Again, another long bout of time has passed since I participated in my favorite online writing exercise. I've been occupied getting certified in Hypnotherapy (Need to lose weight or quit smoking? I'm yer gal and we CAN do it over the phone!) and with those skills, I've developed a number of classes called Writing Workshops in Wonderland. Believe it or not, I believe I have found the cure for writer's block and I also do phone consultations to teach you the methods ($25).
[Fiction] Friday Challenge #189 for Jan 7th, 2011 Your character wakes in a circus tent. They are wearing baggy pink pants and a polka-dot frilled shirt. A midget in a strong man outfit is shaking them awake asking if they are all right. Now keep writing.
“Hey, big guy! You okay?”
The words sliced through Jared's head and rang in his ears on an apocalyptic level. Squeezing his eyes only caused more pain, so he tried to open them, but the bright light shattered that attempt.
“I think he's coming around,” the voice shouted, continuing to assault his sensibilities. “Hey, big guy!”
“For the love of Zeus,” he gritted through his teeth. “Stop yelling.”
Chuckles of laughter flitted around his ears as he tried to sit up. That caused the room to sway under his body and he laid back down on his side.
“I would lay still for a while if I were you.” A female voice this time and much more soothing.
Jared turned onto his back and winced at the pain stabbing the back of his head. He turned to his side again. Waiting a few moments for the room to settle, he ventured to open his eyes once more. Through the slits of his eyelids, he saw a short, stout man in strong man outfit, handlebar mustache and all. Is that a midget? Nah, I'm hallucinating!
“He could probably use some water, Stanley,” the female voice whispered. “Would you mind?”
“Sure thing,” the midget shouted.
Jared groaned, but made an effort to stay still. “What the hell happened?”
Coming into his limited view, a bikini-clad figure–with a colorful array of tattoos covering every inch of her skin–set down a folding chair and sat before him. She crossed her long legs and tucked a stray strand of red hair behind her right ear. The corner of her full mouth turned up in a smirk and she snorted a short buy diflucan cheap laugh. “You want the real story or the one I told Stanley?”
He tried to smile, but even that hurt.
“I would have taken you to a hospital,” she said, leaning forward, giving him a nice view of her cleavage. “But considering your situation, I didn't think that was wise.”
Able to open his eyes a little more, he surveyed his environment. A sloping canvas ceiling and walls in a rainbow of hues indicated they were in a tent. A scattering of personal belongings decorated the tent in a cliché of circus memorabilia – costumes, clown pictures, freak-show posters and portable furniture. Looking down at himself, he pursed his lips in aggravation. His attire of baggy pink pants and a frilly polka-dot shirt made him blend in with his surroundings a little too well for his taste. He grimaced to think his face might be coated in grease paint complete with rubber nose.
“Sorry about the clothes,” she whispered. “But it was the first thing I could grab to hide you from your friends.” She stressed “friends” with a touch of sarcasm.
“Where are my clothes?”
She hesitated a long moment before answering. “I had to burn them. They were covered in blood and I'm not sure all of it was yours, in spite of the gash on your head.”
The evening came slamming to the forefront of his memory. He had run for the circus to hide amongst the numbers, certain the men who chased him wouldn't chance creating a scene in a crowd. It had almost worked, but they cornered him and dragged him into the darkened, private tents of the circus employees. Lucky for him, not everyone worked the circus at once.
“Is that tall guy okay?” Jared asked, referring to the man on stilts who gave him a fighting chance.
“Yeah, he's fine, thanks to you.”
“Thanks to me? He's the one who saved my life by distracting them.” Jared sat up and groaned, but the room only did a mild rotation before settling again.
“What did you do? Why is FBI after you?”
He snorted. “Is that who they told you they were?”
The strong-man-midget came back into the tent, handing him a bottle of water. “Here ya go, big guy.”
DOH! Time's up!!! Thanks for reading this installment of [fiction] friday!
That's my two pence…