Writing Meme - Saturday Centus

Saturday Centus is a weekly writing meme running Saturday to Friday.  Respond to Jenny Matlock's short prompt with your story, keeping the prompt intact.  O, you have 100 words to do so! (though the prompt isn't taken from your allowance).  Click on the button for full details, to read this week's entries, and to submit yours.  This is my first go.

Fall Lambs

 

Jeannie crumpled the wrapper, tossing it in the rubbish as she chewed her last bite of sandwich.  It was all over; lunch, summer, her marriage.

'Life's just beginning', she murmured resolutely to herself, tying her coat more tightly and clasping an embrace against the chill gusts - real and imagined.  

The early November sunshine cast golden rays over the park, but hurrying and squinting for want of sunglasses (now retired), Jeannie paid little attention until the sudden pain in her backside hit.  The man with glasses swam into focus, crouched in front of her.  Gently picking gravel from her hands, his strong arm helped her to stand.

Why You'll Never Win The Lottery

The Padrón Pepper Hypothesis

Ah Waitrose!  You browse round tasty (and ocassionally prohibitively expensive) produce, get to try exciting new things, and learn a bit about the world for free.

Last Sunday I bought padrón peppers - never heard of them.  This Thursday I walked past Fernandez & Wells, a bar that had blackboarded them as an available snack; the new BIG THING I thought.  And falling asleep last night I generated my theory.

These speciality peppers originate in North-West Spain, where they have been known as the "teeny weeny thug" owing to the occasional HOT one you might unknowingly pick from the bowl.

Yes, between 1 in 30 (Waitrose packet) and 1 in 50 (website below) are piquant, whereas the remainder have a gently green pepper flavour - not bitter like the usual greens are or sweet like a red pepper, but fresh and tangy in taste.  Fried for 90 seconds in olive oil and sprinkled with salt they proved an excellent accompaniment to cheesy steak baguettes.

http://www.padronpeppers.com/

The Theory

As delicious as the peppers were with steak, there wasn't a hot one in the pack (c. 40 peppers).  So on the basis I can't beat odds of 1 in 30, I'm going to have to rethink my retirement plan.

Sure, sooner or later I'll get to the crunch of a Russian Roulette moment a la Padrón. But whether shopping in Waitrose or shifting to Aldi, I'm pretty sure I can't afford the tickets to scale up for lotto.

Silly Story - The Cock & The Lioness

Here is a very silly story I wrote on the train, because my brain is in pain and nothing more sensible (like the novel and the screenplay/s) appears able to flow.

On a sunny but wintry mid-afternoon, you may happen to meet on a stroll round Bond Street, The Cock and The Lioness of London town, on their way to Selfridges from Marylebone.

'Ahhhhhh' sighed The Cock, ruffled by the cool breeze, and fluffing out all of his feathers to be, and stretching his neck as he strutted along and looked all around for the strains of his song.  'What an interesting building,' he waved with his wing, 
'Like peepholes with steeples', Lioness bared her grin,
'Or modernist pods,' he pondered aloud; 
'A cube with a view for the well thought of few'
'What you say is true - I call it a scoop!  A battery hen  could not complain at that coop.'

Looking closely at Cock, The Lioness purred, 'darling, your poetic meter is caught in a loop; and I'm still full from lunch and my alphabet soup!'

So close to The Cock she was an underground train; rumbling and rattling from low in the drain, so despite being companions he jumped in EXCLAIM!

Landing with feathers all flippety flap, he flew in her face and gave her a brap. 'You silly mad cat, won't you tire of that? You're no more a train than The Cock is a trumpet,'
'Little Cock, if you jump at the train then run fast, for my horn will out-trumpet your trumpety blast!'

Her tail was wiggling (really, don't ask) so The Lioness pounced with a flex of her hips; dribbled towards Cock - teeth, tongue and lips.  But his name was his character thus no need to stop, his initimate knowledge said she'd soon roll and flop.  So used to such silliness he ran down the road, evading her lavish attentions with show; a headless chicken he lead them their dance and squawked with laughter as she chewed at his pants.