Saturday's Storyteller: "Wow, my tongue is sore now."
by Belinda Roddie
"Wow, my tongue is sore now," groaned Francis, rubbing her jaw while flapping the limp muscle in and out between her lips. Her brother Raffy rolled his eyes and returned to his bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream.
"That's what happens when you try to press ice down on it as hard as you can," he muttered. "We should ban you from getting close to the freezer."
"Fuck you. My three dollars and twenty-nine cents got you the dairy you're gobbling down right now."
Raffy shrugged and returned to his sugary treat. In the corner, I finished counting the mountain of nickels I had saved throughout the years. With any luck, I could get my own gallon of ice cream so my roommates wouldn't be the only ones approaching the chance of getting diabetes in middle age. I stood up and stretched my arms.
"Doctor's appointment," I informed Francis and Raffy. "Don't have too much fun with anything frozen."
"My tongue hurts enough," whined Francis.
I raised an eyebrow. "You know, when taken out of context, that sounds like..."
"Nope." Raffy threw his dirty spoon at me, the utensil splashing melted ice cream on the wall. "Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope. You are not finishing that sentence."
"And the rest of the spoons are dirty," I sneered as I grabbed my coat from the couch and sprinted toward the door. "Good luck finishing your dessert."
This week's prompt was provided by Arden Kilzer.
"Wow, my tongue is sore now," groaned Francis, rubbing her jaw while flapping the limp muscle in and out between her lips. Her brother Raffy rolled his eyes and returned to his bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream.
"That's what happens when you try to press ice down on it as hard as you can," he muttered. "We should ban you from getting close to the freezer."
"Fuck you. My three dollars and twenty-nine cents got you the dairy you're gobbling down right now."
Raffy shrugged and returned to his sugary treat. In the corner, I finished counting the mountain of nickels I had saved throughout the years. With any luck, I could get my own gallon of ice cream so my roommates wouldn't be the only ones approaching the chance of getting diabetes in middle age. I stood up and stretched my arms.
"Doctor's appointment," I informed Francis and Raffy. "Don't have too much fun with anything frozen."
"My tongue hurts enough," whined Francis.
I raised an eyebrow. "You know, when taken out of context, that sounds like..."
"Nope." Raffy threw his dirty spoon at me, the utensil splashing melted ice cream on the wall. "Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope. You are not finishing that sentence."
"And the rest of the spoons are dirty," I sneered as I grabbed my coat from the couch and sprinted toward the door. "Good luck finishing your dessert."
This week's prompt was provided by Arden Kilzer.
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