Call Me Edward by Jamie DeBree & Consequences by Carol R. Ward

Prose Writing Prompt of the Week: A man doesn’t feel like his name suits him, so he wants it changed. What does he change it to, and does it solve his problem?

Poetry Prompt of the Week: Describe a person with one name, and then reveal at the end of the poem that their name is actually something quite different.

We flipped the script a bit this week! Carol wrote a piece of prose to match the poetry prompt, and I wrote a poem to match the prose prompt. Either way, we were both inspired, and that’s what matters, right? Enjoy!


Call Me Edward
by Jamie DeBree

There’s always a party at Mikey’s, they’d say.
Always more fun to be had.
Mike’s not a thinker, he’s a-okay,
a guy who knows how to be bad.

Party for years, and that’s what he gets,
a herd that just can’t see the change.
The boy’s now a man, the compass reset,
but his friends can’t see anything strange.

Mike knows it can’t last, it can’t stay the same,
knows his friends won’t let him advance,
Call me Edward, he says, pulling out his first name,
can’t hurt just to give it a chance.

The parties are smaller, with quieter guests,
but still enough fun to be had,
Edward’s a thinker and one of the best,
who’s name always makes him quite glad.

***

Consequences
by Carol R. Ward

Most people who saw her agreed that even if Bella wasn’t her real name, it suited her. With her pale skin and hair, big blue eyes in a heart-shaped face, it would have been no surprise had she spread a pair of great, white angel’s wings.

But she didn’t, of course.

No one knew exactly where she came from, she just began appearing at the lawn parties and social gatherings that summer. They were young and rich and entitled, none more so than Bobby Greyson. Bobby was the undisputed leader of wealthy youth of the area, not just because of his money and the fact that most of the parties took place at his parents’ estate on the river, but he had a natural charisma.

The fact that this charisma didn’t always work on the, shall we say, less fortunate young women of the area mattered not at all. What Bobby Greyson wanted, Bobby Greyson got. And if it took a couple of his cronies to hold a girl down while he took his pleasure, well that just made it all the more thrilling. And if those same cronies wanted a turn or two themselves, what did he care? He’d already lost interest.

Bella appeared like a vision at the soiree held at the country club. By the time Bobby had worked his way over to her, she had disappeared again. For a time he thought she might have been a vision, and then she appeared at the Van Houten’s cotillion. She floated through the dancers like a dream, and like a dream she was gone before he could even ask for a dance.

It was not until he caught sight of her at one of his own parties that he was able to actually speak to her.

“I am familiar with everyone on the guest list,” he said, offering her a glass of champagne. “How is it I have never met you before?”

“The friends I’m staying with insisted I accompany them,” she said demurely. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“How could I? But please, tell me the name of these friends so I may thank them.”

But she would not. “I would not wish you to learn my secrets too soon – the mystery would fade and take with it your interest.”

“At least tell me your name.”

“You may call me Bella.”

“Of course, how could it be anything else? You are truly bellissima. A beautiful gift.”

Bella smiled and took a step towards him. “Perhaps I am your gift,” she said, and leaned closer.

Bobby closed his eyes, expecting a kiss, but felt nothing more than a whisper of air on his cheek. When he opened his eyes, she was gone.

He asked all his friends, but no one would admit to hosting the mysterious Bella. In fact, only a few remembered seeing her at all. In desperation he threw another garden party, and his efforts were rewarded.

“I was afraid you an angel returned to heaven,” he murmured in her ear, coming up behind her as she stood in the gazebo.

“My place is not in heaven,” she told him.

“Then it is here by my side,” he declared.

“Perhaps.” She smiled enigmatically at him.

There was a shout behind them and he turned. When he turned back she was gone.

The next time Bobby saw her was at the Anderson’s during their croquet party. She was smiling at old man Anderson as he tried to show her how the game was played and Bobby was filled with a murderous rage. Bella was his! No one else was allowed to touch her.

As though sensing his presence Bella looked up and it was only with a great effort of will he was able to mask his feelings. She smiled, as though she could read his thoughts, and he felt a sudden chill. Then the moment was gone.

