August 6, 2010 by Renee
Remember the Blog Hop? No? Well, I almost forgot about it too. Here’s the story all you wonderful bloggers came up with as a result of the Writer’s Blog Hop.
Fiona wasn’t an attractive man, which only makes it more sad that his parents labelled him with such an unfortunate name. Fiona wasn’t nice either. Once, when Fiona was a young boy, he burned all the whiskers off the family cat, along with the poor beast’s fur.
He was a grimy man with oil slicked hair whose idea of a good Saturday night was drinking beer while trying to run down squirrels with his riding mower. His couch was made of burnt orange polyester and was covered with grease stains from his late night pizza deliveries. Oh how Fiona loved Tuesdays.
But he sure hated the way there was nothing but. That’s right. Fiona lived in an endless limbo of Tuesdays. Never another day of the week to be had! But it sure gave him PLENTY of time to torment the same cats and squirrels and deliver PLENTY of the same pizzas to the same people.
Unconcerned with the world around him, Fiona was in a rut. Which was when fate came knocking at his door. She wore a pink mini skirt with green knee-high socks. Snapping her gum, she said, “Hi, I’m Fate.”
Just looking at Fate made Fiona’s thighs warm. “Come on in.” He waved her inside and smoothed his hair to one side, or what was left of it anyways.
“Before we begin,” she said, hiccupping once, “Let it be known that I am here solely on a matter of philosophical business, not amorous hanky-panky.”
Fate tripped over an empty pizza box and fell right into Fiona’s arms. She looked up at him, winced and pushed herself away. “Excuse me. But trust me when I say, I am here strictly on business.”
Fiona brushed off his shirt. “And that business being?”
“See, we conceptual anthromorphs don’t just do people these days. No sir. We’ve diversified. I’m here on behalf of the squirrels. And the cat.”
“Aw, hell.” Fiona raked his jagged fingernails along his corduroy thighs. He closed the box lid to a pizza on which he’d added his own ingredients…
**Snort!** Now, how about an ending? You have as many words as you need, let’s finish Fiona’s story.