What Kind of Internet Provider are You?
I didn't know this one went through. Just ignore it.
Answers to Chartwell Book’s “301 Writing Ideas”
Please feel free to add your own!
Mint Chocolate Chip-cool and sweet
Pistachio-a little nutty
Coffee-bitter but lovable
Rocky Road-had a rough life
Cookie Dough-bad for you
Peach-practically perfect
Costume Damage
As suggested to me by the random word generator.
Back in the days of prom, sorry to all the children that lost theirs to the pandemic, my mom forced me to go to mine. I'm grateful to her for that, because I had a great time, and, by observing others, I will not be eternally bitter over losing the opportunity. Just imagine evil laughter here.
My school did all the voting prematurely. In the first few days of senior year, we did all the yearbook voting: most likely to succeed, nicest smile, and whatnot. We also voted for Prom King and Prom Queen a month or two before prom. So, no one there was vying for Prom Queen. Except for me.
My classmates wore dashing tuxes and gorgeous, flowing dresses fir for a wedding. Not me. I turned the sparkles up to 150% and brought the hem up to my thighs. I did all the dancing. First on the floor. First in the congo line. Slow dancing-well, that's a different story. I danced with all the singles, boy, girl, every one. Stag party? That's ten dances right there. But none of that could unofficially crown me the real queen of the prom.
No, no. What made me MVP was what I prepared before prom. I did all of my research, and short of the dastardly, the most common horror stories featured girls with ripped dresses. Standing on the hem, and all that. So, I stuffed my handbag with a dozen and two colorful spools of thread and plenty of needles.
The first ten minutes of the party, a friend ripped her dress just by sitting down wrong. I opened that bag, and it never shut again. Black stitching on yellow for her. Black on red for the next girl. Blue on blue. Some green. Honestly, the black was really popular. These girls came out of the woodwork every time I turned around. So many small tears and holes were fixed before a major wardrobe malfunction occurred. People were seeking me out by name. Even the guys joined in when their suits ripped. At one point, the dance floor was empty, over half the party surrounding our table, having a sewing party, the rest at the buffet table.
Now, no one said "hero", but we all know it was implied. And if you want to be a hero, too, prepare yourself for your next big party.
The New Guys
Isaiah Newton awoke with his first alarm on Monday, the 12th of June. He showered: ten minutes. Shaved: stubble smooth. Outfit: cool and casual. Breakfast: hearty with a glass of half milk. All according to plan for the first day of a new job.
The commute was practically a delight. The sun was shining, the roads were clear, and the music playing on the radio was hit after hit. It was going to be a good day.
Data Adventure, Inc. sat at the corners of 10th and Poplar, fifteen minutes from Isaiah's house. It was modern, with four stories, plenty of windows, and an open floor plan. Past the sprawling parking lot, in the courtyard, a fountain bubbled in a koi pond.
Rather than waste time searching for a spot near the crowded door, Isaiah parked at the edge of a lot on the West side. He walked past car after car, the sun glinting off each hood and blinding him a little. Finally, he reached a crosswalk leading to the side entrance.
Down the street, a car blaring upbeat music was approaching quickly. A man's voice could be heard belting the lyrics. Isaiah wasn't worried, though; the light was on his side.
He'd strolled halfway across when the chilling screech of tires stopped him in his tracks. A flash of yellow shot through his field of vision. Instinctively, he slapped his hand over his chest-an instinct to protect the vital organ. Someone was shouting in his face.
"Sorry about that!" Isaiah's vision cleared. A Bumblebee had stopped before him, uncomfortably close, two-thirds of the way through the white lines. In the driver's seat, a man with blonde hair was beaming at him.
"I didn't see you there!" He laughed.
"Motherfucker!" Snapped Isaiah. "You're a son of a bitch, you know that?"
"Chill out," said the man. His smile dimmed a bit. "It was an accident."
"Eat rat shit!" Screamed Isaiah. He felt like punching the man in the face, but he stomped off instead. It had been a good day, damnit.
On the other side of the service entrance, a woman stood waiting for him. She was short and chubby, with long hair tied in a bun and straight, white teeth. Her hot pink, flowery dress was hard to look away from, but he managed it, anyway.
"Mr. Newton!" she greeted. "Or do you prefer Isaiah? Can I call you Isaiah?"
He definitely preferred Mr. Newton, but didn't know how to say that without sounding rude. So, he nodded. Her smile widened.
"Great! I'm Emily Scott, your supervisor for the time being," she said. "Did Miss Cathy go over your job expectations, dress code, schedule, all of that stuff during your interview?"
"Yes, she did," he nodded. "Miss Cathy," or rather, Mrs. Stentworth had been very thorough in her instructions, the normal result of Isaiah's own, numerous, questions. It didn't bear repeating.
"Awesome. That's great," she said. "So, just follow me, and I'll show you your spot." She turned on her heel and took off down the hall, beckoning impatiently over her shoulder.
He kept close, three steps behind, as she lead him through a maze of a building and up four floors to a cacophonous room. Dozens of low tables sprawled across the room, separated by chest high walls. TVs played, in fifteen separate locations, mostly the news or powerpoints in progress. Strange, colorful lamps hung from the ceiling. People talked and blabbed and shouted and hollered all around the room. It was a nightmare, and it was perfect.
Emily lead Isaiah through the chaotic mess of potted plants, pictures, and hanging schedules to a cubicle on the far wall. It was brightly lit with natural light. The table was a light green. Except for a couple people talking nearby, it was decently quiet.
"This is your space. You get two fifteens and an hour break. Start training on your computer, and I'll be back later," Emily rattled off, and then disappeared around the corner.
Isaiah glanced around one last time, released a back cracking yawn, walked over, and deposited his laptop bag into the rolling chair on the left, nearest the window.
Just then, another bag landed in the chair next to his. Isaiah looked up, into the face of the man whom had nearly run him over not twenty minutes ago.
"Oh! Ethan, this is Isaiah Newton. He's your new desk partner," said a Male voice.
Adams
April, Andy, and Avery, all Adams, are antsy, anxious, almost angsty after advocating at Ashton's assembly. Albeit adventurous, April and Andy are apprehensive about altering acclaimed artwork at airports. Absurdly, Avery accessed an ancient affidavit addressing artificial affectations annihilating art, and adeptly avoided any ambiguous assessments at Ashton's assembly.
After antidepressants activated, April, Andy, and Avery Adams' austere Australian aunt, Aria Armstrong, arrived and aggressively attacked April's arms. April attentively and aptly applied antibiotics and adhered adhesive. Abrasions aside, April attended another assembly and accidentally ate an apple Andy already appropriated.
Apple appropriating and aggravated assault aside, All Adams agreed, after all. April, Andy, and Avery Adams arrived at Aspen Airport, Arizona. Advocates assembled agreeably. Altogether, ambivalent and assertive, argued adequately, and, amusingly, an airport associate absently agreed.
Annually, amber airplanes, abstract accents, and adorable awards are appreciated.
Alastor
The lights brighten and the crowd cheers over the sound of the opening music.
"It's time to play Family Feud!" shouts the announcer. "Give it up for Steve Harvey!"
A man in a handsome suit steps out. He smiles at the crowd before him, his instruments of justice, keen to mete out their cruel punishment of public humiliation. As much as he loved his job in the old days, influencing history in the worst and best of ways, he also loves his new, streamlined process, and working with the public rather than against it.
God of Family Feuds and Avenger of Evil Deeds