Writing Prompt: The raw, nervous energy served as a massive stimulant.

Morning all. I hope your week has gone well.Mine was actually pretty good. Currently my head is stopped up due to weather changes so probably not a high note, but otherwise it hs been a pretty good week. I think I might have finally wrangled my schedule back into something approaching normal. which is a really good feeling. Now if only the sinus meds would kick in. Until then, lets go with the morning writing prompt. Pens at the ready? Excellent.

Okay today, I sort of went with Bob. That wasn’t my initial intention, but Bob and the slug monsters have apparently been quiet too long. I really need to work on actually writing that story.

Friday, February 12th: The raw, nervous energy served as a massive stimulant.

The raw, nervous energy served as a massive stimulant.  It jittered and bounced through his veins.  Bob felt unable to keep still.  He tapped his foot trying to keep time with the music in his head.  The only problem was that the song kept changing.  It felt as though a dozen radio stations were jumping around in his brain trying to gain control of the frequency. 

In front of him Eddie stood.  His eyes were wide and a spot of blood seeped through the whit bandages on his head.  Bob was still amazed the branch hadn’t taken Eddie’s head clean off when it smacked into him.  Despite claiming he was fine, Eddie pulled his injured arm close, like a fretful baby.  The sling was keeping it as immobile as they could manage but supplies were scarce and no one nearby had much medical training.  Eddie said it wasn’t broken, but bob had his doubts. 

As Eddie stood there he repeated any strategic advice he could think of.  All of it bob heard before.  Several times before.  Eddie felt that as the only one with any sort of military experience, he should be the one sneaking into the Bowl-a-Rama to do reconnaissance. The fact that his head wound occasionally made him see double and he let out a sharp his of pain if he walked across the room too fast meant that as much as Bob would like to send him in, it wasn’t an option. 

While Bob pretended to listen to the repeated strategic advice of Eddie, in the background the three old ladies twittered as they set about equipping him for the fight ahead.  Bob’s plan was to go in, see what was what and if there was a possible way around the situation without any form of confrontation, but everyone else seemed intent on equipping him for battle. 

As they crossed town they found out that like regular slugs, the alien slug monsters couldn’t handle an overabundance of salt.  Since it appeared to be one of their few weaknesses, those who optimistically thought of themselves as Bob’s team, were trying to turn this knowledge to his advantage.  Bob flicked his eyes away from Eddie for a second, taking in Mrs. Kirkpatrick’s salt and pepper shaker collection.  Acquired over more than fifty years and lord only knew how many states and countries, there were shelves upon shelves of them lining the walls.  Each shelf was packed three shakers deep so Bob couldn’t even see the ones in the back.  The ones he could see were interesting in their own way, but he wasn’t entirely certain how useful they would be if he had to use them for defense. 

He pictured himself shaking the salt shaker on the twenty foot slug as it towered over him and decided that perhaps a grenade style launching might be in his best interest.  He was certain that many of the ceramic pieces were delicate enough to shatter on impact.  Many of them showed signs of previous damage and lines across their designs where glue was used for repair.  He looked over to Mrs. Kirkpatrick where she was arguing with Mrs. Simmons over what appeared to be a yellow ceramic banana wearing a hula skirt and coconut bra. He suspected telling Mrs. Kirkpatrick his detonation plan would not go over well and decided to keep it to himself. 

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