Day #3 – Of Centaurs and Banshees

Short Writings from Silly Prompts, , ,

My job is not an easy one. But it is a rewarding one. Sure, if you’d asked me ten years ago if I’d ever rise to fame as a writer of horoscopes for mythological creatures, I’d have inquired about the mind-altering chemicals you’d ingested and then, depending on my mood, either suggested rehab or asked whether you’d be willing to share. Alas, no one can see into the future. Well, I mean, I kind of do. Horoscopes and all that. And before you accuse me of dealing in astrological hokum, I’d like to regale you with tales of some of my most recent “forecasts” and how they’ve come or are coming to fruition.

First, just under three weeks ago, Chester came clomping up to me on the street and thanked me for helping him get a new job. Chester is a centaur and also an Aquarian, which is an air sign. If you didn’t know any better, you might assume that it’s a water sign. This just proves the intricate and mysterious nature of astrology. It’s exciting, really. So if you weren’t interested before, you should be now. Anyhow, Chester’s horoscope on the day that he applied for that job told him that it was a day to “go forth with confidence and seize opportunities!” So he suited up, picking the most stylish tie that would accent his bare, rippling, muscular chest, and polished his horseshoes to a sheen. And I’ll be damned if he didn’t get that job!

Then, about ten days ago, I received a letter from a hydra, postmarked from the Lake of Lerna. This hydra had been lamenting never being able to find love, given its disagreeable nature and poisonous breath. (The poor creature had to have the letter transcribed by a kind Selkie while in human form, donning a gas mask.) The hydra was a Pisces, which IS a water sign. So go figure. But the thing with those born under the Pisces sign is that they can be very indecisive. In the hydra’s case, this was compounded by having multiple heads. The hydra had recently learned about the option to be a subject in an experimental surgery that could remove the poison from its breath and blood to make it more desirable, or at least not deadly, to others. It was unsure if it wanted to go under the knife. But then, it read in its horoscope that day that it should “go forth with confidence and seize opportunities!” The hydra did just that. And though the poison could not be completely removed, the hydra found love with an itinerant koala whose system that could handle the poison of the eucalyptus made it also able to tolerate the hydra’s reduced toxicity. It’s a classic love story, really. And if that doesn’t pull on your heartstrings, you may be a sociopath. Or a Virgo.

Perhaps you’re still not convinced of my ability to prophesy. Well, I’ve saved the best for last. Just three days ago, I received an email from a banshee named Bertha. She struggled with her role in the world as a loud harbinger of death. She said she didn’t feel it was really in her wheelhouse. Bertha told me she was a quiet and introspective type, an emotional and nurturing creature. Classic Cancer, I thought. Yet, not compelled to leave the comfort of her mother’s womb (also classic Cancer), she was born under the fire sign of Leo. She’d recently been trying to embrace the naturally confident and charismatic nature possessed by Leos. I encouraged her to do just that and shared with her her horoscope for that day, which read, “Go forth with confidence and seize opportunities!” Bertha transformed from a shy wallflower to an emboldened screamer of impending tragedy. It was really beautiful.

So yeah. Writing horoscopes is not just a bunch of hooey. It’s the real deal. I’ve even befriended some of my readers. Bertha is coming by later, in fact. She says she has something she needs to share with me. My gut, which is rarely wrong, tells me it’s gonna be something good.

WRITING PROMPT: You have a job writing horoscopes for mythological creatures.

Day #2 – Dangerous Work

Think About It, , ,

“So why… dragons?” he asks.

It’s a question I’m frequently asked. And I get it. “I guess I thought it would be exciting.”

“And is it?” He smiles, revealing a row of yellowing teeth. “Exciting, I mean?”

“I knew what you meant,” I say, looking over his x-rays from six months before. “It hasn’t been boring. Let’s just say that.”

“I imagine it hasn’t,” he smiles again. It would be easy to mistaken it as a lecherous smile if he were human. But it is not. It is a little sinister though. Over the years, I’ve learned to interpret their expressions. Mistakes were made along the way. It would have been helpful had someone authored a guidebook for humans on the matter before the whole blood and fire incident. Live and learn, I suppose.

