This week’s prompts are at the bottom. Feel free to seize the prompts, twist them, form them, play with them as you will. All comers are welcome. The words below are just practice for me. I had a lot of fun writing them and, practice makes perfect.
It was late afternoon on the 5th of January when Emmitt Dampeer returned to Firebase Ross. He and his team from the 1 / 7 had been on patrol in the Quế Sơn Valley. They were hot and tired. Emmitt went first to the showers to clean up and then to the Mess to get something to eat. The Plan of the Day had told him to expect fried chicken, but he’d been a Marine long enough to know that it would never taste like his momma used to make back in Natchez. Still, fried chicken was fried chicken and, usually, even the Corps fried chicken tasted better than the unrecognizable ‘mystery meat’ normally served in-country.
At the Mess tent, he spotted a few friends. He grinned and waved at Percy as he entered the tent. Tex let loose one of those loud whistles he was famous for and Emmitt pointed Percy out. He went through the line and got what looked like two pieces of soggy, dark meat chicken, cold mashed potatoes with a blue-tinted gravy, some wrinkled peas and a biscuit. He made his way over to sit with Tex and Percy after he picked up a dessert that appeared to be some kinda stewed apples.
“Hey guys,” Emmitt said. He clapped Percy on the back and sat down. “What’re y’all up to today?”
“Well, fuckin’ Tex done spent the day bitchin’ pissin’ and moanin’ in sickbay. Me? I been bustin’ my ass since oh-four-thirty. What about chu, Em?”
“Just got back from patrol,” Emmitt responded. He looked at his plate, “What the fuck is this shit? Shore don’t look like fried chicken!”
“It’s not,” Tex piped in, “but the biscuit ain’t bad.”
Em reached for his biscuit and took a bite, “Tastes like shit.” He said to no one in particular.
“Tole chu,” Tex laughed.
Emmitt looked over at Tex and said, “I surely do miss my momma’s fried chicken and honey buttered biscuits. When we git home both y’all boys gotta come to Natchez fer some. Let me know ‘fore ya show up though, I’ll hafta warn Momma.” They all laughed and, the rest of the evening passed quietly because the rains started. Everyone took shelter in their tents.
In the early morning hours of the 6th the base was attacked with mortars, and sappers penetrated the wire. It was all quiet again by 4 a.m., but the 1 / 7 was left with 13 Marines killed. Emmitt Dampeer was one of them.
On the afternoon of the 8th, Emmitt was not available to receive the package that arrived for him, from Natchez. That batch of biscuits that his momma had sent went missing. No one noticed.
This week’s prompts are:
- sunburned and hungover
- the camera smiles
- fair dinkum
You can start writing whenever you want, just write!