Hey, so folks, it's week two of the Indie Ink weekly writing challenge (in which participants are randomly challenged by our peers with a writing prompt). And I am officially way out of my element here. Luckily, my prompt was at least topical, as you can be certain I was watching the Oscars last night. And also, drinking too much.
Rolling over again tangled up in her duvet, sun streaming through the vertical blinds. What time is it?
Oh, man, it is past noon. Pulling the pillow over her head. I may never get out of this bed again. Except maybe for some orange juice.
What the hell, is that my phone ringing? Who would call me at this hour? Oh, man, why the hell is my blackberry under my pillow?
"Dude, what are you doing? What even happened to you last night? Where'd ya go?"
"Who is this?" Head out from under the pillow, eyes squeezed tight.
"Girl, what is wrong with you? It's me, Melodia. Jesus.”
"Oh, hey, I'm not up yet." And why are you calling me at any hour? I am so confused.
"I had to call you right away. I mean, what was the Academy even thinking, those old tired bastards? Jesus christ on a fucking bike."
"Well... I don't know about that, I mean, Jasmine was breathtaking, she worked so hard, she deserves it..." If it couldn't be me, at least it was Jasmine and not this asshole, for crying out loud.
"Yeah, yeah, I knew you would say that, you're her defender and her Bee Eff Eff and all." I am not gonna dignify this bullshit with a response. As if I could come up with a snappy comeback anyway.
"And anyway, I got what I wanted, in the end."
"Huh. You did?"
"You betcha, baby. I am not one to slink away with my tail between my legs, you know." No shit. Uh oh. What did she do?
"So, what do you mean, then?" Do I want to know?
"Dude. Go friend James Franco on Facebook to find out. Oh, yes, go and do that." What!
"What? James Franco what?"
"There is a photo on there of me and Jasmine with James Franco. And after that? My secret." Oh man, I want nothing to do with this.
"Ah, good for you. Later."
Rising from her bed and stumbling to her excessively bright kitchen. What is it with all this sunlight? And why do I feel this way?
Oh my lord. Her reflection in the window. I am revolting.
Glasses half-full of wine in the sink. What a fucking mess. This has got to stop.
Pouring the unfinished bottles down the drain.
For today, at least. Today.
My prompt, from Mighty Hunter, was: "You've been nominated for Best Actress, along with your BFF AND frenemy. Your best friend wins; it's considered an upset. Describe, in between 250 and 400 words, your next phone conversation with your frenemy."