“What do you call that thing?” Dirk asked.

“What thing?” Sheila sighed.

“You know, this thing. Right here. Look. The tendon, or whatever, that is on every drumstick I've ever eaten.”

Sheila looked away. “I don't know. I don't really care.”

“I just realized: I've been eating chicken my whole life, and I still have no idea what this thing is. It's weird.”

“Dirk, you need to listen to me. For once in your life, listen.”

Bob rushed in, out of breath. “Holy crap! Have you seen it? Did you hear?”

“What's the problem, Bob? You're early!”

“Hey, Bob. You don't know what this thing is called, do you?”

“I don't know what to do. It's unbelievable! They're coming – they're coming now!”

“Couldn't you have waited? Is five minutes too much to expect? I was just about to tell him...”

“Tell him? Who, me? Tell me what?”

Bob's eyes rolled in his head as he paced. “That doesn't matter now. Don't you see? We have to go now. If we don't go now, they'll catch us here.”

Sheila's voice grew shrill. “It doesn't matter now? It doesn't matter now? That's not what you said last night. That's not what we said this morning.”

“I don't know what you two are on about. I'm just trying to eat some chicken, and figure out what this chicken part is called. I wonder if I could look it up at the library...”

“There's no time for the library! There's no time for anything! Get your stuff – we have to go now. Is there anything you need from here?” Bob cried.

“I need you to stop all this drama and wait. We agreed that you would let me handle this.”

“What is it, Bob? What's going on that has you so upset?”

“We're probably all going to die! You have to come with me now, because I'm leaving now.”

“Hey, stranger. I was wondering when a ride would show up.”

“Tabitha? Where did she come from?”

“Did you just come from my room? What were you doing back there?”

“Don't be so modest. We had some drinks last night, but surely it didn't erase all of your memories... Bob, honey, let me just grab some clothes and I'll come with you.”

“Why is she calling you honey?” Sheila whirled to Dirk, “Why is she wearing your shirt?”

“That should be obvious, dear. I'd love to stay and explain it for you, but Bob seems so ready to go and I don't like to keep a man waiting.”

“You're right. I'm leaving now. It may already be too late...”

“Hey, are those my pants?”

“Yes. They feel almost as good on me as they did on you.” Tabitha winked, and took Bob's arm. “Oh, have you been working out? I'm impressed...”

Bob shrugged her off. “I don't want to leave without you, but I'm going to go now.”

“Where are you going?”

“You're not going anywhere!”

Bob's eyes widened at the loud noise outside. “They're here! Save yourselves!” he sobbed, running out the door. Tabitha ran after him. “There, there, Bobby. Tabby will make it all better...”

“You slut! Whore! Bastard!” Sheila slammed the door.

“What am I supposed to do without my pants?”

Okay, I was working off the prompt, but I think I went somewhere else with it. Each person is projecting a different emotion, it's just not that obvious to everyone else. Anyway, here it is...I will comment on the other submissions (right now, it's only Harold) tomorrow. :D


