22/100: Your Own Fashion Show

Day 22: You have to put on a fashion show using only clothing you own. Write down a blurb on 5 different pieces of clothing, telling your audience about the merits and the mystique of each article. How do you effectively convince your audience? Do you think you could make them wear it? Length: 5 short paragraphs

Sporting a brown suede jacket, white button down shirt, grey graphic tee and a pair of rough-hewn blue jeans, Jeff tips his fedora and casually walks down the catwalk towards the blinding snaps of a wall of flashing bulbs.

The jeans are straight-fit levis that have the slightest bit of whitewash to them.  The edges are frayed and worn, as if they've been through the wash more times than one could count.  The waist rides low, following the trends of today's younger generation. Red boxer fabric can be seen through a worn down patch below the left pocket.  The cuffs are rolled up twice above a pair of red high tops.

A slim-fit, medium-sized grey tee is half-tucked into the waist of the jeans.  An old Polaroid logo spreads across the chest, faded away to almost nothing. The fabric looks soft and comfortable.

A white, button-down shirt covers the tee, open in the front, and un-tucked so that the bottom hangs just below the suede jacket.  The collar is lightly starched, so as not to look stiff and boarded, the tips flaring out over his clavicles.

The vintage jacket fits slim and sleek over the layered shirts, it's black lining creating a perfect contrast between the white button-down and the light-brown suede. White stitching patterns sharply line Jeff's slim form. It moves perfectly with him, as if he walked straight out of the frames of Starsky and Hutch.

Perfectly completing the ensemble is a small, straw fedora with a blue band circling its head. The narrow band barely sits above his eye brow.  It is stylish and sleek, yet a fitting tribute to the classic gentlemen of days past.

The bulbs continue to flash as Jeff turns his back to the cameras.  He walks back towards the rear of the stage, confidence following him wherever he goes.

21/100: Reminds Me of This One Saying

Day 21: The next time you hear someone saying a popular expression, write it down. Then, write a short story that disproves the “point” of that expression. How does reality differ from conventional wisdom. Length: 400 words

"You're so full of shit."

Okay, one; I'm not.  I mean, I can sometimes, you know, in the heat of the moment, stretch the truth a bit.  I think everyone tends to do this from time to time in the excitement of the moment, some worse than others.  I would describe myself as landing slightly onto the center of this scale. However, “full of shit,” may be a bit of a stretch, especially by reality’s standards.

We all have “shit” in our system. Feces. Poop. Human waste. It’s in there. And it’s always (ideally) moving along down the tunnel to make its way out.  Interestingly enough, there’s only a small percentage of actual poop that’s in our system at any given time, 5-20lbs of it to be exact.  Considering that I’m 165lbs on average, and that I’m mostly on the lighter range of the weight spectrum, my body is incapable of being composed of no more than 33% and no less than 8.25% of waste at a time. Furthermore, that composition of waste is made up of about 75% of water, the rest being a combination of soluble and insoluble fibers, bacteria (live and dead), other cells and of course, mucus.  That means that at any given time, the actual amount of physical waste existing in my body ranges anywhere from 2.06-8.25%, more likely leaning towards the lower number, as I’m not an exceptionally big eater.

When one thinks of how to define the term “full,” it’s easy to picture a glass of water, filled to the brim, the meniscus seemingly ready to break at any moment. I could not possibly fill up that glass any more, for fear that it would pour over the edges and get everything around it wet. Fortunately for everyone around me, my poop is not designed to behave in such a way.  Scientifically speaking, I’m completely incapable of creating a scenario in which I would be literally full of shit. Unless of course, this was done manually, in which case I would be unlikely to survive such a catastrophe.  I imagine this scenario being carried out by the Cartels as a warning. Note to self: don’t mess with the Cartels.

So next time someone tells you that you’re full of shit, just remember–you’re not.  Not even close. Actually, they’re full of shit for even suggesting that you are, being that they’re off by around 95%. Take that, haters.

20/100: One-Sentence Story

Day 20: Based on the image below, write a one-sentence story. What parts of the image do you pick and what parts are unimportant? Why did you pick the parts you did?  

