It’s time for some “hamburger” inspiration!
Let’s pick sentences at random from books, use the best ones as the beginning/ending “bun” lines for stories, and then fill in the “meat” between them.
During the last stream, a subscriber requested that we write a story with a beginning/ending sentence chosen from random books.
Watch the whole thing here or scroll down for highlights.
I had ten books ready, picked ten sentences at random from them, and then chat voted on their favorites. In the end, the winners were:
- The Name of the Wind: What was even more disturbing was how quickly he had managed it.
- Hunger Games: Then there’s a voice, the wrong voice, not my mother’s, and I’m scared.
Here’s what we came up with:
What was even more disturbing was how quickly he had managed it. Daddy brought a swift end to the divorce trial between him and mom. All he’d had to do was show off some doctored photos of her slipping into other men’s homes while he was at work, and the judge lapped it up. Never mind mom’s accusations of abuse. The judge asked where the evidence was, shaking the “photos” in front of her.
Not even I could say anything about mom’s alleged punches from daddy. Fear gripped my four-year-old mind, and I could only stare silently at his smile across the courtroom.
I was added to daddy’s winnings, another asset addendum to the divorce contract. He was all smiles and pats on my back while in front of the lawyers. But one step back into the house, now empty of mother, he only had a single command for me.
“Get in the basement.”
I obediently step down the creaky, moldy staircase to the darkness beneath the house. My legs are barely long enough to take it one step at a time. I nearly trip when daddy closes the door behind me, sealing everything in pitch blackness.
Thankfully I’d been down in the basement many times before, and I knew it was ten steps to the bottom. My eyes adjust slightly to the darkness, and I step off the staircase onto the hard concrete floor, walking over to my corner and sliding down against the wall.
I don’t like being in the basement very much, but daddy always sends me down here when I’m bad. Like when I wore the wrong dress for dinner, or when I spoke without his permission. After spending a night in the basement, I never did those bad things again. And I would never do whatever bad thing I’d done this time again either.
Usually, mom would come down into the basement and give me my meals. She’d even sit with me for a while and run her hand through my hair as I ate the bologna sandwich. But now that she is gone, I don’t know what will happen. Maybe daddy will bring it to me instead.
Or maybe the angel will bring me something to eat.
What did you do wrong this time? comes the angel’s voice from the walls. I tell it I don’t know and it hisses a laugh. I don’t think your daddy knows either, this time. He just wants you down here while he does nasty things.
I giggle. The angel is weird like that sometimes, but it keeps me company in the basement, so I don’t really mind.
I don’t think your mother will be bringing you any bologna sandwiches, it says. Would you like a gift from me instead?
My stomach rumbles hard and I wish I’d brought down a snack pudding. I just nod in the dark, forgetting that the angel probably can’t see me, but it understands anyway.
There’s a clink of an old plate against the ground, and it slides over to me with a hard scrape. I can’t really see what’s on it, but it looks like a hamburger without the bun, like we sometimes get at preschool. I ask the angel what it is.
It’s delicious.
I squeeze the food with my fingers. It’s spongier than a burger, and I think the angel must’ve dropped a few hairs in it or something. But I’m so hungry I don’t care and take a big bite.
What do you think?
I tell the angel that I think they’re a great chef. It hisses another laugh.
We could run away together, if you’d like, it whispered. All you’d have to do is let me in.
I shake my head as I finish the last bites. Running away from daddy is not a good idea. As much as I like the angel, I belong down here right now, and so do they.
A bang comes from upstairs, the door slamming shut and people yelling. I can hear both daddy and mom. Maybe she’s come back to bring me a bologna sandwich and got in trouble for it.
I’d heard daddy and mom argue a lot, but this time is different. Mom’s screams aren’t mad, they’re painful, like when I skid my knee on the playground. And dad’s yells are more like grunts, like the sound he makes when he’s watching the computer alone.
Take my hand, Katie, comes the angel’s voice. I press my fingers against the cold wall. Something soft pushes back against my palm, like a tingly spiderweb. I can feel that it wants to flow inside of me, but I don’t let it in just yet.
Another thud from upstairs, then silence, then a metallic clang. The door to the basement opens, flooding the basement with light from upstairs. Daddy grunts again, then something falls down the stairs, collapsing into a pile at the bottom of the steps.
It’s mom.
I only see her for a moment before the door slams shut and seals everything in darkness again. Angry footsteps stomp upstairs, and I hear the sound of sharp metal being picked up off the kitchen floor.
Katie, says the angel. Go to your mother. Quick. I can help her.
Barely able to see anything, I dash across the basement to mom. She’s sticky with blood all over and not moving at all.
Press her hand against me, the angel says. There’s not much time.
The basement door opens again. Daddy stands at the top, a knife in his hand.
Without thinking, I grab mom’s cold fingers and press them against the basement wall. I feel them expand slightly in my grasp, as if something is flowing through them, from the wall into her body, like water through tubes.
Daddy stomps down the staircase, eyes locked on me. But when he reaches the bottom, mom stands up to block his way. There’s something strange about her, though. Her legs and arms are bent all weird, and her eyes are completely black.
She lashes out with crooked fingers, latching them around daddy’s neck. They grip so hard, he drops the knife, and the tips of her fingers bore into his neck with five putrid pops.
I cry out, telling her to stop, pulling on her shirt. Mom doesn’t release daddy, now dangling flaccid in her grip. Her head spins around to face me, the bones cracking as a wide grin spreads across her blackened, bloodied face.
Then there’s a voice, the wrong voice, not my mother’s, and I’m scared.
Be sure to check out the video to see how we got here, and for a dramatic reading!
If you want to join us and help write a story by trolling in chat, or share your own writing for feedback, then we’d love to have you join us on Twitch.
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Hope to see you next time, friend!
Featured image: Pakutaso