me tumbling to my fate.

Finally I could hold on no longer. A bead of sweat dripped from my temple and I instinctively moved my hand to wipe my forehead; too late, I reached back for the rock face and met nothing. There was a half-second where I dangled, suspended over the abyss. Then came free-fall, the ground rushing up to meet me, air whipping my hair back from my face, the horrifying swooping in my gut that told me this was it, this was where it would end--

The line went taut and the breath was punched from me as I came to a halt. The harness had caught me, inches from death, the tips of my shoes brushing across the bottom. I felt a profound appreciation for the tenacity of life.

Then Don was back at my side, descending swiftly with the whirring of the harness mechanisms at his beck and call. He landed firmly on the blue mat and unclipped me.

“Maybe indoor rock climbing isn’t for you,” Don said dryly.

“I think I’d like to take up golf,” I breathed, and tried to keep my legs from crumpling.

"Beware: Dangerous Equipment Resides in this Purse" by Wesley Meeks

I was lying on the blacktop while Charlotte leaned over her seat cracking up while she watched me. I’m sure it was an interesting site to witness; I was flailing around on the ground moaning and groaning about the traumatic experience I had just encountered and how I was pretty sure my best friend attempted to kill me. It is possible that some might say my reaction was overdramatic but to me, at the time, my actions seemed completely justified.

Our night began at 9:00 pm right after Charlotte picked me up from my place after she got out of work. She had the munchies and as past experiences have dictated you can’t allow your best friend to feel like a pig and stuff her face alone so we were quick to head to the best place we know for junk food together: Mellow Mushroom. We had our fill of pizza and soft pretzels and at my persistence the Mary Jane Brownie, which despite its namesake that gives a nod to 70’s hippie culture, is honestly just a brownie with ice cream and whipped cream on top. Afterwards we figured out who had to pay what and we sluggishly left the restaurant with sore stomachs and regrets.

Driving back the food began to take effect. Other than giving us tummy aches the strange thing about Charlotte and I is that we are most rambunctious after we have just eaten a ton of food, especially me. I’m not sure why and it could just be the sugar working its way through out system but  I sadly think it might be due to the fact that it is the most rebellious thing we ever do together and it makes us feel extremely hard-core. Either way, despite feeling sick to the stomach and overstuffed we felt pretty alighted in a tired, weird kind of way.

We sat in the parking lot near the entrance of where I lived listening to Country Music and talking about anything we could think of. It had been a while since Charlotte and I last hung out so we had a lot to catch up on. I was in the middle of describing the latest Pokémon game I was playing. I recently learned how to use hacks on the GBA4ios app on my phone and I was really excited about it; she was not. While she nodded and “mhhmed” in all of the right places she could care less about the game and seemed a little distracted. All of a sudden she looked over and asked if I wanted to see what her boyfriend got her. I was expecting it to be something nice and sweet like maybe flowers or chocolate, typical lovey-dovey stuff, so imagine my surprise when she excitedly whipped out a taser! She turned it on, the blue lights flashed, the device buzzed, and I freaked out.

When showing your friend a taser, or any dangerous equipment in fact, I think there are certain rules of decorum that should be followed. The first: do not turn it on in a tight space. Sitting in the car there was barely any room to escape and to make it worse the blue lights were pointed down and flashing near my left leg so I did the only logical thing. I grabbed the handle of the door and threw myself out of the car. I read about this before in psychology; it was the fight or flight response and I was not going to fight.

That night I ended up lying on the blacktop with my best friend laughing at me trying to get a picture or capture it on film. I felt like a star on a horribly made YouTube video intended to be funny but wasn’t really at all. The only thing I could think of a moment was, Beware: Dangerous equipment resides in this purse and while this girl might seem sweet and innocent, she will take you down. 

"A Day in the Life of an Empty Desk" by Ann Onimous

It’s about 7 a.m. The lights come on in the writing center. Pity. That didn’t happen last week; must have been spring break. Within the next twenty minutes, freshmen begin to file in. The bell rings. Someone sits on me. Partway through class, the boy I’m holding up sticks a piece of gum on me. I am disgusted. I long to smack him, but alas, I am but a simple desk.

It is time for Stinger. A new set of students enters the classroom, and a girl takes her seat on me. She turns on a laptop, and I soon become warm. Thank you, girl. The room was cold, but you have given me relief from this trial.

Sixth period. The next group of students sits around me, but I am left empty. I seem unwanted. I am reminded of my father. I weep quietly from the depths of my plastic and metal soul.

Eighth period. This is a Latin class. I am shoved against my desk brethren to form tables. I feel that this is an invasion of my personal space. A student writes a filthy word on me. I pray for the junkyard.

Finally, everyone leaves. The lights are turned off and the door is locked. I feel peace in this, but I dread tomorrow.