Machete
In trying to turn my fiction writer brain back on, I went to the writing exercise archive at The Desk Drawer and pulled up a prompt. "Choose one word from this list and write about it," it said. The word I picked was "machete."
***
The first thing he did once they were out of the Jeep was take out a machete.
Melinda froze. In her limited exposure, machetes were for cutting up people. She resisted the impulse to run screaming through the trees.
He held it out, hilt first.
"You got a hockey mask to go with that?" she asked, but he only stared.
"No hablo Ingles."
She sighed. "Right." Gingerly, she took the machete. It's grip felt weirdly satisfying as she tested it's weight. "Now this is a knife." Her guide didn't mock her bad Aussie accent any more than he appreciated the reference. Instead, he grabbed his own machete, motioned at her to copy him, and hacked his way into the jungle.
She didn't sign up for this. The brochure had promised a serene hike along cut paths and a chance to gawk at the flora and fauna before an afternoon of sun, sand and an endless parade of cabana boys bringing her margaritas. That was what Melinda had anticipated from the moment she plunked down her credit card--and she had packed accordingly.
As her jungle guide disappeared into the foliage, Melinda sighed, hiked up her bikini top, swatted the ginormous mosquito on her arm, and followed.
Her travel agent was so fired.
***
The first thing he did once they were out of the Jeep was take out a machete.
Melinda froze. In her limited exposure, machetes were for cutting up people. She resisted the impulse to run screaming through the trees.
He held it out, hilt first.
"You got a hockey mask to go with that?" she asked, but he only stared.
"No hablo Ingles."
She sighed. "Right." Gingerly, she took the machete. It's grip felt weirdly satisfying as she tested it's weight. "Now this is a knife." Her guide didn't mock her bad Aussie accent any more than he appreciated the reference. Instead, he grabbed his own machete, motioned at her to copy him, and hacked his way into the jungle.
She didn't sign up for this. The brochure had promised a serene hike along cut paths and a chance to gawk at the flora and fauna before an afternoon of sun, sand and an endless parade of cabana boys bringing her margaritas. That was what Melinda had anticipated from the moment she plunked down her credit card--and she had packed accordingly.
As her jungle guide disappeared into the foliage, Melinda sighed, hiked up her bikini top, swatted the ginormous mosquito on her arm, and followed.
Her travel agent was so fired.
©2007 by Jean Marie Bauhaus
Labels: exercises
