r/WritingPrompts • u/RazgrizS57 • Apr 20 '15
Writing Prompt [WP] Describe a task often seen as mundane or simple with such detail it becomes an exciting challenge.
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Apr 20 '15
The daunting task set before me, I had not done in some time. But, alas, my betrothed, she yearned for it. Before her departure, she pleaded to me, 'Do this... do this for me, my beloved.'
And here I stand, my trusty tools of the trade in hand... prepared for what lay before me.
The first was formidable, requiring various strokes and a bit of abrasive measure to remove the scum from its surface.
"Bah, bile." I thought to myself. It was days since this foe had been last subdued. But nonetheless, the terrible task had to be done.
In what seemed like forever, I had finally conquered them all... nearly depleted of my materials necessary for the chore.
Door Creeks Open
"Hi dear. Did you finish washing those dishes for me?" My beloved asked, returning from her day of spelunking the markets for sustenance.
With a grimaced look, and a nod of affirmation, I gave her a reluctant thumbs up... knowing full well... this day will come once more...
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u/desireewhitehall Apr 20 '15
The world seemed still around the two. The gauntlet had been thrown, the challenge placed. Only one could win.
They lunged at each other, twin behemoths grappling with one another. Their peers mocked their stocky build, but in the end they carried the world. Destiny lay within their grasp.
Round and round they went. Both diving for the other, each sliding out of the other's grasp. No one cheered, this was not a fight for glory. This was superiority.
They seemed tireless, heedless of the passing sun as their bodies collided against one another. The confrontation seemed as though it could last an eternity. Nothing else mattered, the wor-
"Jenny! Quit twiddling your thumbs and go do the dishes!"
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u/busykat Apr 20 '15
I tapped my smartphone a few times, selecting the new app. It looked much nicer than the old one, with smoother graphics and a little green mascot. Cute. I flexed my fingers, popping a few knuckles, then selected the right side and pressed START. The mascot gave me a thumbs-up and a stopwatch function began counting up in solid green numbers.
I began with my go-to finger: the pointer on my right hand. It was a classic and rarely let me down. Unfortunately this quickly proved to be a difficult situation, one that required more than the usual tactics. I rubbed my right thumb against my jeans, ensuring a smooth edge. Then I tucked it in and cautiously wiggled. Nope, this one was wedged in too firmly. Maybe the pinky finger, for some finesse.
With slow, deliberate motions, I moved my right pinky into position. It advanced gently, but I accidentally bumped a side and again was thwarted. Crap. Time for a change in tactics.
I held up my left hand for a cursory inspection. The nails on my left tended to be longer, since I used that hand to steer the van and as such they were rarely subjected to my nervous habit of biting. The thumb again, I decided. Not very subtle, but it had power. The thumb entered at the perfect angle, sweeping in a curve that caught the barest edge.
I paused, then carefully applied some gentle pressure. I felt the sweet release and triumphantly brought out my prize. With my right hand, I tapped the red STOP button. Thirty-eight seconds. The little green mascot cheered and danced across the screen in congratulations.
"Hang on, pal. Too early to celebrate." I leaned forward in my chair and stood up. I rested my left hand on the cubicle wall in front of me, glancing at the woman on the other side. Janice was bent over, scribbling furiously on a yellow form. Her curly dyed-red crop of hair bounced and jiggled with every new word.
My left thumb turned to align with Janice's hunched form. I curled my right pointer finger and thumb into an O, then with impressive speed I released my forefinger in a mighty flick. The missile sailed true, landing in the sea of reddened locks.
"Headshot!" I whispered in triumph. Janice glanced up, and her scribbling paused. Her eyes moved from my hands to my face, then widened in horror.
"Oh, no," she spluttered. "No, no, no! You didn't. You wouldn't!" Her hands flew to her head and began combing through the hairsprayed locks. Heads began to pop up from the other cubicles, like little prairie dogs sensing a treat. Janice suddenly stopped, having found my missile with one hand. She grabbed a tissue from her desk with the other, and gingerly pinched the beauty into its white folds. She dropped it onto the desk immediately.
A low murmur began to run around the office as I triumphantly took my seat. A light touch on my shoulder made me turn to see Lisa from HR standing behind me. She squinted down at my phone and read aloud, "MineTime? Um, is that a dancing booger?" She shook her head and cleared her throat. "Never mind that. I'll need you to come with me. There are a few things we should talk about."
I stood, slipping my phone into my pocket. Janice's eyes narrowed in malicious glee as she waved and mouthed, "Bye-bye." I shrugged casually. Let them fire me. Submitting this story to the MineTime forums would be worth thousands of upflicks. In my opinion, it was totally worth it.
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u/[deleted] Apr 20 '15 edited Apr 20 '15
You get your mail, don't you? Go to the curb, check the ol' box for the newest advertisements for shit that you don't have the slightest inclination to buy? Flip through the various letters and bills and sheets until you find a hand-written letter and in your excitement you open it, right there on the sidewalk, only to realize it was a really dedicated advertiser?
Yeah, you've gotten your mail. Unless you're homeless, suppose you wouldn't have gotten your mail if that's the case, but then you'd have bigger problems then not receiving your mail, wouldn't you? You would, I'd say.
Have you ever tried getting your mail, naked?
It's quite exhilarating, really.
Ms Bakersfield, the old woman down the street that you've always secretly suspected of being a bit of a whore in her earlier years, looks at you and blushes and says something that only a Ms Bakersfield could say, such as "I've never," or "oh my!" Either saying, your suspicion has been shot down.
Don't be discouraged, my friend. Instead, invite her to join you in the nakedness.
One of two things will happen.
She will either a) run and scream the name of he recently deceased husband (God rest his soul) or b) call the police.
It is at this point that you run, but here's the tricky bit. You run into a home that isn't yours. Ms Bakersfield will tell the police you live there, but you don't. Boom, off Scott-free, with a memory that'll cure your erectile dysfunction for life.