“You could have said, but you went on about cooking it!”
“You tried to put it in the pot, it’s your fault!”
“I don’t care. You two will clean the octopus ink off the ceiling together while I take the poor dear to the zoo.”
So, I'm attempting the April A to Z challenge, with fiction with at most 100 words. "B is for Blame Game" came from Royce Day. C is written, too, but if you have prompts for later in the alphabet, please give them to me.
The trap was prepared. Father had placed the metaphorical cookie jar in comfortable reach of the children, whom he knew to be curious as well as yet unable to tell good from bad. He had told them to keep their hands off it, threatened dire consequences.
He had given the Snake some ideas to hurry things along, so it was just a matter of time.
Doling out punishment was so much more fun when the children might think they had brought it upon themselves.
In Katie's garden everything grew. She first put this to a test planting jelly beans, being rewarded with a miniature tree bearing sweets. Post-it bookmarks grew into a plant with rectangular leaves in neon colours. An USB stick buried sprouted small chips covering the ground, moss-like. A pin was a seed for a silvery bristling cactus.
Everything grew, bigger every day, until there was hardly any room to move left. The plants were starting to spread beyond the boundary.
Katie planted a coal. It brought forth fire, blooming brilliantly.
Marilyn tidied up the appartment under a thundercloud, wishing Matt would die in a fire rather than come back, until she walked through the hall with a bottle of india ink in her hand. He had left his best-beloved suede jacket on the coat rack.
Elsa knew from experience that drowning in a storm wasn't pleasant, but she couldn't do anything to save the crew of the latest shipwreck. She had tried to warn them, but instead of listening, they had panicked. So, she sat on a rock that was mostly higher than the waves, and, rain falling through her, sulked.
Maybe someone would survive. Maybe at least a couple of rats. Or someone else would stick around after death. That kind of company would last longest.
The view from the shoulder of the Tellanot - that's a mountain, in case you didn't know - is amazing. If you inch right to the edge of the cliff, and lean forward, You get a feeling almost like falling up into the sky.
I guess I was caught up in admiring it a bit too much, for the next thing that happened was that I fell down past the ground; the edge had crumbled. I twisted and tried to grab the new edge, and Daaren successfully grabbed my wrist, and well, the usual you'd expect happened. With me down the cliffside and him flat on the path, he said, "Don't look down."
I looked him in the face while trying to find some purchase with my other hand, and feet, and asked, "Sure, but tell me why."
He didn't answer until we were lying both on sound rock, panting, myself more than him. Sound rock has benefits, too.
Then he answered, "I thought you might get stupid ideas. Like jumping."
Made me laugh until I couldn't breathe at all anymore. Right to the point, that's him.
To test a theory, Harriet built a catapult to throw sticks into thunderstorms. She carefully noted what happened to each - usually only the place where she found it again, rarely that it had been hit by lightning, in which case the result usually was a charred stick.