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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Mar, 2022
Scanlon may have pumped up her coiffure and cleavage for her court appearance, but she appears frail after three days on the stand. Even in a plunging neckline blazer, she gives the appearance of a damp mouse. Her hair battles to stay bouffant with the aid of one of her soon-to-be discontinued mousses.The prosecuting barrister prowls before the defendantâs box in a white wig with buckled curls. âMadam Scanlon, you failed to properly report your income and assets, including two private islands, a luxury off-road limousine...
âSpeak now,â Tove says. âAre you coming to the gala, or not?âShe wants to blow off some steam at the bohemian shindig in the park, but I am hesitant because the invitation reads like a set of oppressive instructions: âWear your hair with pride. Play your instrument with joy. Dress in colourful clothing. Be sincere, sensual, and serene.âShe deploys her puppy-dog eyes and I crumble. âOk⊠But Iâm not going to comply with these ridiculous requirements.âI donât need to be told to wear my ha...
âIt was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark,â the nasally news reporter says. âLast night, a group of demonstrators stormed into Madam Scanlon's hair silo and set fire to thousands of unborn wigs.â The reporter wears a scarf over her nose, and smog billows across the plaza behind her. âToday, the blaze rages on, engulfing the city with a sulphurous stench caused by the high keratin content of the smouldering hair.âShe's not wrong. Itâs a strong odour, and I have to breathe through...
âSo, whatâs the catch?â Tove asks.She is right to be suspicious; there is definitely a snag when it comes to Scanlonâs guarantee of protection. âThe catch is, sheâs sucking our profits through a giant silly straw,â I say.Follicle Farm has returned to normalcy owing to the absence of pluck squad raids. But something else bothers me. The big cheese pays us a pittance, so tightening rations to feed the throngs of new recruits arriving every week has become mandatory. Tove is the head...
This cat ought to be bald just like the others. Because of the pet food additives, all felines resemble Sphinx cats these days. Itâs a shame that their ancestral furriness can now only be admired in centuries-old textbooks preserved by law-breaking historians and cat fetishists.I confer with the stray cat and stroke the mystery downy patch on its back. âTell me, puss. Is hijacking the water supply the right way to go?â The scrawny mouser bolts off towards the pumping facility, as if to say, âYes, come on! And while y...
In addressing every man, woman, and child at Follicle Farm, I assuage their concerns about our safety following a recent raid by the pluck squad. âFleeing Follicle Farm is the cowardâs way out! We will stand our ground and use the additional manpower weâve accrued to fortify our defences. We will dig pits! We will lay traps!âThe campfire collective concurs with whoops and hollers. We celebrate our resolution to remain by dancing rings around the fire. I have a feeling that later, more carnal forms ...
The refugees huddle around my fire pit, sheltering from the drizzle underneath a tarpaulin. They may be free from the daily shearings of the pluck squad, but now they face a milder annoyance; Mace peddling uncontaminated tap juice at an extortionate rate. The man wonât fill anyoneâs cup before cramming his pockets with their tattered bills. âItâs mine, and you canât have it! Unless you cough up,â he shouts at a woman with bushy brows. Bushy Brows waves her metal cup around belligerently. âJust...
The footage on the laptop shows Audrey, the doppelgĂ€nger whose hair I stole, cradling herself in the corner of a cell. Houston, we have a problem. Her brow hair is extremely long. Like eye curtains.  âSo the keratin supplement is working a bit too well?â I ask Harlan.âHer body is undergoing excessive keratinisation,â he says. âIâd wager that her nails are near indestructible.ââCouldnât she be of some use to her madam with nails like that? I mean, she could shell all of he...
Nothing is complicated with Mace. According to him, infiltrating Madam Scanlonâs private grounds will be as straightforward as âtaking a dumpâ. Sometimes, I think weâre just too different to work together, but he has this undeniable knack for getting things done.He parks his pickup truck next to the compound boundary so we can scale the wall. âMind the drop on the other side,â he warns me. âAnd watch out for the moss.â But I slip on the green slime, and tumb...
Apparently, the best spot for a clandestine wig-slinging operation is the basement of a laundromat whose opening hours are zero. Well, zero for everyone except those clutching a fistful of follicles, like myself. Iâm fresh off of my first job with Mace, laden with more hair than I dare carry in the streets, and Iâm wondering how much the wigmaker pays for a spectacular haul like ours. Thereâs 15 grams of my own hair, 42 grams of my wifeâs, and a sheaf of blonde lifted from the elite madam whom Mace and I robbed like the highwaymen of old....
CW: Swearing. Mild Peril.I didnât realise how pale people from the city looked until I moved away. Tove thinks the urban water supply is laced with hair growth inhibitors, and I believe herâthat would explain why everyone is hairless and smooth all over. Now that weâre convalescing at the cabin, our detox pathways have had a chance to eliminate the chemicals completely, and our follicles are sprouting for the first time. I donât know what the history books will say, and I donât want to speak too soon or sound arrogant, b...
Flip a coin, reader. If it lands on heads, read on. If it lands on tails, STOP. You are not ready for the stellar knowledge contained within. Trust the coinâs judgementâit knows more about you than you might think. Itâs not just a flat piece of metal that we ascribe monetary value to, but a discerning disc more incisive than the dowser of any mystic, more intuitive than weâve been led to believe by conventional âscienceâ. When you flick the coin into the air with your thumb, its gyrations are not random; they are af...
âThank you! Itâs just what I wantedâ is a commonly heard phrase at Christmas time. Families the world over use it to veil their disappointment. This creates all sorts of problems: it enshrines the gift giver in a bubble of Christmas hubris, adds to their obliviousness, and perpetuates the cycle of bad gifts. But do not fear: the cycle can be broken. You, my friend, can become a Gift God.If youâre not sure that youâre an inferior gift-giver, you most likely are one. Folk have been too p...
Are you tired of people telling you the way they actually feel about you? Are you sick of their inconsiderate behaviour? Their lack of politeness? Then youâre one of the 28% percent of the population with their social filter still intact. Youâve chosen not to tamper with your brain. Congratulations, smartypants. It wasnât that hard, was it? So why canât the other 72% get it right? These filterless fools are doing more than just romping around rubbing everyone up the wrong way. Theyâre Careless. Callous. Cold-hearted. Their selfish behavio...
CW: Mild swearing and mild sexual referencesI want you to think of an object and write it down.A guitar?Okay.Now think of a different object.A melon?Fine.Pleaseâput that cigarette out! You cannot smoke here. I donât care if it relaxes you and helps you think.Nowâimagine all the possible ways that a melon and a guitar are alike. Iâll give you a few minutes to jot your answers down. Remem...
Humourist from the North of England searching for the infinite goof and the syrup of wahoo
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