Good Boy

March 28, 2012

Good Boy

D.A. Bancroft

He wasn’t much older than a boy when he joined the police force. He had barely made his way through the academy. A simple boy that grew up on a farm outside of Chambers, Nebraska, and really had no place in a city like Los Angeles. He also shouldn’t have been promoted as quickly as he did.

“Alright Ricky. Cut the blue wire. The blue one. Go ahead. Cut it.” said Bomb Tech 1st Sergeant Raymond Butte.

“Woof!” replied the fat yellow lab known as Ricky. He wagged his tail not knowing of the danger that laid between his chubby paws.

That danger was a Class III detonator that was attached to a dozen sticks of dynamite. It was located inside of a Mercedes van parked outside of a few buildings downtown. A crowd had gathered after the L.A.P.D. Bomb Squad arrived with it’s lead investigators. Unfortunately, there had been some serious downsizing in the department. As well as some strikes over pay cuts. There was also the problem of a lack of funding in the first place.

In reality Raymond and Ricky were the entire Bomb Squad. But bomb scares were so uncommon these days that the police department figured they could float by on the two dimwits for a while and hope that things picked back up before things started blowing up.

Raymond wasn’t a smart guy, he knew that, but he recognized how his bad situation could end up. If this bomb went off inside of this plaza it would be more than Raymond’s job. It would cost him his severance pay too. Also, it may result in his immediate death.

“Hey man, are you sure you know what you’re doing?” hollered a concerned bystander nearly 40 yards away behind the police tape surrounding the scene.

“Yes, I’m a trained expert. I’ve dealt with situations like this plenty of times before.” lied Raymond. “Now just back away please, my partner is working on the situation.”

The man didn’t listen. “No man. Your partner is a dog. And for the past twenty minutes he’s been locked inside that car. That’s just stupid.” The man started to walk away. “I’ve seen a lot of crap man, but you take the cake. How’d you flunk your way through life”

Raymond’s stomach grumbled. He liked cake. He tried refocusing his attention on the pressing matters at hand. He had to diffuse this bomb and he was running out of time.

When Raymond and Ricky had arrived on the scene they had both suited up and walked carefully over to the vehicle. They noticed the bomb in the back and decided to diffuse it carefully. Raymond knew he had a time limit. So in order to save time, as well as make sure the bomb was safe from people walking around in the plaza, he told Ricky to stay in the van while he went back to the truck to bring some supplies.

When Raymond returned, somehow Ricky had locked himself inside. The recent memory of this made Raymond think that if Ricky was smart enough to lock himself inside a van, then maybe he would be smart enough to pull out a wire. It was at least worth a shot.

“Okay Ricky. I want you to bite the blue wire. Can you do that boy? Can you?” he tried inflecting his voice the way that would entertain a three-year-old. Ricky replied by flattening his ears and looking back with a blank stare.

Raymond put his face up to the driver’s side window. He could see the timer on the device counting down.

Two minutes left.

He and Ricky had not really accomplished much in their short career together. Their magnum opus up to this point in their careers had been that one time when they split that box of two dozen glazed donuts they got for free after one of their “training sessions”.

But maybe that could change today.

“Ricky,” he began angrily. “You better stop your lollygagging and get to work. You’re a trained professional. Act like one for once. We need to show people that we can be the best we can be.”

Another random citizen replied on behalf of Ricky. “That’s the Navy’s thing man.”

“Shut up.” Raymond spat back. “I’m trying to work here.”

“Could have fooled me.” said the man as he walked away.

Raymond cursed the man under his breath and look back down at the timer.

One minute.

“Please. Ricky. Do this for us.” begged Raymond. He hoped this canine could understand him for once.

The dog sniffed the bomb with interest. His belly was wobbling as his head searched around the edges of the bomb. Ricky even tried repositioning himself to smell with greater detail It was as if he had come across a new dog butt’s scent and he needed to know more.

“That’s right. Now just cut the blue wire. Just rip it out.” Raymond perked up. He felt the weight of his suit pulling him down. The heat building up inside of the heavy gear made his clothes stick to him. His underwear felt very uncomfortable.

Ricky then began to lick the bomb.

Just then Raymond then started to see how hopeless his situation was. He had been on the job for less than six months and everything fell apart. He was the only one left on the job and he only knew one thing. Always cut the blue wire.