Consider the most famous example of this prompt, Ernest Hemingway’s six-word heartbreaker: 

For Sale: Baby Shoes, Never Worn

They perished that evening on the ice, cold and exhausted, tethered to one another by a single strand of hope that neither had the strength, or the resolve to pursue.   

----------------------------

For me, the strongest element within this image is the connection between beast and man. The two here may not be emotionally bonded, but the rope represents as much, as well as the lengths one would go to in order to aid the other, in spite of the risks.  That idea spoke out to me, moreso than the literal depiction of an environmentalist in the midst of an animal rescue over thin ice.

19/100: Alien Race

Day 19: Take any regular object, place or event, and pretend that an alien race has descended upon Earth and wants to figure out what it is. How do they describe it? What does their description reveal about the object that you didn’t see before? Length: 500 words

The Concert: 

At first, they saw it as a flicker in the sky.  Lightning, perhaps.  Heat flashes, high above the clouds.  They paid it little attention, instead letting the waves of sounds flow through them, until the flashes grew brighter and more vibrant.  A distant roar began to saturate the air, miles above them in the upper reaches of the atmosphere. The ground began to tremble, slightly at first, then gradually building in intensity.  Millions drifted their attention from the amphitheater stage to the dark, evening sky as a large, irregular shape descended from the clouds and random particles of dirt and stone around them began to levitate a few inches above the ground. They were being visited, the first to be chosen among the world...and Dave Matthews hadn't even come on stage yet.

All it would take was a single scream, immediately followed by a surge of the masses, casualties, absolute chaos. Yet, that wasn't the case. Concert-goers in The Gorge peacefully locked their gaze onto the sky as the ship slowly descended onto the sloped field adjacent to the stage, lightly displacing the cloud of marijuana smoke drifting above their heads. The craft was met with silence and awe, the distant echoes of notes last played having long faded into the canyon-lands around them.

A bright, blinding light emitted from the vessel. Those closest to it could not see a door or hatch, just white. Then, nothing. The light blinked out and standing in front of the UFO were five tall, slender beings. They wore no clothing, but seemed to be draped in a wispy, webbing-like material that was indistinguishable as either a garment or part of their anatomy, possibly both. Their movements were graceful and fluid, as if viewing a ballet performance underwater, or rolling clouds of an incoming storm. Everyone around them was suddenly overwhelmed with peace, the intoxicating warmth of their presence spreading through the crowd.  One man, early 20's at best, with a lanky stature most similar to our alien friends, took it upon himself to welcome these visitors to our world.  Fearless, or more than likely tripping on LSD, he approached and proclaimed four, simple words that will forever live on throughout history.

"Welcome to Earth, Man!"

No one seems to be able to recall how things progressed immediately after that initial greeting. What those witnesses do recall is their profound curiosity that would bring such a large gathering together in such a remote place.  No other words were exchanged, just gestures and emotions, feelings at a raw, primal level.  Within moments, Dave Matthews began their set, and our new alien friends became memorized, as we later learned their race had never heard music before.

We've learned much since then, about what sets our race, our culture apart from theirs, and the hundreds of thousands of other civilizations out there. As the music plays on, the Age of Enlightenment begins, and a whole new chapter for not only mankind, but space as we know it has evolved.

18/100: Hey Stranger

Day 18: Write a letter to the last stranger you met. Write it on paper. They could be a cashier or a postal worker. What do you tell them? What clues did they give you that may help you understand a bit more about their living situation?  Length: 500 words

The Letter: 

Dear Peet's Coffee Shop Register-Girl-

As I was waiting for my coffee yesterday morning (thank you–it was delicious by the way), I couldn't help but overheard you explain to the guy behind me that today would be your last day, that you were getting ready to move overseas with your boyfriend and all of the fear and excitement that came along with that change. I just wanted to let you know that, in spite of all the reservations, apprehensions and butterflies that go along with a change that significant, everything will be fine.

This will sound cliché, I know, but you're young, and you have you're entire life ahead of you.  I'm guessing, early 20's maybe?  You probably went to college and obtained a degree that you're not quite sure to do with just yet.  Maybe you're thinking about grad school, but haven't landed on exactly what you want to pursue.  These kind of indecisions are all okay to have right now.  In fact, embrace it, because you never know when an opportunity like this will come around again.

