Category Humor

[WP] Golems always follow orders, they do exactly as they are told the best way they can. This golem was simply told to go pick up the laundry. If it happens to pull the mystic sword from its stone and become destined to bring peace of the kingdom on the way there, well…

“You know how golems are, Tammy,” Linda begins, “they do exactly what you tell them and to the best of their ability.”

“Relax,” Tammy replies. “I just sent him up the road to get my delicates from the laundromat. He’ll be back in a jiffy, just wait ‘n see.”

“But what if it does something terribly unexpected in the process? It could grab the wrong laundry, mistakenly draw Excalibur, or even step on the mail man!”

Suddenly, the front door swings open and a 6 ft golem walks in with a wicker basket. Tammy walks over, sifts through the basket, then turns back. “Drats. Looks like it managed to get the proper clothes and the past 25 minutes must not have been enough time to make the 8,400 mile round trip to England.

Tammy pauses, then leans back to look at the golem’s feet, finding a dark discoloration compared to the monotone gray stone that makes up the rest of its body. She moves her head from side to side as if weighing something once she sees the unopened envelope stuck to the bottom of its foot. “I suppose the jury’s still out on the mailman. Best we lay low for the next few days. You up for takeout?”

Linda’s panicked expression shifts from worry into glee as she claps and nods vigorously.

“Alright,” Tammy says, turning back to the golem. “Now run up to that Asian spot and grab us something to eat. You know the one.”

The golem trots off, slamming the door to dislodge a picture from the wall.

“Tammy!” Linda exclaims.

“What?” she replies. “It’s not like it’ll step on the mailman again.”

48-Hour Challenge on writing.com. I found and accepted the challenge with an hour and a half remaining before the deadline. I wrote this story, then took 25 mins to figure out how to submit for the contest. I got it submitted with 9 mins remaining. The only guidance was to write a story of under 500 words while using the song Wake Me Up by Avicii as inspiration.

Desmond is excruciatingly bored, his leg bouncing under his desk as he continues to bite at the thumbnail of his paint speckled hand. His art teacher is going over theory—a complete and utterly hopeless waste of his time. It might as well be trigonometry for all the use it will have after he finishes school.

The gray hood of his jacket is pulled over his head and his sleeves are bunched up around his elbows. Various splotches of neon-orange, red, green and other colors stain his fingertips. And his jacket? It was monotone once—but that day is behind him now.

His jacket pockets are empty, but that doesn’t stop him from periodically sliding his hands inside to make sure. At some point, his accomplices had started rating him out. He didn’t know when exactly, but their jingling as he walked was probably the main cause…probably.

He had become so used to the balls jingling within the cans that he no longer noticed, instead becoming anxious when their sound was absent. If only his teachers could move past their own problems of hearing them, wouldn’t that be fantastic?

Desmond’s walking through school had led to several confiscations and imprisonments of his many, many friends. His teachers had learned to pat him down prior to his entering class, but he had learned as well. The sacrifice of those bygone friends allowed him to learn the value of leaving things outside. Then they would not be confiscated, and the teachers would not hear him as he abandoned their boring lecture.
…which just happened, by the way.

The teacher had started talking about proper form and rules…rules?! The audacity! He had never liked their rules, their coloring books that gave him boundaries to remain within. He didn’t need their approval or to be in their contests. All he needed, he thought, as he rounded the school building and knelt to grab a sack full of moral support…oh wait, he actually doesn’t need anything anymore, sighing as the jingling sack chases away his disquiet.

He finally comes to the wall he had previously chosen. Paint tops are sent tumbling as he liberates the nozzles with a flick of his thumb. The wall’s surface is was a solid off-white, and the mortar is so near flush with the brick’s surface, that he couldn’t have dreamed up a better canvas.

But Desmond knew his time was limited so he worked fast. His eyes keep returning to a clock on the wall as a corridor takes shape within his newest artwork. Several colored tops now sit on the tile floor around him, an audience watching as he finishes.

The last thing he uses is a sealant but turns to be between it and his art. Facing the can like a camera, the sack clutched in hand, he depresses the nozzle. The can drops away as the bell rings and other kids begin to file into the cafeteria. He simply turns and continues walking down the corridor.

[WP] You are a scientist as well as a vampire. While researching a cure for vampirism you discover a game-changer: Iron supplements along with a normal human diet sustain vampires better than blood. You call for a press conference to announce your findings.

“Is this guy legit, Becca?” the cameraman asks his partner.

“How many times do we need to go over this, Stan?” Becca relies. “It’s Rebecca so stop trying to shorten it.”

“Whatever you say, Rebeccaroni.”

Rebecca rolls her eyes and looks around to the other news crews gathering in the Community Center. “A lot of crews sure think he’s legit. Whatever he’s announcing, it seems like he wanted to get the information out to as large an audience as possible. Even the national gang is here.”

“Well, I ain’t worried about the national blow hards. I brought Samantha along for this one,” Stan says, rubbing his camera affectionately.

“That’s your new one?”

“Seriously? You can’t tell the difference between Samantha and that previous dumpster fire that kept me company? Rachel was way less classy than my new girl.”

Rebecca shakes her head. “You’re a strange little man.”

“Greetings and thank you all for coming,” the man begins, standing at a podium that is over looking the crowd.

Rebecca gives a rolling gesture to Stan and turns back to the stage.

“I appreciate you all being able to make it out here at such a late hour,” the speaker in the white coat continues. “My name is not important, but I bring to you my fi–” He is interrupted, raising his hand in front of his face and looking towards one end of the crowd. “Please, I requested no flash photography.”

Stan is tapping the view finder and turning dials as the speaker addresses the other side of the room.

“What’s going on?” Rebecca asks in a forced whisper.

Stan shakes his head. “I’m not picking him up in the view finder for some reason.”

“Do we still have audio?”

“Yeah.”

“Well just keep rolling.”

“As I was saying,” the speaker continues. “I’ve made a discovery that will benefit all life in Earth. Human kind and animal alike. For starters, it should be said…Vampires are real and I have proof.”

A large commotion comes over the crowd and the speaker raises his hands in a calming gesture. “Please, allow me to continue for that’s not the reason for my calling this conference.”

Stan shakes his head. “Come on girl, don’t do me like this. I need this on film. He flips two more switches and turns on the cam lights, assuming it might be a lighting issue.

The speaker turns toward the light, raises a hand to shield his face, screams, then catches fire and turns to dust.

Rebecca turns back to Stan with a glare as Stan looks back and forth between the camera and the vacant podium. “Ooohhh,” Stan finally says, nodding in understanding. He taps the side of his camera as he looks back to Rebecca. “UV lamps.”