That was the extent of his training.

Raymond counted all the things he had accomplished in his short life. He hadn’t even been to Disneyland.

Thirty seconds.

As Ricky was sniffing the bomb something miraculous happened. His collar got hung up on some of he wires to the device. With a good enough tug he might be able to disconnect the wires.

Raymond felt heartened. “Good boy. Now…up!” he commanded. He tried gesturing a lifting motion, but the suit made it look like he were miming dropping a hot plate of food.

The dog sat upright and yanked out the blue wire. Ricky’s tail wagged with delight. Raymond’s heart was about to burst out of pride and appreciation that his partner had finally pulled through.

Raymond stood there motionless. He held his breath. For a few seconds nothing happened. Then relief.

In the few seconds after Ricky had successfully saved the day Raymond began to think to himself. He pondered how he was going to turn his life around. Maybe he would actually read the Diffusing For Dummies textbook when he got back to the station. Maybe he’d take a few more notes. He had never learned about red wires, maybe they had something to do with bombs and stuff.

He even imagined taking Ricky out to buy two dozen glazed doughnuts from that place down the street that he liked so much. And since he was going to be the hero for the day maybe the boss would let him take some time off. Some R and R. Raymond imagined taking the time to visit Disneyland.

Then there was a spectacular explosion.

Not much of them were left afterward. Investigators had only found a chubby paw and some sweaty and charred underwear.

A funeral service was held. The two were buried next to each other. After the ceremony somebody had even left a few doughnut crumbs behind on their graves. They would have enjoyed that.

The strikes and pay cuts were ended and real professionals went back to work. Everybody was grateful the city was safe again.

Oh hey…

March 27, 2012

Just to let you know…

I’ve got another short story in the chute.


Tomorrow at noon.

That’s 12:00 p.m. EST on March 27th, 2012. in case you were wondering.


I’m calling it Good Boy.

How long is it?

About 1,200 words.

Is it good?

We’ll find out.


Happy Birthday

March 25, 2012

“What is it? What did you get me?” asked the rambunctious little boy named Darren. His mother walked into the room holding a bag that he knew would certainly contain his birthday present.

“Oh sweetie, you’ll just have to wait.” said his mother. Her loving eyes playfully narrowed into a weak scorn. She loved her son and she wanted to make his perfect day one that he would not soon forget. She knew she had picked out the perfect gift she just needed to wrap it and hide it.

“Oh come on Mom! Just a peak! Everybody else always gets me okay presents, but yours are the best.”

“Nope. You’ll just have to wait until Friday for your birthday party.” she replied. She knew he was going to have a hard time containing himself. She looked at her husband reassuringly. “And Harry, could you put this up so Mr. Sticky Fingers won’t end up ‘accidentally’ opening his gift to early.”

“Fine. You guys never let me have any fun anyway. Why would anything else change? It’s only my eighth birthday for cripes sakes.” he said with a pouting bottom lip.

Today was Monday. Darren knew his tiny little brain couldn’t possibly wait that long to open that present. Immediately he decided he was going to scheme his way into peering into that delicious box. He had to see what lie within. Even if it meant getting in a little bit of trouble.

It took him many hours of scouring around the house to find where his present was hidden. He had to hide his scouting missions because if his parents noticed what he was up to the jig would surely be up.

On Wednesday he eventually found it. The top shelf of his parents closet. They had tried covering it with some older sweaters but some of the wrapping paper still shown through.

Target acquired, now it was time to move in for the kill.

Darren waited until the evening when his parents had left to go to a friends house. They sometimes left him alone at home when they wouldn’t be gone for long. This was his only opportunity. He had all the steps laid out ahead of time. All it took was a quick hand and a sensitive ear.

When they said their goodbye and walked out of the door Darren sprang into work.

He raced to the garage and brought the step ladder and a roll of clear tape with him up to his parents bedroom.

He locked eyes on the present and quickly retrieved it the way he had practiced it in his mind.

Success. So far so good.

It was beautiful. Bright blue paper with a golden bow to top it off. He decided that if he just removed the pieces of tape that were holding the wrapping together he should be able to slide out his prize take a peek. Later he would replace them and just follow the folds to make it seem like he never even touched it. He even took a note of how the sweaters rested on the present before his retrieval.

The plan was flawless.

