The Applesauce Falls Today (Automatic/Improv fiction* by me and M.C.)

Today the applesauce fell onto her head. Shocking to see, thought her mother, just as the door opened behind Lucille.

“Howdy,” Lucille cried in the hallway. It alarmed her mother and she wept for the applesauce. The applesauce was gooey naturally since the girl was underwater and had drowned earlier. Her mother sent three gray doves to Dover because in Dover there weren’t many doves to celebrate.

“Happy Dove Day,” Lucille cried, still in the hallway, laughing because the barbecue smoke got heavy and sweet like malice smoking cigarettes. A knife felt better after apples were sauced in Dover, replacing the applesauce on the drowned girl’s backside. Surprisingly her mother went insane and Lucille cried. The doves did not leave Dover and stayed.

The End.

*Rules of game (adapted from Keith Johnstone’s letter-writing game, described in his book Impro): Each person alternates adding a word to the story (beginning with the title). Self-editing is NOT allowed–each word must be the first that comes into your mind in response to your partner’s word. Stories can be typed or dictated with one player writing. (This story was written as a g-chat on side-by-side computers.) As an added digital feature, I’m including the first image that comes up when I google the story’s title.

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Letter to Mister Locust (An improv/automatic letter* by me and M.C. Solis)

33 rightwood way

doppelganger, mx 89898-0456

jan/14/2,345,446

Mister Locust,

You are writing this. Let it be known that I love you. I never went blind. Did you know that I braved the rapids in Ontario searching for your panties which are lovely? Purple panties are my favorite color, didn’t you know that its time to wear them on your head silly-style? Obscenity skills are a strength when you use them in lotion recipes. Lecture ants on a log and green bunnies on a philosopher stone soup cookbook. Do you like to dance alone with music or with tears falling up from the ground? Miles further, ants under the bunny ground are dancing to tears for fears.

“Baby, oh, cry my fly upside my eye,” they sing.

Beauty of language that is my luck to die underneath bunnies who eat other bunnies until nightfall. When you come over will you bring philosopher stone soup with you? Much better than cold soup, huh?

Love,

Buffalo

p.s. Soup is an antidote to any heartache that never goes silver. Thanks for buying me books about silver soup.

*Rules of game (adapted from Keith Johnstone’s letter-writing game, described in his book Impro): Each person alternates adding a word to the letter (beginning with the address). Self-editing is NOT allowed–each word must be the first that comes into your mind in response to your partner’s word. Stories can be typed or dictated with one player writing. (This story was written as a g-chat on side-by-side computers.) As an added digital feature, I’m including the first image that comes up when I google the story’s title.

Any Woman Who Flies by Brandy Boob (Improv/Automatic Fiction by me and M.C. Solis)

“Women are leaded by doubt and ecstasy,” thought Mol Robbins as an eagle flew through her. It was excellent for her hair and she screamed loudly with ecstasy. She swept the anvil beside her leg and wrote forever on a napkin that she had found alone on the hill.

The birds were flying down on Windsor, Ontario bright as snow behind eyes of gillweed. Lefty Mcgibbons knelt beside the woman, unchained her. The great eagle stood quietly cawing or cajoling, irreverent against the corduroy sunset of light blue ribbons cut loose against night’s side.

“Since turquoise is my nemesis,” she whispered in the eagle’s ear, “I am going deaf partially due to high school drama club.” The eagle stared into her eyes and pecked them out hungrily because it felt like a good dinner. Then she flew up and screamed at the corduroy eagle.

Mcgibbons walked away before the eagle came and ate his eyes up.

The End

*Rules of game (adapted from Keith Johnstone’s letter-writing game, described in his book Impro): Each person alternates adding a word to the story (beginning with the title). Self-editing is NOT allowed–each word must be the first that comes into your mind in response to your partner’s word. Stories can be typed or dictated with one player writing. (This story was written as a g-chat on side-by-side computers.) As an added digital feature, I’m including the first image that comes up when I google the story’s title.