Written for Sammiβs Weekend Writing Prompt
#447 where weβre asked to be creative in
exactly 68 Β words using the word βteaspoonβ.
Hereβs where the prompt took me.
Tag: Poison
Feeling Punchy
Written for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt #371
where we are asked to get creative in exactly 54 words using the prompt word “timorous”. Here’s my story.
Nelly was a timorous sort; every little thing turned her into a nervous wreck.
So the other night at the dinner party when everyone except Nelly started feeling deathly ill while she stood off to the side calmly sipping her water, the truth became obvious.
Nelly was the one who poisoned the punch bowl.
NARΒ©2024
54 Words
This is βLittle Drop Of Poisonβ by Tom Waits
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephantβs Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NARΒ©2017-present.
THE DIABOLICAL DOCTOR DIAMOND
β¦οΈ
It was Devinia Diamond, Doctor of Pharmacology and loathed next door neighbor. Iβm sure sheβs the one who poisoned the seed in my bird feeders. And I know why she did it, too. Itβs because I mowed over her damn ivy vines that constantly spread into my yard, strangling the life out of my trees and latching themselves onto my lawn. I had every right to do so and I personally never stepped foot onto her property β only my lawn mower β yet she sought her revenge by killing the beautiful birds who visit my numerous feeders. All because Devinia Diamond is just plain evil, consumed with revenge and more than a bit demented.
Weβve had arguments for years now, mostly because she refuses to honor our property boundary lines. She constantly complains about my dog, Roscoe β a lazy old bloodhound who barely barks and never wanders off β but Devinia calls him a βvile creatureβ. If anyone on this earth is vile itβs her!
But this β the poisoning of my beautiful birds β was senseless and Iβm not going to let her get away with it! She thinks sheβs so slick. Well, weβll see about that, Devinia! Yes we will!
Now, dear readers, put yourselves in my shoes as I stood inside the post office collecting my mail and I overheard the news that Deviniaβs garage had all but burned down during the night! What’s that they’re saying? Spontaneous combustion! Of course, I had to act surprised; I bit my tongue to keep from laughing out loud. Earlier this morning I had heard the long-anticipated sirens of the firetrucks arriving at Devinia’s and I was as giddy as a schoolgirl!
The next morning I called for Roscoe. “Here, boy! Breakfast!” He didn’t come lumbering to the kitchen door which is unusual; Roscoe never misses a meal. He was probably snoozing under his favorite weeping willow tree. He loves his naps even more than food. I went out to look for Roscoe and did indeed find him under the tree, but he wasnβt sleeping; the poor old guy was dead. Not a single noticeable mark on his body. One would think he died of old age but I knew better. My buddy Roscoe β never sick a day in his life and now heβs dead β or should I say murdered? And by that lunatic Devinia, Iβm sure of it. She hated Roscoe just like she hates everyone and everything. This has gone too far and sheβs got to be stopped. That week I didn’t sleep well thinking about poor Roscoe and that she-devil, Devinia.
My goodness! What’s this I see? It’s none other than Devinia walking up her front path and she’s using a cane. “Why, Devinia! What happened to you?” I ask, my voice dripping with syrupy insincerity. “A loose step in the staircase leading to your basement, you say? You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck!” Too bad the cut made by my saw wasn’t deep enough. Next time I’ll make sure the job is done right!