For each sliver of tape that he removed he checked over his shoulder. He perked up, wide eyed like a meerkat, at every sound that the house made. He knew he would surely be punished if he were caught. He kept up his pace like a surgeon trying to save a life. Delicate work that had to be done quickly.

Finally he got to the brown box that was hidden. It revealed nothing. He listened for his parents and continued further into the mystery. Just a peek is all he desired…but his urged yearned for more.

As he pulled back the flaps of the box to reveal his little surprise.

What he saw left him feeling a little perplexed, but excited none the less. It may not be exactly what he wanted, but he knew how to get it.

He gave himself a devilish little smile.




Jessica and Harry pulled into the driveway having only been out of the house for 45 minutes. They had just gotten back from a friends house where they dropped off some Tupperware they had borrowed. As they walked up to their front door they could smell smoke. They feared their son, whom they had left alone for only a few minutes, was in danger.

They threw open the door to see their young boy sitting at the dining room table happily eating a piece of blackened toast. Smoke still hung in the air throughout the house.

“What’s happened here?” they said in unison.

“Sorry to ruin the surprise. But I couldn’t help myself.” said the little red-headed rascal they called their son.

The little boy took hold of a butter knife and applied some more butter to his slice of charred toast. There were several plates with burnt up slices on top of them. Small stacks of ten each dripping with butter scattered around the table.

“A toaster! The best birthday present ever! I love you mommy and daddy!” said the tiny future-arsonist. He slipped out of his chair and gave his parents the nearly eight year old equivalent of a bear hug.

Jessica and Harry looked at each other with curiosity.

Jessica spoke up. “Honey, what toaster are you talking about? We don’t own a toaster.” She tried to hide her growing anger. Her son had nearly burnt the house down.

“Jessica,” started Harry. “The toaster was for you. Happy early birthday.”

Harry tried to compensate. “At least he didn’t find the Transformer we bought him.”

Darren offered them both a heavily buttered slice of carbon and asked, “Well, if the toaster wasn’t for me, can I still get my Transformer?”

His parents agreed. They had burnt toast for dinner and Darren had is Transformer early.

The plan had worked perfectly.

Bottoms Up

March 14, 2012

In the summer of 1974 I was in love.

Her name was Cynthia Herron. She had braces, red hair, and a slight overbite. A consummate beauty.

I jumped at the opportunity when she invited me to a party.

It was a pool party for her 11th birthday.

Everything would have gone according to plan had it not been for that diving contest.

I hardly knew how to swim, let alone dive, but if I wanted to win her hand (and I did) I knew I would have to meet any challenge.

We formed a line behind the board. All the girls watched us guys. They whispered their picks for winners. I was third in the queue.

First up was Tommy. He was built like a can of sausages. He flew like one too. A cannonball resulted in a big splash. Cynthia was not impressed.

The second was Aaron. He was shaped like a pencil that had been broken and taped back together. He went for the jacknife. There was a loud pop as his belly hit the water. It barely pequed her interest.

Finally I was up. My heart raced. If I wanted to win I needed to make sure that I won on perfect form. that would impress her.

So I went for the perfect dive.

I put my ten-year-old toes up to the edge of the board. It felt like I were staring down the side of a building. My head was dizzy. Time slowed to a hazy ripple.

I took a breath and closed my eyes. With a bend of the knees and a hop from my heels I went floating through the air. I felt ecstasy on my dismount. The tuning fork in my mind rang with peace. I knew I was going to slide right into that pool and come out to applause.

The perfect dive.

As I entered the water I could feel total freedom. The water rushed past my ears. The cold water gripped my body. I swam out a few strokes while under before I let buoyancy release me back to the surface.

I felt so confident.

Until I realized my swim trunks were floating next to me.


Bottoms Up – D.A. Bancroft

Plans are on the Table

December 20, 2011

I will begin the work of creating a story for you tomorrow.

A story designed for you, but a story that will be decided by you.

Like I mentioned earlier, I have been trying to figure out how this is going to work out, but we’ll see.

In the meantime discuss these points:

1. Crunchy peanut butter or smooth?

2. Grape jelly or strawberry?

3. Luren Dickenson… did he deserve to become the governor of Michigan? You tell me…


I’m not exactly sure how I’m going to pull this off, but I’m going to try an make all of it on it’s separate page.

This means this page may be under construction for a while, but do me a solid and ignore it.

