Fugue

Tom gave me 3 words “Then it exploded” to write a story. And here it is 🙂 See if you can figure out the ending. I need more ‘3 words’, so anyone with any random 3 words, joint or disjoint, give it to me! I’ll dedicate a story to you 🙂

Fugue  

1. He twirled it in his hand, reached out over the right arm of the couch and gave it 3 neat taps. Loose crumbs of tar-colored remnants dived to the ground, smothering the red sparks of life as they met with air, finally settling in an unorthodox fashion on the white carpet that doubles as a biological timeline, a slate written in honor of Jimmy’s activities, where alcohol was the unpaid secretary.

The palettes of a vibrant blue, pink and yellow were Jackson Pollock’s way of paying tribute to  crazy orgy the night before where vodka was the host. He had, however, chosen a strange color, a dried olive-like tinge as his base. On a closer look, it whispers of the likeness with dried pus. The crates of empty beer bottles filing by the doorway was a giveaway.

All in a chronological order. It smelt of a failed attempt at cleaning up, erasing a scandalous blood stain off a knife with a bleeding finger.

Millions of atoms and molecules fuse and disintegrate in tumultuous explosions as he inhaled the energy from the potent reaction, the magnitude of a nuclear incident-at atom level.

Jimmy was smoking. A sardonic smile came to his face.

——————————————————————————-

2. A waft of sensation from the oven contrary to the setting collided with the smoke from the burning hand-held device. Altogether, it suggested a ‘smoked turkey’, not a bad mix. It was Thanksgiving.

Jimmy stirred with irritation. The timer of the oven was not in sync with the living room clock. Amidst the cacophony from the TV, he picked up conflicting hums and thuds, like a broken acapella performance. On a second reflection, it reminded him of an irregular heartbeat; somehow influencing the way he breathed.

Hum (1/4 of a second later)… thud (3/4 of a second later)……… hum (1/4 of a second later)… thud (3/4 of a second later)……… hum… Breathe in (1/4 of a second later)… breathe out (3/4 of a second later)……… breathe in (1/4 of a second later)… breathe out………

He suffered annoyance of a magnitude 10 out of the Ritcher scale.

For the first time in the day, a day which has long lost its glory, he stepped down from the beaten couch he presided on and pressed a red button out the hundred with a suave sense of mechanical certainty.

The TV screen froze. It was showing ‘I am Legend’. Will Smith was in the laboratory, now ablaze, a red, red inferno. “Aa….”He was in the midst of shouting, no sound came out.

A heavy patter of footsteps filed away in a subtle diminuendo. “2 minutes.”The oven timer showed. A click, a full turn and a ear-splitting screech.

Silence.  He waited and listened for the clock in the living room.

He tuned it 2 degrees to the right and stopped. It read “10 minutes”. He listened for the clock in satisfaction. Hum-thud, hum-thud, hum-thud— all in simultaneity.

A light play of footsteps danced into the living room. With a deft, spontaneous motion, he flicked the same red button twice.

“Annnna…” Will Smith resumed his cry.

———————————————————————–

3. Meanwhile, the embers danced in the simulated fire. Hoards of extras played the role as dark-seekers, donning recycled outfits from last season’s Halloween outfit. Bulging veins laced their unadorned body with bloodshot eyes and canine-sharp tooth that spelt ‘murder’. They charged into the basement, banging on the glass compartment for Will to get out.

Jimmy muted the speakers, just the way he liked it.

He saw mouths opening and closing, gawking and shut dead, amidst the cacophony constructed by visuals.

He saw the hungry, red eyes of the dark-seekers, leering at the sight of human flesh, the desire to turn him into their kind.

He smirked as the crash-proof glass shatters-fake ones. His heart leapt as-

———————————————————————

4. The phone rang.

Damn.

———————————————————————

5. The screen froze again. Will Smith shut his eyes. He was clutching something in his hand, he was clutching something in his hand.

Damn.

“Honey, the turkey should have been ready quite sometime ago, hello? Honey? Honey?”

A grenade.

———————————————————————

6. It exploded, sending shards of glass and mutilated bits of turkey flying towards the ceiling before crashing to the ground like a suspended fountain. “Certified thermostat guaranteed to turn off in cases of over-heating.” Damn, fake stuff.

The oven.

“Hello? Honey? What happened? Are you alright? What’s that? I heard an explosion-”

Damn.

“Yeah, err, Yvonne, it was just the TV, you know? Will Smith, I am Legend?”

“Oh god, for a minute I thought the oven exploded, so’s the turkey okay? Cathy and her kids are coming in just a moment’s time.”

“Yeah, as a matter of fact, uh…a moment’s time-what?”

“Yeah, that’s what I’ve said. Have you cleaned the floor? Thrown out the garbage? Yeah, set up the dining table? And remember to change into the shirt I left on the extreme right of the closet. Sorry honey, just need to make sure, yes, and have you-”

——————————————————————

7. Bang.

——————————————————————

8. Ah well, I suppose…

He strolled into the kitchen where party poopers and confetti made of turkey fillings and oven shards laid everywhere-had he arrived 5 seconds earlier to receive the surprise ‘party’ set up for him— except that the party’s expired by now. Pack up and go. He rubbed his eyes, no point in disillusionment. A turkey is a turkey is a turkey and now it’s exploded.

Can’t do nothing.

He made his religious pilgrimage back to the couch and with eyes affixed on the screen, he called Yvonne.

The dark seekers have successfully broken into the glass screen. Will Smith prepares to fling his grenade.

Jimmy turned on the volume and placed the phone next to the speaker.

“Honey-the-the oven”

“Oh my god, what happened?”

Then it exploded.

