"[Variable] Visit"

So my wife has been commenting in her blog about how The Reader is really a 50% partner in the creation of a story, and since I'm a lazy writer, I wanted to see if I could bump that percentage up a bit. Make you do more of the work, and then I would still take credit for the story. But no blame. You can keep the blame. I only want the credit.

My initial intent with this story was to create a web-based mad-libs style story generator with a dread-crummy framework. I would have dropdown lists or open text fields for the reader to provide their own elements, and thereby create their own story. In making it, though, I found I kind of liked what the generic blocks ended up doing to the story (or not doing), so I thought I’d just leave them in, as is, and maybe let you fill in the blocks mentally. Plus, less programming to do that way.
 
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[Month name]. My turn to visit [Name]. What’s more, it was [weather verb]ing when I left, and I ended up arriving late. [Name] hates it when I'm late. And I hate [weather verb].
 
I make good time, regardless, but [hesitation verb] before the [entrance type] when I hear a brief [animal noise] beyond.

I could probably get away with skipping the visit. I could. No one would know. Except me. And maybe [Name], but who really knows about [gender pronoun] at this point?
 
[Active personal sacrifice idiom], I [walk type] in [adverb], and am greeted with a [weather term] of [nonstandard odor] and [biological excretion].
 
The space is dark, lit only by a small [opening type] to the outside world high above. [Name] is at the far end of the space, [possessive pronoun] back to me, attention apparently focused on [possessive pronoun] [piece of furniture], absently [contact verb]ing it with a/an [adjective] [body part].
 
“I have this month's [delivery item], [Name]” I say.
 
“Your turn, was it?” [Name] says, without turning around. “You always seem to get [Month name]s.”
 
“I guess so,” I say. “So, where do you want it? On the [piece of furniture]?”
 
“No!” [gender pronoun] [extreme communication verb]s.
 
I wait for a moment, a little stunned, and finally [Name] [subdued communication verb]s “There beside the [something one might find in an abattoir] is fine.”
 
“Okay,” I say, carefully setting the [delivery item] down.
 
“It’s because the [piece of furniture] is occupied, you see,” [gender pronoun] says.
 
I [view verb] over, but [Name] is between me and the [piece of furniture], so I see nothing.
 
“No problem,” I say. “I just put it here beside the…er...[something one might find in an abattoir].”
 
“It’s because I found something,” [gender pronoun] says.
 
“You did?” I ask, and [Name] [awkward movement]s to the side, [gesture]ing to something [physical positioning verb] atop the [piece of furniture]. It looks to be a roughly [shape adjective] shape about the size of a [small animal].
 
“It’s a/an [archaic religious object],” [Name] says. “And it [something people do].”
 
“It [something people do]?” I say, edging closer.
 
“For me it does,” [gender pronoun] says.
 
Closer now, I was able to make out the object on the [piece of furniture] with a little more unfortunate detail. [Name] had said it was a/an [archaic religious object], whatever that was, but it looked to me like a/an [adjective] [something biological]. And it was [coverage past participle] with something, probably [disturbing noun]s. Maybe that’s what made it a/an [archaic religious object], but I wasn’t about to ask. Something about it made me feel [something one might feel if trapped in a greasy wool envelope].
 
“[Dismissive statement],” I say.
 
“It deserves respect,” [Name] says.
 
“I’m sure it does,” I say, edging away.
 
“You’ll need to [interaction] it before you go,” [Name] says.
 
“I’ll…what?” I ask.
 
“[Interaction] it,” [gender pronoun says], tilting [possessive pronoun] gaze toward me. “So as not to offend.”
 
“I…I don’t think so,” I say, and stumble backward, landing awkwardly on my [body part].
 
Suddenly, much faster than I imagined [gender pronoun] could move, [Name] is at my side, pushing me heavily to the ground with a knee.

“I’ll stab you,” [pronoun] says, but appears to be holding no weapon.
 
“Get..off,” I say, trying to wriggle out from under [prounoun].
 
“I’ll stab you,” [pronoun] says again, holding up a disturbingly [adjective] index finger like [pronoun] is about to start counting off some kind of numbered list, but then turns it to my face. “Probably in the eye, if you don’t show the [archaic religious object] proper respect.”
 
I flick my gaze between [Name], the finger, and the thing on the [piece of furniture], weighing the relative unpleasantness of an eye gouging against just how [negative adjective] actually [interaction]ing that thing would be.
 
And I make my choice.

Comments

[Celes]

YAY!

My favorite part was: "[something one might feel if trapped in a greasy wool envelope]"

Brilliant. I will probably have to copy/paste this onto my blog and give it a proper go. Or maybe disturb my facebook friends with it. What lovely bounties lay before me.

[Enna Isilee]

Woah.

[Katie-wa]

I'm not sure I should share. But mine was funny. Especially this part:

“It’s a/an [archaic religious object],” [Name] says. “And it [something people do].”

“It [something people do]?” I say, edging closer.

“For me it does,” [gender pronoun] says.

I lol'd.

[stubbylarue]

First time commenter, long time reader...this could be one of your most ingenious posts, but I'll bet it took longer to do and defeated your work avoidance goal.