What was she doing to him? Bobby had never felt this way about a woman before. Lust yes, that he slaked on those unfortunates that were caught unawares, but this … this was something more. This was a hunger, an obsession. If he couldn’t be with her, he’d die.

He was so caught up in his reflections that he failed to notice her approach.

“I need you,” she whispered in his ear. “Meet me tonight at the gazebo.”

And like a puff of smoke she was gone again.

Bobby was at the gazebo at sunset. It had been thoroughly cleaned by the servants earlier, and he’d brought soft pillows to recline on, a bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket of ice, and a tray of delicacies to tempt any pallet. He sensed her presence and turned.

She was breath-taking, a vision in a filmy white gown – she was always dressed in white – with the last rays of the setting sun illuminating her from behind.

“You take my breath away,” Bobby said.

“Do I?”

“I…I love you. You must know that.”

She glided closer. “Are you sure?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Very sure?” Her lips were just inches from his.

“Very sure,” he breathed.

Their lips met. It was like he was kissing for the very first time. She tasted sweet, like some unnamed fruit. He felt light headed, his heart raced. Bobby staggered back from her, a shaft of pain going through his head. His eyes opened as he sank to the ground, his vision blurry.

“What’s happening to me?”

“Did you think you could use those poor girls with such callous disregard with no consequences? I’m here for them.”

“Who are you?” he gasped with his last breath.

“My full name is Belladonna. My kiss is death.”

But Bobby was no longer able to hear her.

She stared down for a moment at his cooling corpse. “There are always consequences.” Spreading her dark wings, she vanished from the earthly plain.

###


Thanks for reading! Feel free to submit your poems/stories for the week in the comments if you’d like. And check back Monday for new writing prompts!

Eleven Things & Mugged by Jamie DeBree

Poetry Prompt of the Week: Write a “ten-things-I-hate-about” poem. Ten things you truly hate about someone, or something.

Prose Writing Prompt of the Week: A man ordering coffee is jostled by someone as he’s speaking with the barista. Who jostled him, and what does he/she say when confronted?


Eleven Things
by Jamie DeBree

I see you standing there
judging me silently.
What is it this time?
My lack of forced smile,
my bare face,
my disregard for titles and accomplishments?

Maybe it’s my tattoos, but
that seems so cliche.
My non-designer clothes,
my metal-filled ears?
Or just my
general distain for the endless small-talk loop.

I laugh too loud,
or not enough,
snicker at all the
wrong things but
I just take
everything far too serious, too literal, too thoughtful.

I know where I
fall short, why I
don’t fit in, how I
could change.
But I am who I am. Like who I am. Just gotta be me.

**********************

Mugged
by Jamie DeBree

“I asked for no foam.” Charlie tried not to sound as frustrated as he was, but it was late, and so was he, and he really needed caffeine.

Without foam on top.

It wasn’t the young barista’s fault he was having a bad day, but it was her fault that his latte was piled high with foam. A few bubbles, no problem. Half an inch of the stuff? She needed more training.

“I’m sorry, Sir. It says ‘foam’ here on the order sheet. I can make a new one for you if you have time to wait.”

He shook his head and set the cup down. “I’m already late. Why don’t you just pour me a black coffee — whatever you have back there, and refund me the difference. We’ll call that good.”

The girl gnawed at her bottom lip, her eyes going glassy.

Oh no. She was not going to cry on him. Not today. Not now.

“I’m sorry Sir, but I don’t know how to do refunds. Let me get my superviser to do that while I get your coffee.” Before he could say anything, she’d disappeared into a door on the opposite wall.

Mentally making note for the five billionth time to buy a damn coffee pot and make the stuff at home, he picked up the cup, fastened the lid and turned to go.

Right at the same time someone else was passing too close behind him.

Hot, milky-caramel liquid splashed across the front of his shirt and pants. He stared down at himself in disbelief, and then looked up to find a woman around his age with brown eyes and chestnut hair staring back, and apparently trying not to laugh.

“Something funny about spilling coffee all over someone?” he asked.

She shrugged, and gave a slight nod. “Actually, when they’re being as big of an asshole as you, yes. Admit it or not, you deserved that.

Unbelievable. He raised an eyebrow. “So now just ordering coffee the way I want it, and asking for it to be fixed when it isn’t is asshole behavior? Since when?”

