Hellooo everyone! I hope you all had a grand and momentous Christmas.
So there's this link up. You may have heard of it. It's called Starting Sparks, hosted by Emily @ Ink, Inc. (gotta love that title!) and my very self @ right here. We give you a prompt, and you do WHATEVER YOU WANT! It can't get better than that, right? Minimal rules; we're low maintenance like that. Write a poem, a scene, a short story, a not-so-short story. . .the great wide world of the blank page is yours for the conquering! The link up is open still! It ends with the month.
I give my contribution today. :D
I have this WIP, on hold, referred to as 'the weird idea.' (I stink at titles, okay?) I talk about occassionally, and there's always mention of Mikel. And yet, you have never, ever actually met him yet.
That problem is resolved today.
I hold the microwave at a perfect 45 degree angle. Savannah’s head has been in there for approximately 17 minutes, and 42 seconds. I suppose there are some advantages to having a tall friend if you happen to be short.
But if you are the tall friend. . .
“Are you almost done?” My voice comes out bored. “My arms are getting tired.”
“Almost.” 18 minutes and 6 seconds.
The tech room door slams. Footfalls pound on the metal grating.
“Guess what I found!”
Savannah bumps head on the interior of the microwave. I nearly drop it. An exact 19 minutes.
“Mikel.” I heft the microwave toward me to get a better grip on it. “Now is not the – “
“What do you want now!” Savannah growls.
Mikel grins down at her undeterred. “Glad to see you too.”
A long sigh escapes me. As much as I love that guy, I wish he had more sense in his head, if only for his own self-preservation.
Savannah glares at him. “It’s because of you that we’re even here, so I suggest you leave.”
“I just wanted to microwave—“
“It is not a microwave!” Savannah pokes a screw driver toward him. “How many times do—“
“What is the point of keeping it if it doesn’t, uh, doesn’t. . .” Mikel makes a face. “Doesn’t micro waves!” He looks satisfied as if that was the perfect comeback he’s ever thought up.
Savannah gives him her you-are-a-dunce stare.
I try hard to swallow my laughter and almost drop the not-a-microwave.
“I altered it.” Savannah’s voice is full of forced patience. “Now it’s a device diagnostics analytic.” She then goes into a detailed tirade on what it does and how it works. If I actually listened, I might understand her. But it’s much more amusing to watch Mikel blink and gape at her.
“Do you understand?”
Mikel’s unshakable grin returns, and I know what’s coming. “I like you.” He even pats her on the head.
She swats his hand away. “Don’t be an idiot.”
“Well, guess what?” Right, he broke in here with some sort of news. I shift my weight. Hopefully, he’ll make this quick.
Savannah sticks her head back into the device, uh, diagnostic thing. I am too lazy at present to want to recall what she said.
Mikel’s voice is sing song. “I found cranberry sauce!” He lifts a can in the air.
“Yippee,” from the not-a-microwave.
“You know,” he grins at me too now, “for Christmas.”
“Christmas was two days ago.” I tap my foot to dampen my impatience. 23 minutes 24 seconds.
He rolls his eyes. “Rayne don’t be obvious. The twelve days of Christmas, hello!” He waves his gangly arms in the air.
“Whatever you say Mikel.” I wish Savannah would hurry so I could put this thing down.
“You did not just say that.” Savannah’s head comes out of the microwave.
I give her a fake smile. “Look, this is getting kind of heavy so—“
“Well,” Mikel continues to talk, “you two will think differently after some cranberry yumminess.”
“Sorry.” Savannah picks the panel off the table beside us. “I’ll just screw this back in place.”
Mikel opens the other microwave over on the shelf. “I’m just going to heat this up and—“
Savannah whirls on him. “Stop putting things in my microwave!”
“Oh.” Mikel groans. “This one doesn’t micro waves, either?”
“You’ll blow it up! Your cranberry gloop is still in the can.”
Mikel looks sheepishly at his cranberry can. “Heh, I knew that.”
“Can I put this down yet!?” I shout.
They both stare at me.
Mikel seems to shake out of some frozen stupor. “I’m sorry. Here.” He places the can in the microwave, rushes over, and juggles the microwave from me.
“Thank you.” Finally! I knead my shoulder. 26 minutes, a few odd seconds.
“Wait.” Savannah looks from me to Mikel. “Don’t—“
“Of course, Rayne,” he says. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
“I, whatever.” I shake my head.
Mikel grins at Savannah. “I’ll hold this for you, my lady.”
“No, that’s okay,” Savannah says. “Rayne will. . . Rayne?!”
I snag the can out of the microwave. “I wash my hands of the both of you.”
“Don’t leave me with. . .”
I close the door behind me and breathe.
Terrence walks past with a question in his look.
1) Mikel is not as dumb as he pretends.
2) If you wonder, no. I have no clue what to do with my paragraphs.
3) Have a happy New Year!