I found a killer website today that included a ton of writing cues for creative writers, so I started at the top:
“One day, you are out in your yard when the next-door neighbor’s garden gnome suddenly walks over and starts telling you about ‘what is really going on.’ Write this scene.”
Okay, here goes:
It was bad enough that I had been attacked by a swarm of yellow jackets earlier that day while mowing the lawn. At first it was like small rocks were being kicked out from under my mower and hitting me on the legs, and by the time I found out what was happening, they were all over me. I tried to run up the yard, using the self-propelled feature of my lawn mower to assist my advances, though, halfway up the yard, I tripped over a rock and fell on my face. A rock? Was it there earlier? A million things flashed through my mind, and I was in a panic, but to my knowledge, it certainly wasn’t there when I had made my passes earlier. I attempted to stand, but couldn’t get to my feet as the yellow jackets had completely overtaken my legs. Though adrenaline coursed through my body, the numbness caused by their many stings kept me glued to the ground. I’m not allergic to the bees, just deathly afraid, and because of this, my body put itself to sleep…
When I awoke it was dusk and the bees had since gone back to their hole in the yard. Before rising from the ground, I looked around to notice my surroundings. Still in the yard. My legs felt as though they had been fastened in concrete. I placed my palms on the ground to attempt to raise myself up and was interrupted by a tiny voice whispering in my ear.
“And just where do you think you’re going?” came the eerie voice.
“Maybe I am allergic” I said to myself, thinking I was still out of my mind a bit. I attempted to raise from the ground again and was prevented from doing so by-
-ropes? How was I tied to the ground? I quickly spun my neck around to look in the opposite direction and found the grisly face of the neighbor’s garden gnome. He smiled at me in a way that you’d imagine a parent would when their child struggles against them to no avail. His beard grew down to his fat belly, so it was about 2 inches long, blue shirt, brown paints held up by a piece of thin rope. His tiny little boots were caked with mud and some of the grass clippings I had created earlier in the day. He stepped toward me in those hideous boots and knelt down, placing his hand on my cheek.
“I’d tell you that you were dreaming right now, but I supposed I should tell you what’s really going on, eh?” came his creaky, stupid little voice.
“I’m tied down to the ground, by my neighbor’s garden gnome!” I laughed to myself, half answering his question, half in disbelief.
“Indeed you are. But, you see, my friend, there is a reason I have you here. The bees were no freak accident. No, they were merely my assistants in this endeavor, though you’re no stranger to the yellow jacket, are you, sir?”
This gnome, and your narrator, had lost their friggin’ minds. Putting my forehead to the ground and closing my eyes, I strained against the ropes that held me down again, and again, they didn’t give.
“No need for struggle, friend. These ropes are tied much tighter than you could ever get out of! Just think of it as a cool little characteristic of the gnome people! Not bad for such little hands, eh? Haha! But seriously, let me get down to business.”
His joke was stupid, but I was in no position to tell him so.
“Okay, well, it goes like this. Do you remember the yellow jackets you killed last year? By pouring a cup of gasoline down the hole? You covered that hole with a rock and thought your problem was solved, didn’t you? Haha! But apparently you had been huffing the fumes of your gasoline, else you wouldn’t of had forgotten what damage gasoline does to an organic garden?”
“I don’t have an organic garden, and even if I did, you’re the neighbor’s gnome!” I shouted in protest.
“True, very true, friend,” he started again, “but you didn’t take into consideration what would happen afterwards! You didn’t stop to think about the bees who weren’t in the hole when you viciously poisoned their brothers and sisters and covered their hole! They weren’t able to get home, so they made a new one in my yard! Friendly little creatures, if you treat them right, yes?”
“So what are you doing with me?” I asked impatiently. His happy-go-lucky expression turned stern and unpleasant as he replied.
“Boy, you’d do well to keep it shut. Now, you may not have an organic garden, but my people do! And, following in YOUR footsteps, they poured gasoline down the hole, flooding the homes of these magnificent creatures and slowly, one by one, the beautiful nearby garden perished. And if there is one thing the gnome people cannot tolerate, it’s the unjustified murder of a beautiful garden!”
“So why don’t you tie them up?”
I had no idea that this would be my last words. Just as my final sounds came from my lips, the gnome whistled and several other gnomes came out from behind the trees, out of the bushes, and through the brush that separated my yard from the neighbor’s. One of the new gnomes shoved a funnel in my mouth, while two others poured gasoline down it. I tried to not swallow and even spit it back out, finally finding the opportunity to do so after the gnomes backed off. In a panic, I struggled to free myself of the ropes one last time before hearing the sounds of my lawn mower being started and after another moment, my legs went numb again.
Enjoy today’s haiku:
Way to go, Simpson
You’re going to a concert
tonight, and for free!