#152 My St. Patrick's Day Story (A Challenge!)

I wrote this little ditty for a writer's party on St. Patrick's Day, and I challenged myself by using every prompt given!  Best of the Irish to you!

Transcript

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Welcome to the Lucidas podcast where I explore everything because I believe everything is connected to everything else. I also believe in the infinite unbounded potential within it within each of us. And if it's infinite, well then it probably is worth exploring. So here we go. Today I'd like to share you. This is my St. Patrick's Day a little early, my St. Patrick's Day gift to you. We'll see how it goes. So I'm invited to go to a St. Patrick's Day writer's little party. And I was given in the invitation, the invitation always includes a few prompts. And she says, Hey, if you want to, if you want a prompt, here's a prompt. Feel free to use it or not. But in this one, she said something interesting. She did say, she said, I would love it if you used a prompt. And I thought, okay, I'm going to use all of them. I'm going to use all of them. So I'm going to read you. I thought about if I should read you the story I wrote. I didn't put a lot of time into this, maybe 20 minutes. So this is for fun. I think I'd like to read the prompts first so you hear them. And then I will read the story I wrote. Okay. Here are the prompts that I was given. I got lucky once when. The only thing that remained was a Doda ring stuck to the bottom of her empty Lucky Charms cereal box. St. Patrick's Day always reminds me of. Whatever it was, it was green, shamrock green. Ryan Murphy had punched him one oh had pinched him one too many times. Pinched. The blanket of dew shone bright and proud as a bride's veil laid thick across the heathered hillside. Seema stuck the four leaf clover in his underwear drawer right between his rabbit foot and his Saint Christopher medal. At least the ground had warmed early enough that spring to place Fiona Ferguson's remains into her grave before a stench could arise. As his eyes focused, he could just make out the paltry remains of the litter oh of the leader of Jameson, with which he became familiar the evening before. Leprechauns are not just hooligans up to shenanigans. Mrs. O'Malley fussed over the corned beef and cabbage, but it was too late. Disaster had struck. When Irish eyes are smiling, watch out. Okay, so I thought it would just be way too much fun to put all of those in a short story. It has to be less than a thousand words. I haven't even checked how many words are in here, and it has to be less than five minutes. So I honestly haven't even timed this or checked to see if it's within that limit, but I'm pretty sure it is. I'm pretty sure it is. Okay, here's the story I wrote. It's called Once. I got lucky once when Seamus stuck the four leaf clover in his underwear drawer, right between his rabbit foot and his Saint Christopher metal. I knew I was about to get lucky because that little tickle came deep into my belly, and it always tells me when luck is coming my way. So I didn't stress out, I just lounged back on his bed, admiring a physique that looked like it strode off a Viking longship. There were muscles on that body I didn't know existed, and the ones I did, well, they were well endowed. I gazed between him and the morning outside. A blanket of dew shone bright. It was as proud as a bride's veil laid thick across the heathered hillside, and oh did I want to be his bride this morning? So much that I literally cooed as he turned to look at me. I mean, when Irish eyes are smiling, watch out. But just then a holler from down the stairs caught us both off guard. We knew the voice, it belonged to Fiona, but what she was saying we couldn't tell. It was probably the usual fussing over her leprechauns and fairies. She was always stabbing her long finger at one of us. Leprechauns are not just hooligans up to shenanigans. They're mighty powerful, can protect ya. We were used to Fiona ranting. This were this was her home. The Viking man, who was soon to be my leprechaun, simply rented a room from her. So what caught us off guard wasn't her hollering, but that she was up so early. And then I remembered it's her favorite holiday. Not mine though, Saint Patrick's Day always reminds me of the last time I saw my dad. I stood there and watched as his eyes focused. He could just make out the paltry remains of the leader of Jameson, with which he'd become familiar the evening before, and I'm pretty sure he also saw me walk out the door. I watched as the Viking man scratched awkwardly below the waist and felt my luck fade. He wasn't very viking when Fiona ranted. It made him nervous, made him remember his old school days. I guess Ryan Murphy had pinched him one too many times, so that now he got itchy when someone was in a mood. I sighed and stood up, pulled on my running clothes and figured I might as well spend some of this energy on a run, and a good long one. When I returned it was time for grandma's house, which I had also forgotten. Viking man loved his grandmother, which was fine, but eating there was not. It was always the same. We sat and watched while misses O'Malley fussed over the corned beef and cabbage, but it was too late. Disaster had struck. Whatever it was, it was green, shamrock green, and no one dared touch it. So we all headed to town for a cold pint and stew. It was late when we dropped off grandma and drove back to Viking Man's rental. I checked to see if my luck was still there, and yes, the little tickle in my belly remained. I was as hopeful as any four leaf clover. I hoped Fiona was in bed, and we soon would be too. Viking man cautiously opened the door and we tiptoed through the kitchen, but then he grunted and pointed down. I gasped at the sight. Fiona was lying on the floor, clutching a box to her chest. We knelt. We looked, just looked. There was no need to touch. She was gone, probably with the leprechauns. I carefully pried the box from her grasp. Of course she would die clutching this. The only thing that remained was a decoder ring stuck to the bottom of her empty lucky charm cereal box. Leprechauns are not just hooligans up to shenanigans, I could hear her say. But it looked to me like they had been up to shenanigans tonight. And that's when I recalled the lucky tickle in my belly. It started when Sima stuck the four leaf clover in his underwear drawer. I thought he was my luck. But now I realized it was the soft morning dew, reminding me that at least the ground had warmed early enough that spring to place Fiona Ferguson's remains into her grave before a stench could rise. Anyway, there you go. That is my St. Patrick's Day gift to you. And just kind of fun to take all those crazy prompts and put them into a story. And I hope you all have a lovely leprechaun, lucky, maybe a teeny little pinch uh day.