Writing Prompt 5.17: You are walking down a back alley,
and you meet Jason from DragonMount. He’s getting
all uppity about how good his submission was. What
do you do to him?
A Prompt Walk Down a Back Alley ...with Jason from DragonMount
I like to walk down alleys. Especially while I'm trying to think about something to write. They're very inspirational. Dark and rough and... Who was this guy? Some dude standing on an apple box wearing a tux. Whose bow-tie wasn't tied very tight and kind of sagged. I thought he looked familiar, but he had his nose turned up, so I couldn't be sure.
“Do I know you?” I asked him.
“Probably not by sight.”
“You look familiar.”
“Its probably the cadence to how I talk,” he said.
“But you hadn't even started talking until after I asked if I knew you.”
“Do you read?”
“Yes.”
“Do you listen to Writing Excuses?”
“YES.”
“...”
“Wait, are you Jason?”
“From DragonMount”
“So this is... the prompt?”
“Yeah.”
“So this is you being all uppity?”
“Yeah.”
“Good job with the no-eye-contact and the acting as if you're tossing your sentences from the heavens.”
“Thank you.”
“Weird, I thought-- well anyway nice to meet you.”
“And...”
“What and?”
“What are you going to do to me?”
“Huh?... Oh, right... um... hmmm”
“Come on man, I have my nose in the air, we're in the back alley, do you have any idea how many people I have to meet tonight in similar alleys to have all sorts of things done to me?”
“How many?”
“Things or alleys?”
“People.”
“Quite a bit.”
“How many exactly?”
“I don't know exactly. The exact count isn't the point... but there's more than you think.”
“OK, well what do you think I should do?”
“To me? Really? You want me to come up with your ending for you?”
“Who says its the ending?”
“I do.”
“Well don't get so uppity about it.”
“...”
“Oh right. Nice job... Alright, I have a great idea on what to do to you.” I pointed. “Stand on that.”
That was a set of these short rods set in the wall. Wooden stumps hammered in-between the rocks. For what, I had no idea, but there were five of them. Set up in an odd pattern, kind of like a Pachinko machine.
“Which one?”
“The one on the top.”
He climbed up. Through much difficulty. I don't know if it was because he refused to lower his nose for the climb, or if he just wasn't an “outdoor activities” kid, but it took him a about five minutes to finally get up there. And of course when he did he popped his chest out. Proud.
I promptly shoved him.
His arms spun in a big flourish of clumsiness. Then his left leg slipped out and hit one of the pegs below. He kind of saved himself in lunge position for a second, but then his other leg went the other way. He banged his shins. Wobbled. Then steadied himself and stood.
“Was that it?” He asked me.
“Yes.”
“What was the point of that?”
“I knocked you down a few pegs.”
“Oh snap.”
“Nice sub', by the way.” Why did I say it?
His smile returned, that stupid half smile. With his nose literally in the air. He stood as straight as that silly tie sagged. But now he was restored to the height of his uppity-ness. Ready for whatever somebody was going to do to him next.
• • • • •
Title used in a sentence: "She was weird and prompt."
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