He writes in two different blogs. http://deeliopunk.wordpress.com and http://deeliopunk.tumblr.com Both of them are worth of reading, and I won't ever get tired of recommending them to everybody.
When I asked him if he wanted to guest post in my blog, he asked me to write for his blog as well, and then a crazy idea came across our minds. We thought that we could make something different for our swapping blogs. We decided to think of 2 characters each and 3 plot points each, and then combine them, so we got 4 characters and 6 plot points. We agreed in writing a short story using those characters and plot points, and see how different our stories could be by using the same prompts.
So today we are introducing to you our resulting stories. Same characters, same plot points, completely different stories. You can find my story in his WordPress blog. And now I leave you to enjoy this treat, a brand new short story by D.e.e.L. Enjoy and show some love for him in comment form!!!
“How much? Alright, receipt in the bag please.”
This again, walking these streets alone. There exists nothing in my life but a few memories and a small car of broken dreams. My name is McDeen, Slappy McDeen.
“Nice make-up loser!”
Ha, poor kid, he doesn’t even know me, he doesn’t even know why I still wear my clown make-up on my face, still wear it…even though it haunts me. This place looks decent enough.
“Hello…welcome to Fredd’s Den, where your dreams come true and all drinks get free re-fills. I’ll be your server tonight, my name is Mike. Can I start you off with something to drink?”
“How often you rehearse that, kid? I feel like I just watched a middle-school play of ‘The Depressed Waiter’.”
“Ha, good one, Sir. Now what may I start you off with?”
“I’ll take a smile and a glass of your lemonade, no concentrate; if you don’t have real lemonade then I want you to squeeze the lemons yourself.”
“Sounds great, Sir. I’ll be right back with that.”
“AND I’LL HAVE THE GRILLED CHICKEN SALAD! THANK YOU FOR ASKING!”
This place gives me a bad vibe, like something is going to happen that is going to lead me to head out without even taking a sip of that lemon squeeze. At least I have this with me; I’ll take a quick swig before pouring a few shots in my lemonade.
“And I will alwaaaaays be theeeeeere fooor yoooou, beeeecaaaause weeee belooooong togeeeether..”
“That’s Janine, she’s here all the time, singing, it just adds to the headache I get from this place. Here’s your lemonade, Sir. I’ll be back with your salad. What kind of dressing?”
“Just olive oil, please. Can I throw something at her?”
“Do it after your salad, they make them pretty good here.”
“Hm, I’ll take your word for it.”
Nice kid, sucks he has to be trapped here, working the meticulous, while others are out there living dreams, pushing people over, trampling on the desires of others to get what they want. This kid, spends his time giving faint desires over to people in exchange for below minimum wage per hour and a worthless tip from each of the poor saps that walk through these doors. I can see why his rehearsed lines lacked enthusiasm, he doesn’t care for this place, he wants something bigger, he has a dream he’s hiding from.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaand my dreeeeeeeaaaaams ooooonly consiiiiiiiist of yoooooour looooooooooove!!!”
I hate this place now.
“Here’s your salad, Sir. Sorry about the wait.”
“Take a seat, kid.”
“I have other customers, I can’t really do that.”
“The tip will be good; I just want to hear some of your vocals about life. Just take a seat, please.”
“Alright, but if a manager comes over…”
“I’ll tell them to back off or I’ll spray them in the face with seltzer water.”
“Nice. So, what’s this about?”
“Why do you work here?”
“I need a job.”
“Why this job?”
“The pay is decent and the schedule works for me.”
“I said shut up, you’re pathetic. What is it you really want to do with yourself?”
“Well, this is going to sound silly…”
“You’re looking at a private investigator wearing clown make-up, trust me…I won’t laugh.”
“You’re a P.I?”
“What’s it to you?”
“That’s what I truly want to be; to help people in need, to be there when they call for help.”
“Trust me, nobody calls, and everyone needs help.”
“Well said, I guess. So what’s your story? Why the make-up?”
“Used to be a clown, gave it up.”
“I don’t like to talk about it, lost my parents; it was terrible, absolutely mind numbing.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Sir.”
“Stop calling me that, my name is Slappy.”
“Don’t question me, kid.”
“My name is Mike.”
“You’re name is Kid.”
“I’m thirty years old…”
“My point exactly, thirty years old and working the job of a teenager.”
“Hey! A job is a job, man!”
“Then is a dream just a dream? Thanks for the food. Keep the change.”
He stares down at the fifty dollar bill as I walk towards the door, he stares down and contemplates his reality, or at least I hope that is what he is doing.
“AAAAAAAND THE WOOOOOOOOOORLD NEEEEEEEEDS OOOOOOUUUR LOOOOOOOOVE!!”
