Other stories for this prompt

"Adam! Give me the Pelican! Now!" John half screamed half sobbed. "It's mine!"
"No mine!" Adam clutched the Pelican to his chest. "My turn!"
"But mommy gave it to me! My Pelican!" John grabbed for it. "Mine!"
Adam would not relent. "No!"
"I'm gonna tell mommy that you took my Pelican!"
"Boys!" Both men looked up. "You are 30 years old. Adults! You should not be acting like 3 year olds!"
Both men hung their heads. "Yes mommy..."
"Now Adam. Give John back his pelican. I'll get you your Teddy bear, alright?"
"Yes mommy..." Adam slowly gave his brother back...

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Time was running short, and John still had no idea where Adam had stashed it. I mean, thought John, how many places are there to hide a pelican in a Des Moines nightclub? There was no use trying to listen for it, with the mind-numbing beat of some kind of Euro-techno-disco-30's remix whatever the hell it was kicking the living shit out of his eardrums. All he knew was that if he didn't get to that pelican soon, eighteen future suicide bombers would have easy access to any entry point in the Pentagon, and it would all be his damn...

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"Give me the pelican!" John said. His gun, a very large and impressive gun if you are familiar with the ins and outs of guns, was pointed at Adam's chest.
"Okay," Adam said. He lifted the bird, which squawked and flapped its wings rapidly and held it out to John. "Take it," he said. John continued pointing the gun at Adam's chest, staring at the middle of his forehead. What was the game here? John had been chasing Adam across continents and time zones, on airplanes and zeppelins and double-decker buses, all to obtain this pelican. And now, on the...

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Drudgery of the everyday. There's really nothing else to explain it. Banality of sadism. John, standing at the dump, Alka Seltzer pill wrapped in a piece of bologna for the birds. Has he ever thought what a bird might feel while its innards explode? That's not really the point. He wants to know if it can work. If he can leave a wake of destruction with nothing but everyday objects.

He watches the bird gulp down the bologna and retake flight. He sees it hesitate, and pop, it falls from the air, guts hanging out of its mouth.

Adam, working...

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A small office, four storeys up a marble staircase with an flowery ironwork bannister. Dark. Quiet. A light passes the window, shifting the shadows. There, in the darkness behind the desk, a face. An open mouth. Staring eyes. John's heart hammers in his chest so loudly. Can he here it? Can Adam see him? And the girl. The poor girl. Blood pools beneath the desk. And for what? A painting? Art from an artist centuries past. A dead work for dead people. His hand tightens on the suitcashandle. The Pelican. Is it worth this?

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…and at some moment you realize how wrong you were all that time. You don't need this anymore. Absurd. So annoying. You hear same phrases, stories, noises. And you cant do anything about it. You try to explain but what can you do when you are not used to explaining yourself. You have that stoned look on your face and not a thing can disturb you now. Because all you can hear are your thoughts. All you can feel is…and you make your first shot...

Same silence, the only difference is that you can actually hear that ear-breaking noise. Three...

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About the prompt

Prompt (write a story including these elements)

hero John
villain Adam
goal Pelican
Prompt suggested by Galen
Originally displayed on:
September 05, 2010


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