Karen just started a new writing prompts game, which captured my attention immediately – maybe she could tell I need some fresh inspiration. I do write from time to time, and have two very good friends that emerge from my writings. Though they take on different names (I still haven’t found that perfect name yet) they are full of fun and mischief. You will get to meet them today, and they might reappear sometime in the future… ( I hope it all makes sense, some of the ‘prompts’ that I tried to insert might not have fit too well…)
Belinda strode into Will’s room, a girl on a mission. She made a grab for his exposed foot, getting him in a good toehold to hassle him out of his sweet slumber.
“Get off me you big oaf!” he exclaimed. “Aren’t you supposed to be practicing that vile calligraphy of yours?”
“Supposed to be, yes. Actually am? no. Look, it’s Mom’s Birthday tomorrow and we really should do something special, now while she is away.”
“You mean, you have a plan to get us into more trouble,” Will mused.
“That is not what I meant, hush up now and follow me.”
They bounded down the stairs and into their Mother’s kitchen. “I’ll start getting the cake together, you gather supplies to make cards and presents,” Belinda ordered as she began rummaging through cupboards, which were not unlike a forest, rows and rows of spices and bottles she couldn’t even half pronounce. She grabbed several at once and shoved them out of the way. “Here it is Mom’s favorite recipe, sponge cake.”
“Belinda, that is supposed to be a pretty tough recipe, do you really think you can do it?”
“’Course I can, how hard can it really be anyway? What are you going to make mom?”
“A possum collar.”
“A what?” Belinda turned, disbelief in her eyes. “What would she ever need that for? You going to find her a pet possum too, she’d love that,” the sarcasm dripped off her words forming a small pool of silence.
“Hey, it will be extremely useful. When she finds possums in the barn trying to steal eggs and stuff, instead of chasing them away with a pitchfork she can attach the possum collar and leash and lead them to safety. Much more humane if you ask me.”
“Not to mention crazy,” Belinda laughed.
The kitchen was filled with busy silence as the children set to their tasks, baking, painting, and creating. No one noticed the back door had been left open from earlier chores. No one noticed that a lonely chicken had strolled in and was pecking about the mess of flour that covered the floor.
BUZZZ! The timer signaling the cake was finally finished baking echoed through the kitchen, sending Belinda flying to her feet. She flung open the oven and grasped the cake in her mitted hands and spun about. Startled, the chicken rose into the air with a horrible squawk and flurry of feathers.
“Wha-“shrieked Belinda. Her arms flailed and sponge cake, unbounded, sailed through the air, as she skidded through the flour. Wham. She crashed into the counter across the kitchen, her hand shooting into a jar of vinegar, sending it flying across the surface, spinning and spraying the odorous liquid across the kitchen as it went.
Will stood holding his paintbrush, yellowish goop dripping from it’s tip, in shocked silence. His mouth gaped wide as the chicken flew, in affront, straight for his face.
“Nooo,” cried Will, flinging his arms up to protect his exposed head as the startled chicken attacked. It clung to his shirtsleeve, ignorant of his flapping arm. “Get it off! Get it off!” he shouted dancing about the kitchen, spraying paint across the room. Around and around he spun until, SMACK, he hit something solid. Solid, soft and tall.
There stood Mother, dismay and alarm in her eyes, as she took in the freshly pickled pad of paper laying on the counter to the remnants of sponge cake on the shelf, gross with blobs of bright yellow paint, dripping from it’s soggy mass. Belinda was sprawled across the floor, her face white as a ghost as a dust cloud of flour settled around her.
“Mom, I can explain-“ Will began, feeling too much like a red-handed cowboy, caught with his hand in the till.
“Really, it’s self-explanatory, soiled clothes, paint everywhere, and isn’t that vinegar I smell?” Mother spoke in a too calm voice.
The chicken half flapped, half limped across the floor toward the open door.
“We just wanted to-“ Belinda sucked in her breath, “It’s just that we didn’t realize- Oh, bother, we made a mess of things, and we honestly didn’t mean to this time.” She wrung her hands in dismay and stared into her mother’s eyes.
A slow smile spread across Mother’s face. “Well, I suppose my birthday present now will be a nice clean kitchen,” she said and quietly ascended he stairs.
*Disclaimer: This was written entirely off the cuff and very little editing went into it other than spell check. Feel free to let me know if you see any gross errors, or anything really, that could/should be changed.
Fun and Flawed 