Linda was green. Her friends liked to joke she was “green with envy” but the basic truth of the matter was, Linda’s skin was quite literally a bitter shade of green. The doctors had claimed her condition was due to a rare genetic disorder. That didn’t surprise Linda; her parents had never been generous with anything except misery. As there was no cure, Linda had been referred to a specialist who would help her learn to live with her green skin. So, she now sat in the dank, cramped office of Dr. Moncrieff Hallister, psychiatrist, and felt the irony of her situation. She was envious, envious of normal people whose skin wasn’t the color of split pea soup. She was envious of people who didn’t have to sit on an uncomfortable couch in a tiny office the size of a master closet. For God’s sake, her mental stability was being placed in the hands of a man whose only misfortune seemed to be that his parents had named him Moncrieff. Linda tried to smile at Dr. Hallister, but thought better of it. She'd had a salad for lunch, spinach, and pieces of that leafy green vegetable always seemed to get caught in her teeth. Linda clamped her lips tightly shut. The truth was, she was extremely envious. She was also a little pissed. No one had told her this was going to be a group therapy session.
------
Jerry was stupid. Now, this wasn’t a medically proven fact. Tests had always seemed to support that he was moderately intelligent. This, however, wasn’t how Jerry saw it. He was a stupid, dimwitted, inept, cretinous, vacuous, imbecilic, brainless buffoon. Only a truly asinine person would have thought that robbing a bank in the middle of the afternoon with a water pistol was a smart idea. The mere fact that he had been trying to rob a bank so he could pay off his bookie just added a new amount of stupidity to his person. Of course, no one could argue that Jerry wasn’t lucky. He had been lucky enough to hire a lawyer who’d used an insanity defense to get the burglary charges knocked down to a mere nine months. That was the great thing, Jerry thought. Even stupid people could get by with a little luck. So now Jerry was sitting in a lumpy chair facing a shrink who, thanks to a court order, was supposed to help this stupid little man deal with his uncontrollable desire to steal things. Jerry wanted to laugh. He was stupid, no doubt about that. But at least his first name wasn’t Moncrieff.
-----
Stella was in heat. She could barely keep herself still, shifting in the tacky vinyl chair she was seated on, her hands itching to touch skin. She licked her lips, her eyes locked on the therapist’s eyes. Who cared if he had a weird name? He would do nicely, if only those other losers would leave the room. She’d been in therapy for years for sex addiction and she’d never met a shrink yet wouldn’t indulge her weakness for human connection. How was a man really supposed to help her find strength when he couldn't keep his fly zipped. Stella was always disappointed when she managed to get her therapists in bed. She expected a bit more from someone in the medical profession. Her eyes shifted from Dr. Hallister to the other members of the group. None of them really wet her whistle. The kleptomaniac who had introduced himself as Jerry was overweight, the guy who had anger management issues was bald, mama’s boy John was a little too feminine, and the rest were, well, crazy. No, the therapist would have to do. Stella stared at the clock, willing the hands to spin forward so the session would be over and she could have some “quality” time alone with the doctor. The ticking hand taunted back at her. It’s not going to happen. Stella brooded, ignoring the sound of conversation around her. She let her thoughts wander.
"I wonder if that couch will support both of us?"
"Are therapy offices soundproofed?"
"What the hell is wrong with the green chick?”

Chel:

I'm loving your story, but it strikes me that it's more of a set-up for a story than a plot in itself, and, being a fan of plots, I'm inclined to want more.
* My, that's a really big closet, because that's a lot of people to fit in there. I'm assuming, then, that Linda was engaging in a bit of hyperbole, because I've yet to see a master closet that would fit six people, chairs and a couch. Such exaggeration is a nice way of indicating emotional state.
* OK, I'll interrupt here and divulge what emotions I took to be present:
Linda: envy, anger
Jerry: satisfaction, superiority, condescension
Stella: lust, sadness
* I like how each section stands by itself as a little joke, with the appropriate misdirection and punchline at the end. Those are really fun to read.
* Before you think that this is a mutual admiration society, a little criticism: Linda's condition is diagnosed as a rare genetic disorder, and so she was sent to therapy. But wouldn't that have happened when she was much younger? Presumably she's an adult (or at least a teen), so what happened in all the intervening years? Or did she spend most of her life with no idea/medical opinion as to her condition? Misery, indeed.
* the transition from Linda to Jerry is nice, with the "medically proven" as a joining element.
* each person's seat represents some aspect of their character, which is marvelous: the uncomfortable sofa for Linda, the lumpy chair for the overweight Jerry, and the tacky vinyl for Stella.
* Nice double-entendre with "she expected a bit more from someone in the medical profession": both that the doctors should be able to maintain proper doctor-client boundaries, and also that they aren't performing to the expected standard for someone who presumably knows human anatomy/physiology so well.

Harold:

Your story, too, left me wanting more. I liked how you let the characters tell the story with their conversation rather than describing the scene to us. The lack of details (i.e., where the characters are, what they look like, how they are related to each other) actually didn't hurt the story at all. That said, I would love to know more about Sheila and Bob's relationship, since she seems rather jealous at his intimacy with Tabitha. Was that what they were trying to tell Dirk, that they'd hooked up? I'd love to know more...

I really liked the abstract detail of the chicken tendon. Dirk's sudden fascinating with what it's called (especially during what is obviously a serious situation) provides the story with subtle comedic relief.