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Fugue

Tom gave me 3 words “Then it exploded” to write a story. And here it is 🙂 See if you can figure out the ending. I need more ‘3 words’, so anyone with any random 3 words, joint or disjoint, give it to me! I’ll dedicate a story to you 🙂

Fugue  

1. He twirled it in his hand, reached out over the right arm of the couch and gave it 3 neat taps. Loose crumbs of tar-colored remnants dived to the ground, smothering the red sparks of life as they met with air, finally settling in an unorthodox fashion on the white carpet that doubles as a biological timeline, a slate written in honor of Jimmy’s activities, where alcohol was the unpaid secretary.

The palettes of a vibrant blue, pink and yellow were Jackson Pollock’s way of paying tribute to  crazy orgy the night before where vodka was the host. He had, however, chosen a strange color, a dried olive-like tinge as his base. On a closer look, it whispers of the likeness with dried pus. The crates of empty beer bottles filing by the doorway was a giveaway.

All in a chronological order. It smelt of a failed attempt at cleaning up, erasing a scandalous blood stain off a knife with a bleeding finger.

Millions of atoms and molecules fuse and disintegrate in tumultuous explosions as he inhaled the energy from the potent reaction, the magnitude of a nuclear incident-at atom level.

Jimmy was smoking. A sardonic smile came to his face.

——————————————————————————-

2. A waft of sensation from the oven contrary to the setting collided with the smoke from the burning hand-held device. Altogether, it suggested a ‘smoked turkey’, not a bad mix. It was Thanksgiving.

Jimmy stirred with irritation. The timer of the oven was not in sync with the living room clock. Amidst the cacophony from the TV, he picked up conflicting hums and thuds, like a broken acapella performance. On a second reflection, it reminded him of an irregular heartbeat; somehow influencing the way he breathed.

Hum (1/4 of a second later)… thud (3/4 of a second later)……… hum (1/4 of a second later)… thud (3/4 of a second later)……… hum… Breathe in (1/4 of a second later)… breathe out (3/4 of a second later)……… breathe in (1/4 of a second later)… breathe out………

He suffered annoyance of a magnitude 10 out of the Ritcher scale.

For the first time in the day, a day which has long lost its glory, he stepped down from the beaten couch he presided on and pressed a red button out the hundred with a suave sense of mechanical certainty.

The TV screen froze. It was showing ‘I am Legend’. Will Smith was in the laboratory, now ablaze, a red, red inferno. “Aa….”He was in the midst of shouting, no sound came out.

A heavy patter of footsteps filed away in a subtle diminuendo. “2 minutes.”The oven timer showed. A click, a full turn and a ear-splitting screech.

Silence.  He waited and listened for the clock in the living room.

He tuned it 2 degrees to the right and stopped. It read “10 minutes”. He listened for the clock in satisfaction. Hum-thud, hum-thud, hum-thud— all in simultaneity.

A light play of footsteps danced into the living room. With a deft, spontaneous motion, he flicked the same red button twice.

“Annnna…” Will Smith resumed his cry.

———————————————————————–

3. Meanwhile, the embers danced in the simulated fire. Hoards of extras played the role as dark-seekers, donning recycled outfits from last season’s Halloween outfit. Bulging veins laced their unadorned body with bloodshot eyes and canine-sharp tooth that spelt ‘murder’. They charged into the basement, banging on the glass compartment for Will to get out.

Jimmy muted the speakers, just the way he liked it.

He saw mouths opening and closing, gawking and shut dead, amidst the cacophony constructed by visuals.

He saw the hungry, red eyes of the dark-seekers, leering at the sight of human flesh, the desire to turn him into their kind.

He smirked as the crash-proof glass shatters-fake ones. His heart leapt as-

———————————————————————

4. The phone rang.

Damn.

———————————————————————

5. The screen froze again. Will Smith shut his eyes. He was clutching something in his hand, he was clutching something in his hand.

Damn.

“Honey, the turkey should have been ready quite sometime ago, hello? Honey? Honey?”

A grenade.

———————————————————————

6. It exploded, sending shards of glass and mutilated bits of turkey flying towards the ceiling before crashing to the ground like a suspended fountain. “Certified thermostat guaranteed to turn off in cases of over-heating.” Damn, fake stuff.

The oven.

“Hello? Honey? What happened? Are you alright? What’s that? I heard an explosion-”

Damn.

“Yeah, err, Yvonne, it was just the TV, you know? Will Smith, I am Legend?”

“Oh god, for a minute I thought the oven exploded, so’s the turkey okay? Cathy and her kids are coming in just a moment’s time.”

“Yeah, as a matter of fact, uh…a moment’s time-what?”

“Yeah, that’s what I’ve said. Have you cleaned the floor? Thrown out the garbage? Yeah, set up the dining table? And remember to change into the shirt I left on the extreme right of the closet. Sorry honey, just need to make sure, yes, and have you-”

——————————————————————

7. Bang.

——————————————————————

8. Ah well, I suppose…

He strolled into the kitchen where party poopers and confetti made of turkey fillings and oven shards laid everywhere-had he arrived 5 seconds earlier to receive the surprise ‘party’ set up for him— except that the party’s expired by now. Pack up and go. He rubbed his eyes, no point in disillusionment. A turkey is a turkey is a turkey and now it’s exploded.

Can’t do nothing.

He made his religious pilgrimage back to the couch and with eyes affixed on the screen, he called Yvonne.

The dark seekers have successfully broken into the glass screen. Will Smith prepares to fling his grenade.

Jimmy turned on the volume and placed the phone next to the speaker.

“Honey-the-the oven”

“Oh my god, what happened?”

Then it exploded.

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