I set out my tray of oversized tools and rub a blurry smudge from one of the handles so that it’s gleaming. I look back into his mouth. This guy has not been good to his teeth. Given the advanced state of his plaque that were likely caused by lack of flossing after consuming any myriad of life forms, I’m thinking he would fare well with a power washer. Or a sledge hammer. But insurance doesn’t usually cover that. “To answer your question more honestly, I find humans dull,” I say, carefully centering the curette and scaler because to do so eases my OCD.

“You find their mouths dull?” he asks.

“What comes out of them, largely,” I say, to which he lets out a roaring laugh. “I take it you agree?” I add, blowing out the tiny flame on my sleeve caused by his laughter.

“I honestly spend very little time with humans. Or at least, speaking with them,” he says, and his tail does a little shudder which I’ve come to understand (again, no thanks to any guidebook) means he is nervous. Or that he has to urinate. I’m hoping it’s the former. The latter never goes well. Though a nervous dragon is not without its problems. Which would have been nice to know before the jittery claw incident.

“So why… me?” I ask him. It’s a valid question.

“I’ve heard you’re the best,” he says. “My sister was here last month and said you were,” he pauses, “magical. In as much as a human is capable of magic, of course.”

“Of course,” I say. And I know exactly which dragon is his sister. Their mouths are nearly identical, right down to the yellowing teeth. So are their eyes with that lustrous shade of murderous red. Genetics work the same way with dragons as they do with us. That’s where the similarities end though. “I appreciate the compliment,” I smile at him. “So whadya say I start some of that magic on you?”

“Have at it,” he says, opening his mouth wide and exhaling. I quickly pull my mask up over my nose to guard myself from the hot rush of foul air. His sharp teeth glimmer like yellow topaz under the dental lamp and I can see I have my work cut out for me. This will easily be a two-hour job. But I don’t mind. It’s for the greater good. The world needs dragons. Since their introduction last century, they have proven to be our greatest protectors. Especially against ourselves.

PROMPT: You are a dental hygienist for dragons.

Day #1 – The Lifeguard

Short Writings from Silly Prompts,

Chaz was hot. He wasn’t 2026 hot, though. His was more that sort of 1956 beach movie hot with the blond-haired, blue-eyed Aryan sensibility favored during that era. He was buff and tan and wore the oddly fitting men’s short bathing suit trunks that were all straight lines as though his nether region had been redacted by a beige swatch of fabric. The redaction, as it were, did contain one oddly placed pocket that was also starkly rectangular. In that pocket, he kept a gold, heart-shaped locket and didn’t care one iota that this was cliché. The locket didn’t contain a picture of an old flame (in keeping with 1950s vernacular). And there was no secretly stored image of a clandestine boyfriend. No, in a weirdly Freudian twist, it was a picture of his mother nestled neatly into its chamber.

His mother had always been his greatest inspiration. She was an Olympic swimmer. She hadn’t technically ever competed in the Olympics, but she swam in an Olympic-sized pool at their community center. To Chaz, this qualified her as an Olympic swimmer. When he was quite young, he would go with her and watch in awe as she either chopped through the water with total abandon, or swam swiftly and gracefully, like an aqueous gazelle. His mother would invite young Chaz to jump in and join her. She would stand near the edge of the pool and hold out her arms, promising to catch him if he jumped. He waved her away, though, preferring to watch her. He always claimed it was because he didn’t wish to break that reverie.

So the years passed.

Then one day, his mother went into the ocean and disappeared. Just like that. Gone. It was then that Chaz knew he must do the unthinkable. He must become a lifeguard. So he used his dashing good looks and physique to charm his way into a job at a beach resort. As luck would have it, the two people in charge of hiring were shallow and empty-headed, which worked to Chaz’s advantage because he had no formal training to be a lifeguard. He couldn’t even swim. But he believed that if he stayed long enough in one spot on one beach, his mother would someday emerge from the water like a phoenix rising. Except without the fire and all that other pomp. And so he kept watch, his hand always placed gently on that pocket, knowing there was no danger that he would ever lose that locket to the sea as he had his mother. He was far too afraid of water to ever go near it.

PROMPT: Write about a lifeguard at a beach resort who’s afraid of water.