A small criticism would be that at times it's hard to tell who's doing the talking. Dirk is fairly easy to tell since he only ever wants to talk about that chicken leg. However, on first reading, I thought that Sheila was the one who said "Hey, are those my pants?" Details at the end reveal that Dirk was the one who actually said that, but it's hard to tell.

I would also really like to know what has Bob so scared. Maybe it's not relevant to the story since the plot really seems to revolve around the interaction between Sheila, Dirk and Bob...but I'm very curious. My first guess was alien invasion. :D

Thanks, Chel! I was writing to both prompts, and with my theater background, I'm very fond of working on my dialogue (showing, rather than telling the subtext). Sometimes I may go overboard. Here I felt it would be interesting to have a story where the speaker wouldn't necessarily be obvious until the reader discerned which emotions were motivating each character.

When I thought of the prompt, the chicken tendon was the first thing that sprang to mind.

As for what was happening, you seem to have guessed most of what I was thinking as I wrote it, though I was ambivalent as to whether the invasion would be terrestrial or not.

I'm writing this last minute, to make the deadline. You guys sound like 18 with your writing and I'm only 13 so please offer feedback so I can improve...

“What do you call that thing?” Alexandra Thompson asked the child sitting contently on her lap. His face looked puzzled as he narrowed his eyes and focused on the colored block sitting on the carpet in front of the two.
“Gween!” He cried out in joy, clapping his hands and laughing.
“Good job, Andrew! It is green!” Alex cooed. She lifted him under his armpits and held him up in the air. He giggled happily.
“I think it’s time for your nap now,” Alex looked at the clock on the wall. She stood up slowly, feeling the pain in her legs that was making her wince; then carried the dark-haired boy up the stairs and into the nursery. She set him gently into his bright forest green colored crib. He stared it her with his wide puzzling eyes before she leaned down and kissed his forehead. The child continued to stare.
“Andrew, you need to sleep,” Alex scolded softly. She ran her fingers through her brother’s hair.
“No!” Andrew pouted stubbornly.
“We both need sleep…” Alex felt her eyes draw closed but she forced them open with difficulty. Her legs ached terribly and sent her sinking to the ground. She leaned her head against one of the crib’s legs and felt tears rise up in her eyes.
“Where Momma?” Andrew’s voice came from inside the crib. Alex looked up to see Andrew staring at her.
“Momma’s not here anymore Andrew. She’s up in Heaven…” With that, Alex broke down into tears. Her shaking sobs scared Andrew, and he started to cry too. They must’ve been like that for some time, because soon, Alex heard her father’s heavy footsteps come in through the front door. Alex wiped her face with the back of her hand and stood up. Andrew continued to cry.
“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay. Just lay down Andrew,”
Andrew whimpered quietly but obeyed. Alex quickly pulled the blanket over his tiny body and dashed out.
“Alexandra!” David’s voice bellowed.
Alex ran down the stairs, ignoring her cramping legs and aching head.
“Where have you been?” David accused. His square face was bright red in anger.
“I’m sorry Dav- dad. Andrew had a nightmare and woke up from his nap,”
“You look like Hell. Go lay down,” he ordered, then went off to the living room.
No doubt about to watch TV… he doesn’t care about me or Andrew. Mom never should’ve married that monster! Alex thought. She knew it was wrong to hate her step dad, but if this was how things were going to be since Mom died, she was going to have to make some changes. And soon.

mrs-mindfreak:

Good story. I was pulled into the emotion and really felt for Alex. I do have a few critiques.

-“Good job, Andrew! It is green!” Alex cooed. She lifted him under his armpits
The insignificant detail of where she lifted him isn't really necessary. It kind of took me out of the flow of the story. I also don't think you necessarily needed to put Alex's last name at the beginning. You don't reference it again and it doesn't appear to be necessary the story.

Alex heard her father’s heavy footsteps come in through the front door
I would have put stepfather instead of father. Alex obviously doesn't consider him her father, even if she calls him "Dad."

I would suggest you more clearly define that No doubt about to watch TV is coming from Alex's mind. Had you put something like Alex sighed before that line, it would have been more apparent that this was coming from her and not just the rhetoric of the story.

Great story for one your age...I hope you'll keep writing more stories. :D

Thanks for the critique :)