Crusader Jerome's Odd Snippet Compendium

[Crusader Jerome]

This thread is now the home of my snippets and short stories. No point in making a new thread for every oneshot, right?

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There is a beautiful writing prompt to be found at this link: Simile But Different | WritersDigest.com

Here is the short story I wrote based on the simile "crisp as a brick in a cookie jar".

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I took a sip, glancing over the mug at my sister. The look on her face was more crisp than usual. Perhaps this was a consequence of my drinking out of her mug.

"What do you mean, my expression is crisp? That doesn't make any sense."

Perhaps I should have mentioned that she can read my internal monologues? It was worse when she could hear them, but I discovered that I could keep my thoughts more private by keeping my mouth closed while thinking. It didn't stop her from finding a new way, but it's much harder for her to discern tone from written words than from speech. I think.

"Also, I would like my drink back, please."

"But I like your drink."

"You're not even of legal age for that beverage."

Regrettably, this was true. The consumption of bacon-flavored pickle lager is prohibited by law for all persons under the age of thirty. My sister was not of that age either, technically speaking, but her four years of military service and government work counted double toward her legal age. I'm not sure who designed our system that way, but I suspect he wanted a loophole that would allow him to retire fifteen years early.

"If you wanted to actually drink out with me, you should have joined the civil service when I did. It's not like the work would have been painful."

Don't bother me with commentary about my career choices, woman.

"Why don't you take the trouble to open your mouth instead of thinking at me when I'm trying to have a conversation with you?"

I sighed. "All right. That expression on your face is too crisp for my liking. Maybe it's the bacon-flavored pickle lager, but there is something inexpressibly bricklike about your countenance, and it irritates me to no end."

"You're drunk."

"And you are a professional killjoy."

"At least I get paid for it."

I sighed again. "All right. You can have your alcohol back. The bit with the brick was mildly impolite. What more do you want?"

"Only that you explain yourself. What sort of connection is there between bricks and crispness?"

"Oh, that? Well, yesterday, I happened to pass by a lone brick in the street, half-buried in the snow. It was a crisp day, and I was hungry. So to commemorate the occasion, I put the brick in this cookie jar which I happen to carry around with me wherever I go."

"And what does this have to do with my face?"

"It reminded me of you. That's all."

"My face."

"Is as crisp as a brick in a cookie jar."

She relieved me of the mug, finally. After taking a swig, she said, "This is about my fiancee, isn't it."

I got up and left.

 

[Crusader Jerome]

The following snippet is my entry to the Sufficiently Newsworthy writing contest for August 2018, prompt "Sirens."

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I was eating breakfast when a man burst in through the ceiling.

I stared at him, then at the hole, then back at him. He dusted his sleeves and tipped his hat at me.

I scowled. "Was that really necessary?"

"Entirely, I assure you," he said. "Comes with the job, and all that. But let's cut to the chase: have you heard any sirens recently?"

"No. Also, who are you?"

"Ah, I haven't introduced myself yet! I am Jerom Romulus, hunter of mythical beasts, protector of humans, and cultivator of a most legendary beard."

"I'll have to take your word for the last," I said, feeling peeved, "since I'm somewhat blind without my glasses."

"My condolences, then, good sir. As it stands, I have entered your home on a hunt for a particularly nasty siren. It's been eating people, you see. Real pieces of work, they are."

I squinted at him. Where his face was, I could only see a blur, so I had no way to tell if he was joking. "A siren, you say. The noisemaker from an ambulance is eating people."

He laughed. "Ah, a common misconception. Almost as bad as conflating them with mermaids! No, what I'm looking for is a bird with the head of a woman and a mesmerizing voice. You'll know it by the technicolor flashes overlaying your normal vision when you hear it."

"I'm sorry, what?"

He sighed. "I'm merely concerned with your safety. Have you, or have you not, experienced that symptom or noticed a creature like what I described?"

I stood up. "Mr. Romulus, you are interrupting my breakfast, and I could have you arrested for breaking and entering. There's also the matter of the damage to my ceiling." I slammed my hands on the table. "Get out of my house."

He tipped his hat to me again, slowly, and began to climb onto the table.

"Through the door, please."

He obliged, shutting it gently behind him. I leaned back in my chair and let out a long breath. Sitting back up, I reached for my cereal bowl, only to discover that I had spilled milk on the table. I sighed. "Glasses, could you come down here? I need some help cleaning up."

A fluttering of small wings came from the staircase, the familiar weight of their owner perching on my shoulder. I brought up my hand and stroked the smooth feathers. "I just need some paper towels, all right? It won't take too long."

Glasses warbled a cheerful note, and my vision flickered with an overlay of clarity and sharpness. I could see.

I cleaned up the mess while Glasses sang to me. A thought came to me. "Glasses, if you were eating people, you would tell me, right?" The bird whistled cheerily, and I almost thought I saw a flicker of a human face on its head. I paused, then resumed my task with a smile. "I'll take that as a yes."​

Crusader Jerome threw 1 6-faced dice. Reason: 4 Total: 2

 

[Crusader Jerome]

Ignore the die roll. That's just me not knowing how it works.