It’ll keep the Christmas cheer at a maximum.

I should also point out that I will unveil the story using a normal post the will take you to the first page of your story. Then you will click hyperlinks within those pages to choose which path you want to take.

Confused? It’s okay, I am too. Just go with it and keep encouraging me to get it done before the fat man comes falling down your chimney.

That is all. Carry on.


A list post informing you of the goings ons of things that are, you know, going on.

1. Remember that lamp I was building? Ha! Me too! Yeah, totally not done, but all that really needs to be done is the wiring and trying to find a lamp shade. I have thought about scratching the lamp shade, but I’ve already glued together this thing under the idea of it having a shade. Have you tried pulling apart PVC that’s glued together? Not easy.

2. My contest from many weeks ago was completed and a winner was declared. That winner has informed me that he has received his rewards. No, the reward wasn’t a disembodied head or a small tracking device. It was a marble and some other garbage.

Still, I’ve put a marble in a foriegn country! So, if you live in a country outside of the U.S., Canada, and possibly Brazil, feel free to comment on here and ask for a marble. I’ll send it to you, and then you can enjoy personal time with a very inexpensive marble.

3. I start work on Monday, and I’m pretty nervous. Still, it’s before students show up, so I have time to put things together. It won’t be until Friday that I actually get to go in my classroom. I guess we’ll just wait to see what happens then. (Watch me learn that I’ll be teaching out of an old cardboard box this year).

4. I make the world’s best tuna melts. No joke. I didn’t realize this until last night when I made them. I mean, I knew I made great tuna melts, but last night – wow. THE WORLD”S BEST. I know I can’t convince you that this is true, but allow me to tell you how you would feel after ingesting one of these heavenly creations.

When you take a bite you become overwhelmed. The best feelings in the world come rushing into your mind.

Remember how you feel after a hard day of yard work?

You have been working under the sun for hours on end. The heat is just sweltering. And after all that labor you get to look around and you and see what you’ve accomplished. Pretty flowers of all colors catch your eye, their sweet fragrance filling your nose. The bite of fresh cut grass and potting soil mixing with the summer breeze. You can feel the grit of healthy earth beneath your finger nails.

You then sit down on your porch and look around and notice the little things. Hummingbirds and bees. The dust that is caught in the setting sun. How trees seem to take on a special color of green that you haven’t noticed before. You contemplate the world around you and decide that it could all be forgotten as long as you are allowed to enjoy the peace of your little slice of our planet. Your own secret garden of goodness.

Remember your first kiss?

How nervous you were. The excitement. The rush. During those few seconds, when your lips met theirs, time stood still. You forgot you were standing, not floating. You didn’t even realize that your eyes were closed. Your heart skipped more than a few beats. In that moment you think to yourself, “I wish, of all wishes, this never ends.”

Or how about when you get moments to yourself?

Those cold nights when you’re just alone with a book. Sitting underneath an old quilt that you dragged out of the closet. It smells like mothballs and your grandmother. You remember the old chocolate chip oatmeal cookies she used to make. The way their warmth would hit your belly and cure every wrong.

While under your blanket, you lose yourself in a fictional world. The heat from the fireplace warms your face, its light flickers across the pages and you feel like the book is breathing. Like it has a mind of it’s own. There is no author, no reader, just the story. The vanilla aroma of the pages tickle your nostrils. Every once in a while, you remember the real world and take a sip of your hot cocoa.

There is no meeting tomorrow. No guest to worry about. No family to take care of. You have no plans. You are free to commit to nothing.

The world you care about rests in your hands…


(and that’s just after the first bite).

What’s the secret ingredient?


5. I have a family member who is not doing to well. He is probably going to die soon. It you would like to give him your good thoughts/prayers they would be deeply appreciated.

6. I think I’m going to try and get another short story in before school officially starts back up. I think it will help me relax as well as remember the whole purpose of this blog. I know I don’t write too often on here but I would just like to make sure that I keep trying and working toward my goal. Also, I still expect to write this blog while I’m working, but hey, maybe i’m being an optimist.

And there you go. A six point rundown of things as they stand.

Were there any emotions/experiences I forgot to mention in my wonderful description of my tuna melt sammiches?

You tell me if you got any more.


That’s Right

July 11, 2011

I did it. I took me nearly 3 weeks, but I did it.