“What?! Is…is it really you?”
“Janine, why are you singing like that?”
“You’re better than this, Janine. At least…you were.”
“William, I haven’t seen you since you ran away! Oh my goodness, William!”
I turn around to see the lousy singer go up and hug some teenager that looks the same age as her, both look as if old enough to fail a driver’s test.
“Janine, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you in Hollywood?”
“I saw on the news that you had run away, I came back here to find you…that was two years ago…I’ve lost all my hopes, William, I come here to sing, but I don’t give it my all anymore, I just, I’ve been missing you, okay?!”
“I’m here, I’ve been…finding myself, been working on my poetry, practicing my guitar…”
“You play guitar now? That’s wonderful! We can finally chase my dream together!”
“You want to jam out here? See what it’s like to play together?”
“That sounds delightful!”
I grab a seat. I want to see how this plays out.
“This won’t end well.”
“I agree with you, kid. Curiosity has taken over though.”
The two walk up onto the meager stage of the cheap restaurant. The boy plugs his guitar into the amp, the girl keeps smiling at him, she is about to vomit out loud words again.
“I HAAAAAAVE FOOOOOOOOUUUND MY LOOOOOOOVE FROOOM MY PAAAAAAA AAAAAA AA AAAA AAAAAAAAAAST, AAAAAND I HAAAAAAVE BEEEEEN TRAAAAANSFOOOOOORMED IIINTOOOOO AAAANN INSPIIIRAAAATIOOOON TOOOOO YOOOOOU AAAAALLL!”
“Who is all? Sure aint me.”
“I’m with you on that, Slappy.”
“And is that boy playing the guitar or does he have some animal trapped inside that he is torturing somehow every time he plucks a string?”
“Musicians, they all think they’re talented.”
“Same applies for writers.”
“Yea, and painters.”
“Hey, why’d they stop?”
“I don’t know, he’s whispering something to her.”
“Hey! Hey clown!”
“I think he’s talking to you…”
“I heard. What do you want?!”
“I hate clowns! I think they’re stupid!”
“Well I hate terrible musicians and tone deaf singers, but here I sit, listening to it all with a smile painted on my face.”
“Rinse off that make-up or I’ll rinse it off for you!”
“You want to wash my face? Come over here and do it then, you can use this rag I have here.”
I pull a rag from my coat pocket, I continue pulling it for what seems about ten minutes, everyone is staring at the huge pile of tied together rags accumulating on the floor beside me.
“You always carry that with you?”
“I have to, kid. It’s a part of me.”
“Get out or make a balloon animal for Janine!”
“I…I can’t do that…”
“You’re a horrible clown! What kind of clown doesn’t know how to make balloon animals?!”
“I know how…I just can’t.”
“William, stop. You’re making him cry.”
“He insults our talents and can’t even respond to a simple request for a balloon animal when he’s dressed like a clown!”
“Maybe he never learned…”
“I learned! I know how! I just can’t okay? Now both of you get off stage so the house can play its own music that doesn’t sound of dying rats!”
“She wants a giraffe…make her one…”
“If I make anything it’s going to be a check made out for the cost of the chair I used to break across your smug face.”
“Hmmf…you can’t make balloon animals, just admit it, admit it and we’ll get off stage!”
“I can! I just can’t! My parents were killed by balloon animals! My dad, he created a machine, a machine to bring balloon animals to life, he said it would make them more enjoyable for kids, create the animal they wanted, bring it to life, sounded like such a wonderful idea…at first. He spent countless months in the basement trying to perfect his idea, make the animal, bring it to life, they were such joyful creatures…until…they began to deflate, they hated deflating, made them miserable, the ones he kept unpopped he left in the basement, tried to think of a way to make them happy again. While he spent days away from his work, the work spent days thinking of ways to get back at him, they made their own machine…turned both my parents into balloons…now they’re deflated. I became a clown to honor my Dad’s passion for creating happiness in the eyes of all, though it is not my dream…so I chased my own, but keep the make-up on as a reminder of my past, that I am not truly happy, that dreams can just simply deflate.”
“She wants a giraffe!”
“Here’s the check…”
“Slappy, I wouldn’t do that if…”
“There are a lot of bad people in this world boy, don’t piss off the good ones.”
“Here’s some money young lady, get some singing lessons. Tell this kid to jump on the internet and watch someone play guitar before he even thinks about touching one again.”
“Slappy, where are you going?”
“Where the action is, grab your coat, you’re coming with me, kid.”
“But, I’m on the clock.”
“You just quit.”
He smiles and runs over to grab his coat. We both exit the restaurant after having just helped two people that didn’t even call.