Monday, March 12, 2012

Three Minutes with a Sharpshooter

Normanday #19: Did I get ’em?

Write for three minutes about what’s happening in these photographs.

Email what you wrote to woof at bright dot net by the end of the day March 18 (put “Norman is Not Afraid of Bucket Monsters” in the subject line). I’ll post as many of my favorite entries as I want next Monday. Include your first name (or, even better, use a pen name) and age (unless you’re tortoise-old). If you’re a published writer, include a biography to be posted with your entry.

Here are the entries from last week when I asked you to write for three minutes about…

…the yodeling gnu you met at the bus stop. The weird part? His yodeling wasn’t the strangest thing about him. He…


The gnu at the bus stop is yodeling. Strange.

And also annoying. I’m going to have that tune in my head the rest of the day.

Then things get stranger. He asks me for the time. I tell him and he says: “Funny how it smells like green beans this time of day.”

He starts yodeling again.

Things get stranger still. He drops something. I hear a metallic sound as it hits a sewer grate. I reach to pick up whatever it is. It’s a tiny metal cube.

“Thank you,” he says. “I’d hate to lose my portable teleporter.”

Not that I believe in that sort of thing, but if I did, I’d have to wonder why a yodeling gnu with a portable teleporter is waiting for a bus.

He’s yodeling again. I’m hoping the bus comes soon. I don’t know how much more gnu strangeness I can take.

It starts to rain.

“Figures. I forgot my umbrella,” the gnu says.

Whew. I’ll take a boring conversation about the weather over strangeness any day. I start to comment on the unusually warm temperatures. The gnu’s brown fur has turned purple. I pretend not to notice. As more rain falls, the purple turns to plaid.

Finally the bus approaches. I can’t wait to be on the bus and on my way, away from this strange gnu. The bus stops at the curb. The door opens. Several passengers exit. A man with a briefcase, another carrying a bag of groceries, a couple of teenagers texting…nothing the least bit strange.

Except for the whistling yak.

I follow the yodeling gnu onto the bus, letting him on first so I can make sure to sit as far away from him as possible. I bump into him as he stops at the top of the steps. And sits in the driver’s seat.


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