I finally got another short story written and finished. I even felt good enough about it that I could show all of you.

I would love to hear any comments you may have about it. And just in case you don’t know what I’m talking about, you can find that short story right here.

Here’s a little check-up on how my writing has taken shape during this project:

1. I started using dashes (-) quite a bit more. I think they help a reader see a sudden stop of thought or dialogue. It’s mostly there for effect, with no real literary use behind it. Also, I’m still not sure what the “rules” are for this, but I’m using them how I feel is appropriate.

I don’t think I used them so much that they are aggravating for a reader but if they ever become overused or used inappropriately I’m sure you’ll let me know.

2. I think, for a long time, I haven’t been as cautious on checking my spelling as I should be. I’ve just trusted this odd word processor of sorts that WordPress gives you, which is questionable at times. So I decided that I should look at words twice even if there is no red squiggly line. (squiggly was one of those I had to check, BTW).

I soon found out that I’ve been misspelling the words “minute” and “definitely” for quite some time.

How embarassing!

Unless, of course, they went unnoticed. Then huzzah for me because I pulled one over on you.

Actually, I think these words are commonly misspelled. So I don’t feel too embarrassed.

(Actually, it’s your job, internet people, to identify those mistakes and troll me for it. So you’ve just missed out on your opportunity!)

(Still, I’m sure you’ll find plenty of other opportunities.)

3. I tried thinking of a story before I thought of any characters. And that panned out pretty well. I think my problem with the clown story was that I was too concerned with trying to make an interesting character. That prevented me from focusing on an important story.

Now, I know some of you who have written longer pieces of work will want to remind me that characters need to be very deeply written. This allows the reader to experience things that relate to them in understandable ways. It also makes a simple story much more entertaining. And I agree with these ideas.

Well, I agree with a catch. For longer forms of writing this may be true, but short stories don’t really lend themselves for character development on a very deep scale. (I could be wrong in this.) Short stories really need to grab a reader’s attention early, and have an interesting story that will carry for the moment. And the moment is all you really have. Short stories that take place over multiple settings and multiple times seems like it would be too hard to achieve using only 2000 words or so.

Maybe I’m looking at this a weird way. Let’s shift focus, shall we?

What if my short stories aren’t really short stories at all. What if they are the first chapter of a book?

Now, I feel comfortable saying that I am setting up characters for potential change, but I’m not changing how they think and feel. I’m introducing them and then I’m setting them loose on the world that wrought them. Usually, I’m just presenting them with a problem and they begin a process of trying to figure it, which is what I consider entertaining.

So, maybe my short stories are really nothing more than beginning chapters for books. They usually introduce characters, present a problem, and allow for life changing things to happen.

The whole messy ball of fun gets rolling, if you will.

And I’m okay with that.

4. I’m not very good at “forcing” stories out. You can tell this when I don’t post a story, nearly 3 days after I said I would release a story. I wasn’t so busy that there was no way I could write a story. I just didn’t know what the story was going to be about. Somehow, though, I managed to think of a (somewhat) entertaining story two nights ago. I immediately began writing.

What resulted was a story that I felt was fairly original (now watch me find out Stephen King wrote this exact same story 30 years ago.) I’m pretty happy with the outcome. And I think it just happened. I didn’t even plan to write this story.

As a matter of fact, a week before writing this story, I wrote the beginning to another story about a wily cowboyish sheriff that is investigating a domestic dispute. (Of course the couple were aliens and the story took place on some colony planet). Still, I was planning on writing that story, and yet it fizzled and this one just popped into my brain.

Maybe I’ll get around to finishing that story one day…

5. I didn’t take very long on this story. This meets one of the goals that I set in place a while ago.

And considering the time that it took me to write this (about 4 hours honestly), that’s much shorter of a time period than I used to write most of my other stories. Plus this one was 1600 words long, which I feel is about the right length for short stories. (At least stories that are actually going to get read on the internet.)

Wait a second. If this story took me 4 hours to type, edit, and mix, then that works out to 6.6 words per minute. Oh boy…

Well, I guess I’m not considering thinking time…

I am a thinker…

Still, that’s not a lot of writing in such an amount of time. I would like to shave this down further.

