Friday, September 21, 2012


The following piece was suggested by a prompt at Writing on Edge based on the game Clue.  Hope you enjoy it and as always I am famished for feedback. - JC


The ice cubes bob and clack like glass buoys in my bourbon.  The server was correct: Its smooth character does befit a fine Southern lady.    

Charles addresses the fur-laden harlot nestled against him: 

“I’m sorry dear but… Miss Scarlet… in the library… with a candlestick.”

The trollop is positively baffled.


“Not likely,” I inject.

“And why not?”

“I doubt Scarlet can read.”

“Excuse me?” says the offended.

“Perhaps she just wandered in?” he poses.

“Like a cat in heat?”  

“And stuck around.”

“The poor thing.  She can’t find the door?”   

“She is right here…”

“In the flesh,” I observe.

“In the library.”

“What are you two talking about?” fawns the feline.

“About how reading is overrated, darling.”

“Like many things.”

“Once you try them,” he opines.

“Really?” I ask; enjoying the moment:  “Already?”

“It was inevitable.”

“Though avoidable…” I chastise.

“I suppose,” he says. “But the damage is done.”

“Nothing is irreparable.”

“We can only hope.”  

“Are we going to play this game?” spouts the Siamese.

“That depends…” I begin.

“On which game you mean?”  He ends.

“Did I miss something?” complains the cat.

“More than something…” I suggest.

“Pretty much everything.”

“I think I’ll leave you two alone,” taunts the Tabby.

“That would be nice,” he states.

“Don’t bother calling.” She snaps, clawing her way out.

“I promise not to.”


“So nice to clear the air,” he says, refilling my glass.

“Yes,” I reply.  “Now we can get back to our game.”