Brandon’s tattoo

 

 

Here is Brandon. Tattoo 2He has a story. Find it. I’ll write the real one next week. Clue: the tattoo is of Jimi Hendrix with a Grumpy Cat head. Set your timer and write for at least 25 minutes. Send us what emerges. Tell us how old Brandon is, what his voice sounds like, his dreams for himself. Make up the person who took the picture. Imagine that Brandon is your best friend, your enemy, your lover, your child…

 

Here is Keiko Moriyama’s response to the 8/24/16 prompt I sent out to my mailing list:   Your character is on the roof of a three story building. They go to the ground.

The barking police dogs are on my heels as I sprint towards the edge of the roof.  My mind is racing.  Shall I jump the 30 feet to my inevitable bloody death?  Or do I surrender to the mad dogs and be shredded to death?   I chose to jump.

Your character wakes and finds him/her/yourself in an unknown place.

Five olive-skinned men wearing white coats are staring down at me as I lie on a make-shift gurney.  They are whispering to each other.  “Lei è giapponese?”  “Giapponese?”  I notice the stethoscopes around their necks.  Silver metal cabinets stand against the white-tiled walls. 

My body feels like a boulder.  My mind is cloudy but I muster the strength to speak. “Where am I?” I ask them.

One man attempts his best English. “You are in a hospital in Bari. Your husband brought you here.  You were very ill.”

Your character is forced from one location to another.

I hear the plastic carrier being brought in from the garage.  Oh no.  It could only mean two things – it’s to the hated groomer or that dreaded Vet.  I panic and attempt to make my escape, but Mom is too fast for me as she quickly scoops my furry 15-pound body. I hiss and thrash on all fours as she runs to the carrier.  But this time, I have a new tactic in mind. Seconds before we reach the carrier, I throw my front legs up and suction my front paws against the carrier opening. Ha. It’s working because she’s cursing.  She calls for my Dad. “Hon, come here quick.  I can’t get him into the damn carrier and we’re LATE. Dr. Jenkins is expecting him in 10 minutes.”

I meowed and cried all the way to the Vet.

 

 

 

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