 

[Crusader Jerome]

Behold, my entry to the September Sufficiently Newsworthy writing contest. I seem to only be able to write ridiculous things without extreme agonizing over long periods of time. I hope you like it.

How to Fail at Murder by Trying Too Hard

The police officer looked up from his desk at the man who had just come through the doors. "How can I help you?"

"Hello, officer. I have a crime to report."

"All right," mumbled the officer, fumbling with the forms. "Can I get details?"

"Well, you see, sir, I've been murdered."

"You...have you, now."

"Quite so. Notice this knife that was inserted repeatedly into my chest and left there." The man opened his jacket, revealing several bleeding puncture wounds and a knife embedded in his lower ribcage.

"Sir, do you need medical attention?"

"Medical attention, my fine officer of the laws, is not for victims of murder, but of attempted murder."

"Murder implies the death of the victim. You are still alive and have a knife in your chest."

"Of course I do. I was stabbed thirty-seven times in the chest by a llama with a hat. Well, thirty-six. The last one was me."

The officer lifted a phone to his ear. "Sir, you are delirious, and I am calling an ambulance."

"No, I was joking. About the llama, I mean. All the stab wounds are self-inflicted. It's self-inflicted homicide."

"Hello, Emergency Services? I've got a walk-in at the station, multiple knife wounds to the abdomen. He's still standing and semi-lucid, so I can't tell how bad the damage is," the officer said, ignoring the victim's protest.

"Did you hear what I said? You can't call the ambulance; if I survive this, he'll know I was trying to get out of it."

The officer came around the desk and gently coaxed him to the floor. "Who'll know? What were you trying to get out of?"

"It's my cousin's birthday, and I didn't get him a present. He'll be angry when he finds out that I don't have a good excuse. That's--" he coughed up some blood "--why I need to get this classified as a murder. If he hears that it was a suicide or an attempted murder or something else of the kind, he'll know I did it on purpose. He's clever like that."

"Sir, lay down and don't talk. You look like you've lost a lot of blood. I'll bandage your wounds while we wait for the paramedics. Does that sound all right?"

"No, no. I don't want to go to the hospital. He'll find me for sure. I'll be all right, honest. Just send me off to the morgue, and I'll sneak out in the middle of the night, or something. I'm good at improvising." His eyes were starting to glaze. "By the way...I was lying about the llama."

"You already said that."

"No, I mean...it wasn't wearing a hat. It was...a cravat...with a bow tie. The worst fashion ensemble...I've ever..." He fainted.

The officer pulled up the man's shirt to assess the damage and found a slightly bloodied sheet of paper in the man's pocket, folded in half. It read, I may have given myself cyanide poisoning. Just pretend I'm already dead. I'll figure something out when I wake up. P.S. The llama assassins will go away if you ignore them.

"Oh," said someone behind him. "I see you've found my cousin."

Cautiously, the officer turned his head. The man standing there wore a business suit and looked mildly exasperated.

"I'm terribly sorry about this," he said, shaking his head. "He really has no sense of moderation for his actions. This isn't the first time he's tried to fake his death to escape a social engagement. He tends to abuse his remarkable vitality without considering that he might actually cause permanent damage to himself. It's my fault, though, I suppose. When he was a child, one of my trained llama assassins escaped and ate a man's hands in front of him. He's been horribly unbalanced ever since."

The officer looked to the unconscious man on the floor, then back to the man in the suit. "That," he said, almost hesitantly, "means that you will have to come with me for questioning once this man is safely on his way to the hospital. You're essentially avowing responsibility for his suicidal behavior."

"Yes, I am. I'll have you know that I went through this only a few months ago at the neighboring precinct. Here's my card. My interview is on file under this name. Contact me if my cousin shows up again." The man bent down to check his cousin's condition. "What's this...foam on the mouth? He's taken the cyanide again. I thought I had broken that addiction of his two years ago."

In bending down, he revealed the presence of a llama hiding conspicuously behind a potted plant. The llama wore a cravat and bow tie and gripped a knife in its mouth.

The man in the suit noticed the officer's confusion. "Ah, don't mind Juan. He's one of the llama assassins I mentioned. He'll go away if you ignore him." He creased his brow with a mild worry that he had not directed toward his comatose cousin. "If you need to take a break, I'll watch him for you. You already called the ambulance, didn't you? It shouldn't be too long now."

The officer got up, bracing his shaking arms against his desk. A break...that sounded very nice right now. But... "I'm afraid I can't, sir. It would be dereliction of duty." The man in the suit nodded and began to apply pressure to his cousin's wounds. The officer found himself opening his mouth again. "Is there anything...else I should know?"

The man in the suit pondered this. "No, I don't think so. We have this under control, for now. Although..."

The officer waited for him to finish.

"...one of us will have to inform his mother." The man's grimace spoke volumes.​