I have always considered myself a planner. I like to be organized, and I like to know exactly every little thing about my story before actually writing my story.
I never write my stories.
So, today, I upped my word count goal to 1000 and decided to write about an idea I had that I had no idea where it was going. I first had this idea the other day, and then I did not think about it since. All I knew was “Classic Monster Speed Dating.”
So, without further ado, here is 1000-ish words about speed dating and monsters.
Speed Dating for Lesbian Monsters
My legs stuck to the plastic of the booth seat as I slid in to my fifth date of the evening. Across the table sat a girl. Her skin was pale, and her hair was dark and hung limply against her round face. She smiled when I looked up at her, and I could see a hint of her fangs. She reached across the table with a plump hand, fingernails painted blood red; they matched her lipstick.
“Nice to meet you,” she said as I took her hand in mine and gave it a shake. Her hand lingered a moment longer than mine. “I’m Jodie.”
“Babs,” I said. “Nice to meet you to.” A curl tickled my cheek, and I pushed my hair back. “So,” I said. “What brings you to a thing like this?”
“Same as you, I guess,” Jodie said. “Just looking for love. It gets lonely up there in the crypt. No one to talk to but the skeletons and ghosts.” She laughed, a big full laugh. I imagined it came from somewhere deep within the soft curves of her belly. “I mean, they’re nice and all, but they don’t quite understand what it’s like to have flesh. After all, most of them have been dead for centuries. Not like you and I.” She gave me a look like we were in on some joke together.
There was silence as she stared at me with those eyes that had more life in them than they should have. I stared back.
The bell rang. “It was nice to meet you, Babs,” Jodie said.
“You, too.” I peeled me legs off the vinyl and slid.
My next date was sitting at a table with chairs upholstered in the same red vinyl as the booths. Some of them had rips in them as if someone had sliced them with a knife. Dirty yellow fluff peeped through. I sat.
My date was covered in hair, delicately combed away from her eyes and mouth. A pink bow was clipped just above each ear.
She glanced at me as I sat down, but not for long. The bell rang again, indicating the start of our next three-minute date. I watched the girl, but she would not make eye contact.
“I’m Birdie,” I said, quietly.
She looked up at that. “No you’re not,” she said.
I smiled. “Yes I am. I just told you so.”
She shook her head. “But you told Jodie your name was Babs.”
I shrugged and leaned back in my chair. “What’s in a name?”
She stared at me again. Silent, again.
“And you are?” I asked.
After a moment she said, “You know, secrecy and lies isn’t a good way to start off a relationship.”
“I agree.” I reached for one of the cookies on the plate between us. Pink and heart-shaped. Each table had a plate of the exact same cookies.
“So what’s your name?”
“I told you,” I said. “I go by Birdie.”
She crossed her arms.
The bell rang.
“See ya.” I shot her a finger gun and clicked out of the side of my mouth as I promptly escaped my chair.
Back to a booth. Three deep slashes across the back of my seat were covered with a fabric tape that was slightly darker than the actual color of the seat.
The bell rang.
“Barbie,” I tell my date right off. “My friends call me Barbie. And you are?”
Her skin was a sick shade of yellow with green splotches, and there were stitches across her neck. The tips of her hair were blacked, as if burned.
She smiled gingerly and stretched forth her hand. “Mary Elizabeth,” she said as she gently shook my hand, gripping with only her fingertips. She pursed her lips.
“I suppose,” she said quietly, “that this date is pointless.”
I tilted my head and squinted. “Why do you say that?”
“You’re alive. The living and the dead never date.”
I laughed. “Well, you should tell that to [insert reference here.]”
Mary Elizabeth laughed, too, but she quickly covered her mouth with her hand.
I looked at the cookies, pretending to examine them to find just the right one. When I looked back up, Mary Elizabeth had lowered her hand again and her mouth was back to it amused purse.
“So you’re dead, huh?” I said. “I never would have guessed. You look just as lively to me…” I lowered my voice, leaned in, and pointed. “…Wolf-girl over there. She is definitely alive. Let me tell you.” [Need more proof of that from the Wolf-girl date.]
Mary Elizabeth glanced at Wolf-girl, then looked back at me and grinned. “Well, she is cute,” she said.
I nodded. “Agreed. And Jodie, the vampire over there,” I pointed again, “She is just downright adorable. I went on a date with Mandy the mummy earlier. I wish I knew how to wrap linen’s like she does. Damn. Absolute skill, right there. And the lady from the Lagoon. Never before have I seen so many colors of green, and with such shine, too.” I reached across the table and took her hand in mine. “Not as lovely as the green in your skin, though.” I looked up at her through my lashes, and could tell that, had she not been dead, she would have been blushing. Nailed it.
The bell rang.
“You wanna go on a real date, Mary Elizabeth?” I asked.
She began gathering her coat, still holding onto my hand. “You’ll tell me your real name on the way, right?” She asked.
“Of course.” [Wow, okay, so I don’t have a back story for why the main character doesn’t tell anyone her real name. Maybe she’s a fairy? I don’t know. But as it stands, without having a reason to withhold her name, she comes across kind of sketchy. Come up with a valid reason for that, and make her seem more genuine, and I could have some decent Lesbian Monster Fluff. And what is with Wolf-girl? She is not meant to be a bad guy here. It’s reasonable to not trust someone giving a false name. Flesh her out. Also, don’t quite understand the main character’s personality, but once I understand her back story, I’m sure I’ll be able to revise that. Why does she choose Mary Elizabeth over all the other monster girls? None of them seemed particularly bad. Maybe Mary Elizabeth should be more confident, too. Why do the living and the dead never date? What’s that all about? Where is this story even going?]
I think maybe I should continue with this discovery writing, if only to get me started.