'And the Golden Rambler goes to...' she said. A short drum roll before the very attractive host opened the shiny envelope. She read the name and didn't look too surprised. 'Benjamin DeClement!'
Benjamin stood up and looked so proud of himself. Walking up to the podium on the small stage, he waved at a couple of his friends and gave a cheeky wink at the woman he was almost flirting with.
He held the small, plastic trophy in one hand and started his speech.
'This is the biggest thing that's happened to me since my...'
And it just went on from there.
Showing posts with label Golden Rambler. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Golden Rambler. Show all posts
Monday, 21 May 2012
Golden Rambler by Emily Chadwick
The first time I laid eyes on him, he was lying in a clearing. The sun spun his blond hair into sunshine, dappling his fair skin with puddles of molten gold. He was like something out of an oil painting, the brush strokes that created him too perfect to be real. He had a stalk of grass held between his soft pink lips.
At first, he had his eyes shut, but, as I shimmied on my branch to get a better look, they flew open. I was so startled I almost fell out of the tree. Bright blue eyes blinked once, and then twice.
“What are you doing up there, little one?”
I didn’t answer, just cocked my head to one side and mustered my best attempt at looking puzzled.
The man smiled.
“I’m sorry if this is your tree. I’m just taking a rest, and then I’ll be on my way.”
I shrugged, and the man closed his eyes with another smile.
It shames me to admit what happened next. I should have left quietly and took care of my business elsewhere, but instinct took over.
And I pooped on his face.
The man leapt to his feet with an almost inhuman scream.
“Fucking pigeon!”
At first, he had his eyes shut, but, as I shimmied on my branch to get a better look, they flew open. I was so startled I almost fell out of the tree. Bright blue eyes blinked once, and then twice.
“What are you doing up there, little one?”
I didn’t answer, just cocked my head to one side and mustered my best attempt at looking puzzled.
The man smiled.
“I’m sorry if this is your tree. I’m just taking a rest, and then I’ll be on my way.”
I shrugged, and the man closed his eyes with another smile.
It shames me to admit what happened next. I should have left quietly and took care of my business elsewhere, but instinct took over.
And I pooped on his face.
The man leapt to his feet with an almost inhuman scream.
“Fucking pigeon!”
Golden Rambler by Lesley Whyte
"I've got it! I've got it. The Golden Rambler. Huh? How good is that?"
"I don't even...what...what is that?"
"The name for your villain."
"Wait, hold on, let me make sure I understand." She took a deep breath, trying to focus on how eager he looked, how proud he was of his fucking awful contribution. "You want me to name the killer in my oh-so-serious crime drama The Golden Rambler? Seriously?"
"Yeah, why? Don't you like it?"
"He sounds like he should be wearing yellow spandex!"
"I know, but that's what's great about it. It'll really liven things up. I mean, the guy kills what...thirty-four people in the first chapter? There's got to be something about him that people can like, and a cool superhero like name would really help."
She set down her pen and took another deep breath.
"So, what do you think?" he asked, still beaming.
"It's the worst fucking name I've ever heard. Seriously, what are you, twelve? Do you not understand what I'm trying to create here? This is not a joke. You just don't understand what it's like to be a serious artist."
"And you do? You're sitting in the kitchen in your pyjamas talking about this great masterpiece you're working on. How many words have you even written?"
"Well, I...I can't start until...the number of words...that's not the-"
"Get over yourself. You're just some chick who wants to write the next great novel, but it's never going to happen until you put some words on paper. Until then, my suggestions, fucking awful as they may be, are just as valid as yours. I'm going to work. Some of us actually have proper jobs," he said, and then stalked out of the kitchen.
She waited until she heard the front door bang shut before allowing the tears to well up.
"I don't even...what...what is that?"
"The name for your villain."
"Wait, hold on, let me make sure I understand." She took a deep breath, trying to focus on how eager he looked, how proud he was of his fucking awful contribution. "You want me to name the killer in my oh-so-serious crime drama The Golden Rambler? Seriously?"
"Yeah, why? Don't you like it?"
"He sounds like he should be wearing yellow spandex!"
"I know, but that's what's great about it. It'll really liven things up. I mean, the guy kills what...thirty-four people in the first chapter? There's got to be something about him that people can like, and a cool superhero like name would really help."
She set down her pen and took another deep breath.
"So, what do you think?" he asked, still beaming.
"It's the worst fucking name I've ever heard. Seriously, what are you, twelve? Do you not understand what I'm trying to create here? This is not a joke. You just don't understand what it's like to be a serious artist."
"And you do? You're sitting in the kitchen in your pyjamas talking about this great masterpiece you're working on. How many words have you even written?"
"Well, I...I can't start until...the number of words...that's not the-"
"Get over yourself. You're just some chick who wants to write the next great novel, but it's never going to happen until you put some words on paper. Until then, my suggestions, fucking awful as they may be, are just as valid as yours. I'm going to work. Some of us actually have proper jobs," he said, and then stalked out of the kitchen.
She waited until she heard the front door bang shut before allowing the tears to well up.
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