Snickers, Dogs, and Grupp

Today’s writing prompt: The story must have an ogre at the beginning. The story must have a dart appear in the middle. The story must involve a bench in it.

I was sitting on the bench at my bus stop. A man that must have been seven feet tall and three feet wide sat down next I was sitting on the bench at my bus stop with my purse in my lap and my folded hands resting on it. My ankles were crossed and my skirt properly adjusted. A man that must have been seven feet tall and three feet wide sat down next to me. He was so hairy, his earlobes had hair!

He wore a sweatshirt and sweatpants. The shirt came to his forearms and the pants were just below his knees. The only reason I knew he wore flip-flops was because I could see the strap across the top of his foot. The rest was eclipsed by his gigantic foot. The bench groaned under his weight. As unusual as this was, I didn’t mind it.

However, he smelled like a trash can full of moldy bananas. That I minded. I held my nose and wondered if I should stand upwind.

“Ogres are not respected,” he said.

I nodded, trying not to breath. There was the delicate undertone of rotten jalapenos.

“Look at me! I don’t know why I let them talk me into wearing these clothes. I’d be better off without them!”

He stood and I jumped up in alarm. “Please don’t remove them!”

White teeth appeared in his bearded face. I stared because he had three-inch fangs on his lower jaw. “A might shy are ye?” he said, winking at me.

“Terrified,” I said, trembling.

“Oh, Ogres don’t eat people. Usually.”

“What do you eat?”

“Venison. Got any?”


A dart thumped into his chest. He looked at it. It looked like a syringe. Was it a tranq dart?

He plucked it out with two fingers. It looked like toy in his hand.

“Too bad. I’m hungry,” he said, forgetting about the dart and dropping it.

I took a Snickers out of my purse. My hand shook as I handed it to him. It was the the jumbo size. I like Snickers.

I looked across the street where the dart had come from. There were police hiding behind parked cars.

He sniffed it and his eyes widened. The whole bar went up to his mouth.

“No!” I shouted. “Unwrap it first, you…”

“… stupid ogre.”

“That wasn’t very nice of me.”

“But it’s true. Ogres are a dumb lot. I jumped into the dark hole because it was there. I see now that was a really dumb idea.”

He held the Snickers out to me and I unwrapped it and handed it back. The whole bar went into his mouth. It wasn’t unmannerly. He was big and that bar was bite-size for him. He chewed and his eyes rolled back in his head and he mumbled “Mmmm” a lot.

He took my purse. “Oh!” I said as it vanished from my hands.

“Any more in your tiny bag, Nice Lady?”


“What’s this?” he said, popping the travel-size hand-sanitizer into his mouth. He crunched it and swallowed. “Don’t much like the shell. Inside is a bit tingly.”

He stuck his watermelon-sized nose into my purse and inhaled. I was worried my wallet was going to get stuck in his nostril.

He dropped my purse on the ground and put his nose in the air. “What’s that?”

I looked around. The street was empty. The police had closed it off. In the line of cars at one end was a food truck. “Coney dogs,” I said.

He walked toward the truck.

“Mr. Ogre,” I called after him.

He turned and looked at me. “I’m no mister. Just Grupp.”

“Ah, Grupp, I know you’re hungry, but maybe I should get you the coney dogs.”

“Naw, I can… Am I being a dumb ogre?”

“Well, anyone is likely to make a mistake when they’re hungry.”

Police were on both sides of the street now. They were planning something and I didn’t want Grupp to get hurt. Could he get hurt?

I walked past him and a hole opened in the street. I was in midstep and my right foot came down on nothing. I pitched forward. As I fell I heard Grupp yell, “Nice Lady!”

I smelled Grupp in the dark and then felt a hand the size of a large frying pan wrap around my waist. “You’re not supposed to jump into dark holes, Nice Lady.”


Home again, home again…

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