And Then...
This is played just like the acting improv game. Only written (obviously). Though feel free to act it out at home.
Each person reads the whole story so far, then adds a continuaton in the comments. It's a lot more fun if you stop in the middle of some impossible point and then--
Just be sure to end your contribution with "and then--"
Right. Off we go.
Lemon sherbet. They always called it lemon sherbet. Why couldn't people get it right, Franca wondered. "It's lemon sorbet," she informed the woman on the other side of the counter. She sighed, waiting for the inevitable order of chocolate chip. Nobody ever wanted anything interesting. They always asked about the lemon sorbet, but then ordered the chocolate chip. Or the rocky road. Why did they carry all these other flavors when nobody would eat them?
She sighed again, as the woman dithered about whether to put it on a cone or in a cup, and scratched at the rash that was blossoming on her left elbow. And then--
Each person reads the whole story so far, then adds a continuaton in the comments. It's a lot more fun if you stop in the middle of some impossible point and then--
Just be sure to end your contribution with "and then--"
Right. Off we go.
Lemon sherbet. They always called it lemon sherbet. Why couldn't people get it right, Franca wondered. "It's lemon sorbet," she informed the woman on the other side of the counter. She sighed, waiting for the inevitable order of chocolate chip. Nobody ever wanted anything interesting. They always asked about the lemon sorbet, but then ordered the chocolate chip. Or the rocky road. Why did they carry all these other flavors when nobody would eat them?
She sighed again, as the woman dithered about whether to put it on a cone or in a cup, and scratched at the rash that was blossoming on her left elbow. And then--
Labels: Narratives - long
posted by Sallyacious at 12:46 PM
3 Comments:
F**k if she didn’t say “lemon sherbet, please. Two scoops.” The scooper was too shocked to do what she should have – asking the customer if she wanted a sugar cone, a waffle cone or a cup. Instead something snapped in her head.
“We don’t have sherbet, ma’am,” she said.
“It’s right there,” the customer pointed at the lemon sorbet with the finger that had been scratching her rash.
“oh, you want lemon SORBET,” The scooper picked up a scoop, dipped it in the sorbet in the freezer, made a perfect 2.5 ounce scoop, and flicked it in a high arc at the customer’s perfectly coifed head. And then…
It smacked Lucy right in the middle of her forehead, right in the spot where her doctor had earlier injected botox. The sorbet slid down Lucy's formidable brow and she could not even raise her eyebrows in surprise.
"Did you just fling sherbet at me? Did you just f-fling sherbet at me?”
"It's SORBET," Franca said slowly and clearly. "Sore. Bay. Sherbets contain milk."
Lucy looked down at the 16 ounce coffee cup in her right hand. She unsnapped the lid and flung it off, a perfect frisbee toss. "Yeah," her voice dropped off. "Let me tell you what else contains milk." She drew arm back and then...
Franca leaned way out over the counter, taking in every detail of the dead woman’s body. She noticed with some satisfaction that the expression (or lack of) on the freshly-botoxed face hadn’t changed, even in death. Even coated with dairy-free yellow glop. “It’s lemon sorbet, bitch,” she muttered.
“How rude,” Lucy murmered to her mist-shrouded companion while scratching the rash that seemed to have followed her even into death.
“NO,” he agreed, “CUSTOMER SERVICE JUST ISN’T WHAT IT USED TO BE.”
They all looked up in surprise as the bell above the front door jingled. And then...
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