This page includes some random pieces of writing created just for fun. No restrictions on word count or format … just going with the flow:
GREY HAIR IS JUST CAMOUFLAGE
Grey hair is just camouflage. Just take your local every day grandpa and you’ll find a twinkled eyed mischief maker blowing a raspberry on a child’s belly or tickling a child’s neck with their bristly chin.
Grandpa Jim’s sense of wit was as dry as the Sahara and as fast as a sports car. His current task was to win the staring competition with his nemesis’ grandson, James. His various facial tics were being used in abundance to throw off the concentration evident in his young adversary.
In retaliation James widened his eyes far as he could go, tipped his head backward to show the whites and stuck his tongue out. To Grandpa Jim this was Child’s play and was something he’d had a lot of practice with.
Growing old is mandatory, but growing up is optional.
(137 Words)
© Trevor Flanagan
THE GOURMET
The specimen of lumbering human flesh clearly loved food. He was stomping along the beach towards the hotel and its many restaurants. Each step putting immense weight and pressure through his heels, up through his sturdy calves and sending ripples through his flabby thighs. Before each thighs reverberation cycle had subsided, his following step sent a matching one to his other thigh.
The mere hint of triangular material showing hinted that he was sporting budgie smugglers behind his overhanging belly. Only once he’d turned a corner and he provided a display of the folds in his flabby back could you see that his garment was barely covering the bottom half of his butt crack.
Some would say such an obese whale of a man should be rolled back into the sea, but chef had other uses for such a specimen; his fat content alone would enable the hotel kitchen to roast, fry, and sear the next two days of planned hotel menu options.
(163 Words)
© Trevor Flanagan
MOSQUITOS
Sam nonchalantly approached the urinal, his hand lowering the zipper. He froze. Sat atop was a mosquito.
“Do you feel lucky?” it droned, rubbing its front legs together, grinning wildly.
Was it his imagination or could he hear a banjo twanging in the background too?
It was a Mexican standoff without sombreros. Cupping his meat and two veg, he sidled to the next urinal only to find another mosquito sat grinning.
“The mosquito mafia wish a tribute. You pee, you pay Gringo,” it sniggered.
Scanning around the room, he spotted mosquitos on each of the urinals and cubicle doors.
(99 Words)
© Trevor Flanagan
Trevor Flanagan - Writer/Author 