Tag: fiction

True Story or Urban Legend? 

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I woke up this morning remembering a story I heard about in high school. I can’t remember if it was a news story or just an urban legend. I was about to google it to find out, but I decided not to. I feel like thinking about it instead, and reaching out to other people who might have heard about it too. Without looking it up, this is what I remember:

A popular teenage girl goes to a tanning salon to get a nice tan before her senior prom. She talks the people who work at the salon into letting her do multiple sessions in a row. She spends hours in a tanning bed and literally cooks herself to death. I don’t remember if she dies in the bed or later on that day. I feel like I read about this in the newspaper- I can almost picture the girl, but my mind could also be playing tricks on me. There is also an episode of Bones where a woman is murdered by being locked in a tanning bed, so obviously it’s possible.

Does anyone else remember this story?! What do you think- true story or urban legend?

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Thanksgiving: The Movie

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Starring Jordan Black as Donald Bigbelow

Written by Charlotte Dean

Directed by Charlotte Dean and Tracy Newman

Original film score by Tracy Newman

Filmed by Nathan Warburton

THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY

Published on by charlottedean2 Comments

This is a true story. It was told to me by a friend about something that happened to another friend. Like a game of telephone. So it’s true…ish.

Pretty much everything has happened to Jenny. She’s broken most of the bones in her body at one point or another, sliced her foot open on a yacht, and had multiple back surgeries. So on a quiet Tuesday morning, when the car in front of her slammed on its brakes and she, in turn, slammed into it, she wasn’t terribly surprised. Just glad that she had already dropped her daughter off at school. Jenny rolled her neck around and sighed. Another round of physical therapy for sure.

She turned off her car and went to check on the guy she hit and to find out why he had stopped so suddenly. As she got closer, she saw another car in front of his, parked in the right lane. No wonder he had slammed on his brakes! How could this jerk be parked here? This street was practically the freeway. Jenny walked over to the parked car thinking of all the things she wanted to say. She could see someone climbing around inside. “Excuse me!” she called, as she tapped on the driver’s side window. The guy inside spun around and stared at her blankly “hey.”

Jenny glared at him for a moment. “Yeah. Hey. You can’t park here! You just caused an accident.” He turned his head around to look at the cars behind him. “Well,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, “I had no choice. I had to poop, so I pulled over and went in this bucket.” He gestured with his thumb to a bucket in the back seat. Jenny didn’t want to look, but she couldn’t help it. There were two large swirls of poop. She was speechless. After a minute she said, “Um… well, couldn’t you hold it in until you found a gas station? Or at least until you got off the road?” The guy shook his head “Nah. Nah. It was an emergency and I mean, what would you have me do? Poop in my pants? That’s nuts.” He started his car and drove away and all Jenny could do was stare after him. To this day, she lays in bed at night wondering where he is, knowing he’s out there somewhere, driving around with his bucket in the backseat.

Coconut Soy Delight

Published on by charlottedean1 Comment

Dear Bridget,

I think you should know about this yogurt I ate last night. It was coconut soy delight and the texture was exactly like old, hard, jello. It didn’t taste like anything to me, but I’m sure you would have been able to taste the coconut because you hate it so much. I wish you could have tasted it. I tried to punch up the flavor by adding honey and cinnamon, but it was late and I wasn’t wearing my glasses. I ended up adding honey and black pepper. That did not improve the taste. However, as I said, it was late, I was hungry and I didn’t want to wake anyone by cooking something, so I decided to try and salvage it. Luckily, because of its gelatinous consistency, I was able to scoop off the very top where I had added the pepper and remove almost all of it. I rinsed off my spoon and added more honey and actual cinnamon this time. I grabbed my yogurt and quietly tiptoed out of the kitchen. Just as I was making my way back up the stairs, I knocked over a screwdriver that was on the banister and it fell onto the stairway, bouncing and making a loud bang with each step it hit on its way down to the hardwood floor, where it rolled around for what felt like ten minutes. I just stood there watching it, hoping no one else had heard it. I got back in bed and ate my yogurt quietly. It still tasted terrible to me and I can only imagine what it would have been like for you.

Love, Deborah

My Dead Body

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Stephan-

Thank you for your email. Yes, I do want to marry you. I’m sure. And it’s not because of all your money.  I actually love you. I have no problem signing your prenup. In fact, I have something for you to sign as well. Basically, it says that when the police find my dead body, they should question you first. I don’t think you’re going to kill me, but statistically if someone’s going to kill me, it’s you. And I just want you to be investigated.

By signing my agreement you’re saying “I’m on board with that!” There’s a lot of fine print here and I don’t think you need to read it all. It just gets into the specifics of different ways my body might be found and some sample questions the police should ask. Like, “Oh so we’re supposed to believe that your wife hit herself on the head with a bat?” Obviously I’m just ball-parking it. No one really knows what’s going to happen. I just have this feeling. You know?

Shawna thinks I’m nuts for marrying you, but I told her I love you. You don’t choose who you fall in love with, right?

I wrote down as many scenarios of my murder as I could think of and I added a suggested response from you for each. Most are obvious like: if I’m shot, you should ask the police to test your hands for gunpowder residue. Some are less about you being tried and convicted and more about you feeling my pain. Like if I’m drowned, I suggested you have Pierre hold your head under water for two minutes so you know what I went through.

