Oh, tell me what's wrong with this picture: "The Bluebonnet Sports Bar"
Anyone else see what is just odd about this name? Or, is it just me?
I'm now part of a newly blossoming writers group called Shapers of the Unknown. I really like the name. Our first assignment was to write something, anything - either complex or simple - that involved a "Triple Dog Dare." Since we got this assignment a couple days ago, I've just finished it. I'll post it here. The idea of this particular story scene amuses me in a sick and twisted way. I can't help it.
I think I'm going to suggest flashers for the next assignment. I just have to find out when I can suggest it. I've got an idea of writing two flashers. Two people in an arguement. Each flasher is from each person's view of what is going on.
Triple Dog Dare
"But, why can't I come play with you?" whined Stevie to his older brother.
Terry, who was with Johnny up in the tree, glared down at his younger brother. "Cause, you aren't in our club!"
"Can't I join your club? I want to play in the tree, too."
"No..." began Terry
"Not until you pass the initiation..." continued Johnny in a smooth interruption, winking at Terry.
"Oh, right... the initiation." Agreed the older brother.
Stevie turned his liquid brown eyes upward in hope. "What's the initiation? I'll do it. I know I can."
Johnny suppressed an evil chuckle, warming to the idea in his head. "You know old lady McIntyre's birdfeeder?" The youngest one nodded. "Well, all you gotta do is bring us back some of her birdfeed..."
"Oh! I can do that. That's easy!"
"Wait! I'm not done." Johnny leaned closer from his high vantage point in the tree. "You have to do it going -through- the yards between here and there."
Stevie's face fell in dismay. "But, there's dogs. Big nasty dogs...." He shivered at the thought.
Johnny smiled encouragingly. "Just think of it as a dare. Yeah, a triple dog dare..." He chuckled at his own sardonic wit.
"It's ok, if you don't want to join our club, we understand. You're just too little... and too scared." Drawled Terry.
"I'm not scared!" squeaked Stevie in protest even though the idea of the initiation did frighten him.
"Then, you'll do it and join our club?"
Stevie nodded bravely and turned towards the wooden fence that lead to the four linked yards. The first three yards had the big, nasty, mean dogs that always barked and snapped at him. The four yard had the prize. If he went fast enough, he could get through the yards and back again before any of the dogs knew he was there. IF he was fast enough. Steeling his courage, Stevie took off at his fastest run towards the fence...
Johnny whispered to Terry, "This should be good. Five to one he doesn't make it the third yard."
"You're on." Terry cackled back.
To this day, Mrs. McIntyre will never understand what possessed that tiny brown squirrel to suddenly dart away from his larger black companions directly into, and through, the three yards between her yard and the old oak tree. The result had not been pretty.
Oh, yes, the squirrel had easily cleared the first yard, leaving the Doberman barking after it in sleeply confusion. The second yard had been a much closer call with Australian Sheepdog aware that -something- was going on. His jaws had almost snapped on the squirrel's tail. It was in third yard, the one with the quick moving Greyhound, that trouble came. The Greyhound had managed to bound forward just in time to catch the squirrel in mid-leap.
Mrs. McIntyre had not been sure who was more surprised, the Greyhound for catching the squirrel or the squirrel for being caught. That was what probably allowed the squirrel to escape Greyhound's jaws and make it into her yard. Where, limping and bleeding, it moved directly towards her prized birdfeeder with a strange, fixed determination. However, once there, the squirrel had been too injured to go any farther. Quietly, the little brown squirrel died at the foot of the birdfeeder, listening to the yelps and barks of the riled up neighborhood dogs.
The most disturbing thing about this whole surreal event had been two black squirrels in the old oak tree. As she cleaned up the poor dead squirrel, Mrs. McIntyre got the distinct, uneasy impression that those two black squirrels were laughing at what had happened with a malicious glee.
(c) 2002 Jennifer Brozek