“Since foam is not going to kill you and is pretty much just air bubbles. Do you realize how ridiculous it is to request no air bubbles in a drink with steamed milk?”

Charlie sighed. He was so not in the mood for this or any other conversation, and now he had to go home and change clothes before he could actually make it to work.

“It doesn’t have to make sense to you. I just has to make sense to me, and I just don’t see why that’s such a difficult thing, or why that makes me the bad guy.” She started to speak, but he held a hand up just as the door behind the counter opened. He turned to see the young barista, apparently still sans supervisor.

“Oh! There you are, Margaret,” she said, looking directly at the woman who’d spilled coffee on him. “This gentleman needs a partial refund and I’m not sure how to do it. Can you help me?

Margaret shook her head. “Nope. This gentleman will be leaving, and he’s not getting a refund or a replacement. We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone for any reason.” She reached toward a shelf of coffee mugs and took one, re-reading the front before holding it out to him.

“There. Now you can’t say I didn’t try to compensate you for this one last mistake. Get out of my shop and don’t come back.” She shoved the mug into his cooling but still wet stomach and walked away.

He looked down at the mug, and very nearly chuckled when he read the saying on the front.

“You’ve been mugged!”

Charlie sighed, took his mug, and walked out the door. On his way home, he called the office and quit his job.

Then he went to the store to buy a coffee pot.

###


Thanks for reading! Feel free to submit your poems/stories for the week in the comments if you’d like. And check back Monday for new writing prompts!

News & Weekly Prompts

BSB News

The Minister's Maid Cover

Last week’s download was the second book in the Fantasy Ranch series – The Minister’s Maid by Jamie DeBree. Not nearly so innocent as it sounds, this is a treasure-hunt style adventure novel set in the oh-so-fun (and somewhat campy, admittedly) Fantasy Ranch resort. We’ve added an excerpt to the book page so you can check out the first little bit, just click on the link above!

As always, check out our Available Books section, for this week’s free PDF download…

Last week’s writing prompts resulted in a poem called Bookkeeping by Jamie DeBree (moi), and the start of a new Insecticide story tentatively called Psychic Spider by Alex Westhaven. You’ll find both on last Saturday’s blog post – check them out!

Topic of the Week: No Topic

No discussion this week – my apologies. Discussion posts will return next Saturday. Go read or write something!


Prose Writing Prompt of the Week: A man ordering coffee is jostled by someone as he’s speaking with the barista. Who jostled him, and what does he/she say when confronted?

Poetry Prompt of the Week: Write a “ten-things-I-hate-about” poem. Ten things you truly hate about someone, or something.

Write a 500 – 1000 word story based on the prose prompt and/or a poem using the theme of the poetry prompt, and email it/them to brazensnake@brazensnakebooks.com. We’ll pick the story and poem we like best to post right here on the blog next Saturday.

Spring Fever by Jamie DeBree & Grave Concerns by Carol R. Ward

Poetry Prompt of the Week: Write a poem about a puppy (or puppies) playing in a field of tulips…without mentioning either puppies or tulips specifically.

Prose Writing Prompt of the Week: There’s a grave in the local cemetery so old that the headstone is tilting to one side. Permanently affixed to the top of the headstone is a small brass bell in a brass frame. The headstone reads simply: “Ring my bell. I dare you.” What happens when someone does?


Spring Fever 
by Jamie DeBree

Thick strappy leaves wave merrily
propelled by warm fuzzy bodies
under bright spring sunshine.

Happy tails move this way and that
sending the occasional loose petal
flying free of its cup-like structure.

Red and yellow dominate the field.
A pleasant breeze ruffles ear-fur and
delights busy noses that sniff and seek.

Is there anything happier than soft
wigglebutts and bright fresh blossoms
on a warm spring day?

***********************************

Grave Concerns
by Carol R. Ward

Stumbling drunkenly on her stiletto heels, Candice hurried as fast as she could down the path.

“C’mon Candy, don’t be like that,” a male voice called from behind her. “It didn’t mean anything, I don’t even know the chick’s name.”