Let me know if you have any suggestions – I may have gotten a bit “Romeo and Juliet” on a few. Like, you don’t actually have to drink the poison, but I think we should have some just in case you can’t live without me. Please have the papers signed and get them back to my lawyers by Friday.

Your loving fiancé, Joanne

The Undergroundhog

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Lorelai was the most beautiful undergroundhog in all the underground. She had big puffy lips and her hair was so long she almost tripped on it all the time. She had no muffin tops or pimples at all. Not even one.

All the hot undergroundhog guys were totally into her. They carried her books and gave her gum. Everyone wanted to date her because she looked so much like Beyonce. That is everyone except for Pretzel.

Pretzel was Lorelai’s best friend. She really tried to like Lorelai, but like all best friends, she secretly hated her. Pretzel’s hair was chunky and short and she barely had any lips at all. No one ever gave Pretzel any gum. She wanted Lorelai gone.

One day, Prezel convinced Lorelai that she could be a model, but in order to do so, she’d have to run away and leave the underground.

Pretzel and Lorelai came out of the underground and walked over to the main road to New York City. Lorelai hugged Pretzel goodbye and started off down the road. A few seconds later, a big 18 wheeler truck came by and squashed Lorelai into the ground.

Pretzel cut the long hair from Lorelai’s smushed up body and made herself some realistic looking extensions. That night, she got pregnant for the first time.

Kids: If you want to be happy, you have to work for it. No one will love you for who you are unless you’re better than you are.

And remember, if you’re pretty, don’t ever leave your hole.

The end.

Primitive Survival Skills

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Dear Tyler,

I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I feel like we’re headed in different directions. I’m not saying we should break up, but I am looking for something else.

I mean… do you have any primitive survival skills at all?

I really don’t think you could make a fire. Surviving is all about believing in yourself and I just don’t feel that way about you. Like I’ve never killed a snake in person before, but I’m 100% sure I can do it. I know it’s hard for some people, but it’s easy for me. I can tell.

It just doesn’t seem fair. We’d have this amazing snake meal that would just be ruined because you can’t make fire.

Do you remember last week when I asked you to go up on the roof and clean the leaves out of the gutters and you said it was a bad idea because it was raining? I just can’t see myself committing long-term to someone who is so afraid of life.

How are you going to protect me? I feel like we’ll be out in the jungle and on the first day you’re going to eat poisonous berries and die and I’ll be all alone and pissed. I can’t believe how unprepared you are.

I definitely don’t think you’re a worthless person in general, but I see myself with more of a taller, survivor type of guy.

Can you even open a coconut?

Well anyway, let me know if you want me to pick up some Thai food on the way home.

Love,

Denise

How Do You Know I’m Not Michael Jordan?

Published on by charlottedean10 Comments

Adam: Hey Mark, let me ask you something.

Mark: Yeah.

Adam: How do you know I’m not Michael Jordan?

Mark: Umm, because you’re Adam.

Adam: I know, but if you didn’t know me. How would you know I wasn’t Michael Jordan?

Mark: You mean, how does a person tell someone is not another person, or…?

Adam: Come on man, I’m being serious.

Mark: Because you’re not Michael Jordan! I know what Michael Jordan looks like.

Adam: But I’m wearing his jersey. His exact same jersey. The one he played in the last time he played basketball. I bought one just like it. There is no difference at all.

Mark: Okay…

Adam: So, how would you know who I was?

Mark: Because I can see your face and you don’t look like Michael Jordan.

Adam: Do you think people really pay attention to that?

Mark: To what?

Adam: The face?

Mark: Yeah. Especially with someone like Jordan. Look, I think I have a cardboard cut out of him in my garage. Lets stand him next to you so you can see for yourself.

Adam: Okay.

(They go get the cut out of Michael Jordan and bring it into the bathroom to stand it next to Adam in the mirror)

Mark: Well, what do you think?

Adam: I don’t know. It’s hard to say. I mean, he’s wearing his old jersey. It’s really distracting.

Mark: Ok Adam, what about the fact that you look nothing like him?

Adam: I don’t know. I think that could be me.

Mark: He’s like a foot taller than you.

Adam: In cardboard. But maybe not in person. Do you know how short Tom Cruise is? He is 4’6”. But you can’t tell in the movies.

Mark: Michael Jordan isn’t in the movies. He played basketball. In real life. Next to other real tall guys.

Adam: He was in one movie. Space Jam. I couldn’t tell if he was tall or not.

Mark: You mean next to the cartoons?

Adam: Yeah. It was hard to tell. It could have been me.

Mark: Do you think it was you?

Adam: I think we should go outside.

Mark: Why?

Adam: I want to see if people think I’m him.

Mark: Are you sure you want to go outside like that?

Adam: Like what?

Mark: Never mind. Yeah. Let’s go outside.

They go outside. People start noticing Adam and pointing and whispering.

Adam: So, what does it feel like?

Mark: What?

Adam: Being seen in public with Michael Jordan.

Mark: You’re not Michael Jordan.

Adam: Oh no? Why is everyone staring at me?

Mark: Because you’re pointing at yourself and you’re not wearing any pants.

Adam: Look how long this jersey is. I don’t need pants.

Mark:  Michael Jordan would wear pants with it.

Adam: Shit. I gotta get back inside.

Mark: Go home.