The Bantam Scripter

Soul Food Cafe

Chocolate Box Prompt

Creatively Conjuring


When I was little and began to write stories, my teacher asked me where I got the ideas for my stories.

He invited me to sit across from him at his desk.

It was recess.

Our class had two recesses a day and I spent one of them writing at my desk while the rest of the class was playing outside.

” From the monsters” I told him.

” What monsters?” he asked me with a little laugh ” The ones that live in your head?”

I considered that.

“No. They don’t live in my head. They like to hide. But I know how to make them come out and talk to me.”

I went to my desk lifted the top and pulled a piece of paper and a pencil.

I sat back down across from him and drew a little circle.

” It’s in there, the monster. “

I erased part of the circle.

” And now it’s out.”

” Where did it go?” he asked me.

I looked around the room.

Under the desk.

” I don’t know.” I said as I began to panic” I don’t know where it went. It should be here. “

Mr. Orton looked  looked concerned. ” Hey. Calm down, it’s ok.”

I looked back under the desk.

When I looked up Mr Orton was straightening his tie.

It was a red tie and he hadn’t been wearing it a minute before.

” I think I found it.” I told Mr. Orton.

 He slid the paper away from me. He held his hand out for the pencil.

I shook my head.

” It’s my story and I’m keeping it.”

 ” Give me the pencil now.

I shook my head.

” Some monsters might not want to be scribbled down on lined notebook paper by an ugly little girl with no friends and dirty hair. Now give me the pencil.”

I looked at the pencil and then I looked at Mr. Orton’s outstretched hand. Mr Orton’s green eyes were now blood red eyes that matched his blood red tie.

They were on fire and they were burning into my face.

” Can I keep the other stories?” I asked with a tiny sob in my voice.

” All the other ones, just not mine.”

I nodded in defeat. I held the pencil out and when he reached for it I turned the sharpened end down and drove it into the palm of his hand.

” Now talk to me” I said as I slid the piece of paper from under his hand.

” I don’t have too. ”  Mr Orton said in surprise.

” You will.”  I said as I gave the pencil a little twist as I pulled it out of his hand. I wiped the blood from the pencil tip on my shirt sleeve.

I began to write with Mr. Orton sitting across from me with blood running down his arm.

” They always do.”



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