Candice didn’t answer, just tightened her grip on the bottle she was carrying and tried to speed up a little more, gulping back the tears.

“You’re going in the wrong direction you know,” the voice continued.

She didn’t care, she just wanted to put as much distance between them as quickly as possible.

“Fine you stupid bitch, have it your way. I was getting tired of you anyway.” His voice faded away behind her.

Though she was pretty sure he wasn’t following, she decided to cut through the old cemetery. It meant leaving the intermittent light from the street lights behind, but there was a full moon tonight. The gate for the cemetery was open – actually it was missing – and Candice picked a direction at random once she was inside.

Graveyards never bothered her, she often went for walks in them. She actually found them interesting. Her steps slowed and she started keeping an eye out for someplace to sit. Too busy looking around to watch where she was stepping, she stumbled on a protruding rock and fell to her knees beside a grave stone that was listing to one side. Moonlight glinted off the small brass bell in a frame that was fixed to the top of it.

“Guess this is as good a place as any.”

She awkwardly sat back on her heels then moved her legs to the side. Leaning back against the grave stone Candice uncorked the bottle she’d snagged when she started looking for Travis at the party. A tear trickled down her cheek.

“Stupid jerk,” she muttered, taking a swig.

***

When Janice told her about her proposed moonlight party, she’d thought it was a cool idea. And she also thought it would be the perfect night to finally let Travis, her boyfriend of one year, pop her cherry. They’d been there about two hours before becoming separated, and in that two hours she’d managed to down several beer. But she still drank almost half a bottle of wine, for courage, before setting out to find Travis.

But when she did find him he had his tongue down the throat of another girl. For a long moment she just stood there, staring in disbelief, her whole world crumbling down around her. Then he grabbed the girl’s ass, pulling her closer.

“You sonofabitch!” Candice shrieked.

The couple broke apart, although the girl kept ahold of Travis’s arm.

“Hey, Candy,” Travis said, looking not the least bit guilty. “Where’d you disappear to? I was looking for you.”

“Where? Down that skank’s throat?”

“Hey, who’re you calling a skank?” the girl asked.

“Don’t be like that babe,” Travis said, shaking the girl off and taking a step towards Candice. “I was just having a little fun.”

At that moment a guy holding a full plastic beer cup passed through. Without stopping to think, Candice grabbed it out of his hand and threw it at Travis.

“How’s that for fun?” she asked, and ran for the front door.

***

She sniffled in the night air. “He was supposed to be the one,” she said, taking another drink. “He was my Travy-bear and I was his Candy cane.”

Tears began to slide down her cheeks. “He was so hot, all the other girls were so jealous. That’s why I was going to let him be my first.”

Candice began to cry in earnest.

After a while her tears slowed, then stopped. She didn’t have a tissue so she swiped at her face with her sleeve. Then she leaned her head back to look up at the stars. The air was a little chilly, but not cold and she had no desire to move.

“What’s wrong with me? Better yet, what’s wrong with him?”

What was wrong was her bottle was empty. “How did that happen?”

With a sigh she tossed the empty bottle aside. “I should probably go home.” If she cut through the cemetery she could probably make it to a bus stop before they stopped running for the night.

This time her sigh turned into a groan as she got to her feet. Everything started to spin. “I guess maybe I shouldn’t have had so much to drink.” She leaned on the grave stone until the spinning stopped. “Hey, thanks for the support, whoever you are.” Leaning down, she looked for a name on the marker.

“Huh, no name but there’s something …” Candice leaned a little closer. “Ring my bell. I dare you.” She giggled. “I’ll bet that sure didn’t mean the same in your day as it does in mine.”

Unable to resist, she flicked at the little bell. Its note sounded louder than it should in the still of the night. Candice was about to leave when the earth started to tremble beneath her. She staggered, clutching at the grave stone for support, and the earth opened up at her feet.

“Thank you, my dear. You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting,” said a deep, baritone voice from the gash in the earth. A dark figure began to rise. “And it does indeed mean the same thing,” it told her gleefully.

Candice’s screams went unheard by the party goers, but they went on for a very long time.


Thanks for reading! Feel free to submit your poems/stories for the week in the comments if you’d like. And check back Monday for new writing prompts!