“Thursday Threat” -where we pit author versus author (or in this case author vs. author vs. author) in a challenging game of mesmerizing malarky and wit flavored mumbo jumbo. An author will select a prompt, write a 300 word or barely less response to that prompt (or in this case NOT write one but challenge the others to use their active-word vocabulary to write one), and then send this bundle to a challenger(s). The challenger(s) will then be expected to reply or live in shame and sudden cultural abandonment. Winner is decided by the sudden fan fare we expect them to receive.
I, Danielle Burner, am not participating because I want to challenge these men on a technique I already utilize. This is meant to hopefully enhance their story telling.
Write (don’t draw it) a true story from Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa/Holiday past without using the words “was” “have” and “were”. May the best writer, with a keen sense of active words, win.
Merry Christmas to all and to all a good fight.
——————-THE AUTHOR’S RESPONSES———————-
I am happy. Santa had come. A Nintendo, calculator watch, and remote control car top the list that will go down as the greatest day of my life. For someone who’s already lived 2,531 days, this is huge for me.
The most underrated Christmas gifts, however, are the stocking goodies. While I believe in Santa, for some reason I’ve always known my mom stuffs the stockings. One gift I’m fascinated with is a red slimer jelly monster–the kind that stick to walls. This particular monster resembles an octopus and has extra stringy legs, too skinny for a squid but too thick for an insect, which expand to create an eight-inch diameter if completely stretched.
Because I am convinced that the best humor is in observing people’s reactions to the mysterious or unusual, I shall use this monster to scare my sister, an innocent young chap of four years. I slink upstairs while she doesn’t see me and strategically smack Slimer onto her wall, carefully sticking all six legs at max distance. Her walls are completely white, not a single poster. The monster stands out like a shark in a swimming pool. It is my toy and even I am scared of it, and I’m like four years older than her.
My sister finally bounces up the stairs, glowing in the wake of her fourth Christmas. I slither around in my room, waiting for her to find my surprise. The moment she walks in she stops. Because she is stupid, she doesn’t run and tell mommy. Curious, she begins talking to herself, “Wus that?” I creep up and curl my head around her door. She inches her way closer, still murmuring to herself, “Wus that?”
Once she reaches the one-foot mark, she begins to reach out to the monster, at which point I make a disturbing noise. It sounds like a blend between an oink and loogie-hock. My sister jumps and begins bawling like a baby.
I retreat back to my room just before she flees to tell papa. “Dave put a monster in my room!” I hear her wail downstairs. I lay in bed and laugh. Then my dad stomps into my room and spanks the crap out of me. Whatever, at least I have Nintendo.
I wore a sparkling silver long sleeve shirt with a matching hood and grey spandex tights. I waited anxiously backstage for my cue. In the annual church Christmas play, I always managed to get the lead part. Not because I possessed any acting chops, but because I could memorize the shit out of my lines. At church camp, they gave everyone bare necklaces and handed out beads for us to decorate them with for various accomplishments. Kids would get them for hitting bullseye’s in archery, or winning water balloon tosses, or participating in nature hikes. I received most of mine for reciting bible verses.
I practiced my introduction song quietly, trying not to think about what just happened. Having your friends burst into uncontrollable laughter after seeing you in costume is not something you want to dwell on, especially moments before going on. Just a few days ago, I had on white spandex-like pants and knee high socks. No one seemed to find that funny. Put a baseball mitt in your hand and all is forgiven.
“Peter Pan wore tights.” One of the older girls told me after I nervously stepped out of the dressing room and faced the snickering.
“Oh gee, none of these seem right, what ever are we going to do?” a future thespian voiced from the stage. The lights dimmed and sharp beams of color zipped around the room, making the audience feel like they entered a giant game of laser tag. I jumped into the spotlight and belted out my opening line.
“Greetings earthlings! I am G.T. the Christmas martian! I’m here to help you find the perfect Christmas card!”
I saw the signal and began bellowing “HO HO HO” and waving my lantern from side to side. I winced at the ornately covered pillow as it scratched and pulled my stomach hair and forced me to sweat despite the two feet of snow on the ground coming over the top of my green gardening boots. I entered the house leaving a trail of mud on the fine carpet. I wondered if the white tampon cotton still obscured my dark eyebrows as sweat poured over my brow. I gestured to my aunt to wipe the liquid clear before it hit the lipstick rosiness of my cheeks. I took my throne and requested/demanded my whisky and cookies as the little elf boy wearily approached to take his seat on my knee. While merrily chastising the adults for keeping the heater so high and contributing to the global warming destroying my house, I tugged on the see through red pants that could not repel my acidic body juices. The little elf boy got right close to my face and stared deep into my eyes assessing if indeed I could be the magical gift giving man. I glared back and pointed to the other side of the room to make him look away as I lifted my beard to swig from the crystal glass of Glen Livet. He turned back to find me holding a santa helper hat that I offered him and as fast as the wily Rudolph himself, the suspicious set of eyes disappeared. In their place appeared the beacons of joy atop a face that would power any quantum powered present delivering sled for the rest of eternity. The elf and I brought a holiday cheer to the room that night that will be as timeless as my annual circumnavigation.