6. Humor. I guess it was there, but I wasn’t trying to bash you over the head with it.

I wasn’t trying to write a “funny” story for one. I was just trying to write something, and some parts just lent themselves to being funny. I’m not sure if that’s an improvement or not, but that’s how I feel at least. I think I tried focusing on the story, but still had my opportunities to show humor.

So, yeah, there you go. I actually got something good done. I feel better about myself now. I feel – stronger – kind of.

Well, more experienced at least.

I’m always looking for tips and advice, so if you’ve got it, feel free to drop a comment here after you read and review my short story.



Explaining My Delay

July 4, 2011

I’m not going to post a story tonight.

Yeah…it seems silly to draw attention to my own ineptitude but there you go.

Last week, when I thought up of this thing, I said to myself, “Now that’s an original thought, it will be a breeze to think of a story behind that.” Now I look at the idea and I say, “Wow, what’s the point of this story? Where is it going?” It just doesn’t have a real point. It’s pretty aimless.

I even rewrote it at least 3 times. New ideas were tried. Different characters were brought in. Nothing seemed to be able to fix the problem of the plot. There was just no way for me to squeeze a plot out of this thing.

I will freely admit that environments and kooky (if this is even how you spell this word) situations usually lead me in developing characters and stories. This time it seems that this process has failed me. Or maybe I failed the process. Either way, I always end up developing a story second. Maybe that’s a shortcoming that I need to work on.

So I’m going to try again, from scratch, and try to focus on a good and interesting story first. Then I will allow myself to develop the characters and environment.

I’m going to try to think up something and get a story done some time in the middle of this week.

I was looking forward to getting something done, but I’m not going to try and throw something up here that would only confuse you and embarrass me.

Just stick with me, I promise I’ll actually get something done sometime,


Really, I’m having a contest to see who can make me giggle.

You in?

Allow me to tempt you further.

The winner of the contest will receive this plethora of incredible and significant objects:

Best Prize Ever?

And there’s more. This is just the tip of the iceberg.

So allow me to explain myself and the rules for the contest. If you don’t want to read the explanation, and want to get right on to the rules for free stuff, then skip the next few paragraphs.

I’ve noticed a very strange theme through all of my stories (all 3 of them).  A lot of my characters seem to die. They usually die in some out of the ordinary manner or circumstance. I do this because I think it’s funny, but there is the chance that I could just be mentally disturbed…

Since death is considered by many people to be a very serious topic, let’s have some fun with it. All you have to do in this contest is tell me a funny story or situation where you are grieving the loss of something silly. You see, crying over your long lost granny is sad. But crying over your ice cube tray named Otis, that died in a tragic skiing accident, is funny. So let’s aim for funny here. Let’s try to make death a “not too serious” problem we can poke fun at.

In return I will give the winner a sympathy card and handwritten note expressing my condolences for your loss as well as the items listed in the picture above. Now here are the rules.

Rules for “In Sympathy” Contest

  1. To enter this contest you must post a comment on this particular post’s comment thread. Your comment must describe a very silly and made up event that would cause you to grieve for a loss of something. Your odds for winning go up if they are in a story form but they don’t have to be. Just be creative. (If you decide to post your story on your own blog, then provide a link to the blog in this comment thread).
  2. It must not be about anything real. It must be SILLY and MADE UP. Remember, we’re going for light hearted fun, not painful reality.
  3. I will pick the winner one week from today. That means you must have your comment posted by 12 p.m. (eastern time) on Wednesday, June 15th, 2011. I will inform the winner via email so I may obtain their mailing address.
  4. You will then win (in no particular order): A card and handwritten note of sympathy for your (very funny and made up) loss. A paper clip. A rubber band. An old guitar pick I don’t use anymore. And a marble of average size and of great importance. (More on the marble on a later date).
  5. No, I will not send you anything creepy or weird (other than the listed things above). No, you may not send me back anything creepy or weird. No, my hand is not included in the contest (even though it was in the photo).
  6. If the winner will not accept the prize, then it will be forwarded to the second place. If they refuse, then third place, etc. If nobody accepts the prize, then I will be happy to keep the marble for myself, and the rest will be destroyed.
  7. If you want to enter multiple times, (I’m not sure why you would), then feel free to do so. Just make sure each one is unique.
  8. Have fun.

Remember, the most creative/silly/made up event will win the contest. This means you can tell me a story or just describe something silly. Take your time with it. Treat it like a writing prompt if you wish. And try to make sure your story makes sense.