If she knows whatβs good for her, Devinia will stay away from me and keep off my property. She’s killed off all the birds and my sweet boy, Roscoe; now itβs just me and my wife, Ellen. Deviniaβs presence is unwanted. Her very existence sickens me.Β
When Ellen announced she was going to be busy over the weekend with the church yard sale, I decided to drive to our lake house to do some fishing and get away from Devinia for a couple of days. My first night at the lake, I got a call …. the most horrible news imaginable. Ellen was dead! Apparently, she never showed up at the yard sale and wasn’t answering her phone. Ellen’s friends went to our house to check on her; they found her slumped over her desk, dead from an apparent heart attack. Ellen took great care of herself; she was the picture of health. Just like poor old Roscoe, there wasn’t a trace of foul play β no obvious marks, no detectable poison. But I knew. Only a maniac like Devinia was capable of this. She killed my wife and Iβm going to get my revenge if itβs the last thing I do.Β
Now I ask you, dear readers β who says revenge isnβt sweet? I watched the whole thing unfold from behind my bedroom curtain. Devinia getting into her car, turning the key and thenΒ BAM! BAM!!Β BAM!!!Β Devinia blown to kingdom come! She had no idea I was a demolitions expert in my army days. This was by far my greatest detonation death dance! No one could prove it was me who did this, just like no one could prove Devinia killed Ellen.Β Β
This calls for a celebration, a toast to my deeply despised and not-so-dearly departed nemesis, the demented Doctor DeviniaΒ Diamond. I think that $700 bottle of Opus One Napa Valley cabernet sauvignon will fit the bill nicely.Β
I remove the cork and take a whiff. Ah, so savory! Now for a sip. So smooth and easy going down. Exquisite as the most delicious taste of revenge! Finally I can relax.
But wait. Whatβs happening to me? My throat and chest are burning! I claw frantically at my shirt collar, ripping off my tie. No! This is not possible!! Always one step ahead, Devinia must have poisoned my wine collection!! I made a foolish mistake and underestimated just how diabolical she could be.
Damn you, Devinia Diamond! Damn you to hell!
β¦οΈ
NAR Β© 2023
This is Megadeth performing “Poisonous Shadows” live from the Wacken Music Festivial.
Hop on over today to
The Rhythm Section
for a very special
Guest Post
by our friend, Keith.
See you there!
https://rhythmsection.blog/
THE LOSER
βInstantly IrresistibleβΒ read the label on the perfume bottle at a shop in Bangkok. I was, shall we say, drawn here after several misunderstandings with the Sydney Police Department. I called it βgaining a profitβ; they called it βpickpocketingβ.
Contrary to the Sydney Police, my parents and my friends, Iβm not a complete loser β just a partial one. I worked in a book store back home but got canned when I βborrowedβ a few dollars from the register. The shop owner called the police on me, even though βhe really liked me and hated doing itβ . Then there was the βincidentβ which brought me here.
Now Iβm washing dishes for a restaurant, just barely getting by. The waitresses, all sisters, live together downstairs in a shoebox of an apartment near the supply room. I sleep on a cot in the basement and use the grungy bathroom β better than nothing. Thereβs a basement window which I crawl through when I get home late and the restaurant is closed. Only the owner and the eldest sister have a key.
Sometimes when the sisters are working Iβll go downstairs for supplies, take a small detour into that shoebox and help myself to their tip money. Iβm wondering β can I be considered a βhousebreakerβ if the door isnβt locked?
I have a clandestine girlfriend, too. Sheβs a cleaner at the tailor shop nearby. I saw her through the shop window and she looked up and smiled. One dark night after work I waited for her outside the shop and asked if I could walk her home. She agreed but said only half way β her family would not approve. She lives with her parents and 11 siblings. All of what she earns goes to her family. She owns only a few clothes and a ragged cloth pouch. I surprised her with a bottle of perfume which I found in a moldy wood crate behind the shop. She smiled happily and slipped it into her pouch. Her name is βPitiβ and she calls me βSamβ which isnβt even my name but thatβs ok. No one knows I exist.
After dark the next night I waited for Piti but she never showed. Disappointed, I skulked home. The same thing happened the next two nights and on the fourth day during my break I glanced in the tailor shop window only to see a different cleaning girl. βWhere was Piti?β I wondered, becoming concerned.
Several days later I overheard the sisters talking. Piti had become deathly sick β an apparent toxic reaction to old perfume from a bottle found in her pouch. She had been in quarantine, but died this morning.
I was reeling. I did this to Piti. I killed her! She was a perfect angel, the sweetest part of my life. Everything I do hurts someone. In the course of three weeks Iβve gone from petty thief to murderer. Everyone is right. Iβm a complete loser. I donβt know how Iβm going to live with myself.
NAR Β© 2019
Reposted for Fandango’s FOWC – http://fivedotoh.com/2023/02/08/fowc-with-fandango-perfume/
The Elephant's Trunk 