I get it; the older guy in the coffee shop trying to give you life advice.  It's pretty lame, and it's probably hard to refrain from rolling your eyes at the gesture.  I could be that guy that sits here and tells you that I wish that I did it all before I met a girl, settled down, started having kids.  I could be, but I'm not.  As a matter of fact, I did exactly what you are planning on doing right now...and I was petrified.  Of course, there are always going to be things you wish you would've done.  I have friends that work seasonal jobs even now, and spend the money they make on traveling the globe over the rest of the year.  I'm envious of that, sure.  I have expectations of seeing the world, just like many others. Yet, I can be certain that I didn't pass on any opportunities that came my way, no matter what the risk. Those risks are part of what landed me here, in this coffee shop, writing to you.

When I graduated high school, a relative of mine gave me the book, "Oh, the Places You'll Go!" by Dr. Suess.  Yes, it's a children's book.  But is it really?  In a unique, simple way, Suess describes a life of obstacles and optimism, of hardships and success, all particular to the path you choose. That small book speaks volumes about the roller coaster you are about to embark on, and I couldn't be more supportive of you.

Explore. Go on adventures.  Be fearless as you circumnavigate these upcoming experiences.  They will shape you and form you into the woman you will one day become.  That in itself is a priceless endeavor.  The 40-year old you will thank you one day, trust me.

Good luck, travel safe and thank you again for the Caramel Macchiato. It was absolutely delicious.

Sincerely,
Brian J Conti

17/100: Writer's Blocked

Day 17: Write a story about how something–be it an animal, a person or a ghost–is literally preventing you from writing. How do you turn them into an antagonist? What sort of things make them absolutely insufferable? How do you eventually win/lose the fight? Length: 400 words

Blocked:

For weeks, the screen remained blank. Days on end, I had stared, peering into the pixels. Each night I would walk away, frustrated and in despair.  Each night I would search for that one spark that would surge life back into my fingertips, ending this insufferable draught of words.  Each night I would close my eyes, empty.  Until today.

One moment there was nothing, and in the next, everything.  It was all there, as if the floodgates had opened. I placed my fingers on the keyboard and immediately started to translate my thoughts to my screen.

"olhns;s;HGVW)HAVOg,MWEGNsw..."

...What?  I didn't understand. The keys weren't working.  I couldn't type, I couldn't write.  Something was preventing me and I didn't know what, until I looked at my hands.

My hands...weren't my hands.  Not as I knew them, anyway.  The curvatures and subtleties I had grown so familiar with were now replaced by large, geometric blocks. I lifted them in front of my face and bent the cubes that had now replaced my fingers.  The joints still bent, but awkwardly and had separated slightly where my knuckles had once been. As I stared in awe at my transformation, the pixelation effect that had moments ago stopped at my wrists, now began to spread up my arms and over my body.  I watched in horror as part of my forearm began to spin slowly, morphing into the flesh-colored cube as it turned, followed by the next block and the next, until the disease spread its way over my entire body.  I lurched out of my chair and stumbled to the door. What was happening to me? This had to be some kind of nightmare. As I stood, my block feet caught the rug and I fell forward to the ground.

My body shattered across the floor like tempered glass, unable to withstand the force of the fall.  My knee crumbled first, then my chest followed by my outstretched arms. I wondered what the unlucky soul who found me would think, seeing my body disfigured and controted in such an unnatural way.  I immediately felt sorry for them. No one should have to make such a grim discovery.

As I lay there, broken, I realized the words I had found earlier would never see the light of day. A shiny silver cube teared from my eye and lightly hit the floor, crumbling into a thousand tiny glass pixels.

16/100: Emojis

Hey kids.  You'll all most likely understand this story moreso than even myself.  Interpret it how you will.  I have my own specific narrative, but I'm curious to know if it makes a lick of sense. I'm not remaining optimistic.

Day 16: Emojis. Using only Emojis, write a 100 character “story” based on the images. How do you convey a picture with only symbols? What can using only visual symbols teach you about storytelling?