Food Fight Finale

This is how it began…

Mateo_01-1

THE DREADED INTENT

It was a lunch hour like any other at Bacon Elementary, when a chill ran up Mateo’s spine. His hair stood at attention down his bony arms. Cautiously he lifted his gaze, millimeter by millimeter. He dreaded the worst. And sure as a pop-tart is sugary, there she was, staring straight at him. Priscilla Weatherspoon – the meanest, leanest prankster this side of the Mississippi. Her eyes grew smaller as they locked onto his. Slowly, slowly but sure as a mosquito bite, she drew her chin towards her chest and that’s when Mateo saw The Intent, right there under her thick, dark caterpillar eyebrows knit between her tightly pulled braids. Those chesnut-brown peepers were. not. cute. He knew then and there. He had just become her business. It was a speck of a second, but felt like slow-motion sickness. As the sweat started to gather in his armpits, and a heat rose to his ears, he lowered his sandwich with his left hand as he went for the juice box with his right…

This is what happened next…

..hand, juice squelched right into meanie Priscilla’s sour face. SPLISH! Wiping sticky juice from her eyes, she fired back an apple and struck Mateo square on the noggin. She didn’t even need to aim! KATHUNK! It bounced off Mateo’s head, and hit Jamie Frank in the back, and rolled to the feet of the lunch lady! Jamie, picking up today’s special (meatball sandwich)… SPLIT, SPLOT, SPLAT meatballs fell from the soggy sandwich as Jamie catapulted the wet mess toward… Emily Krump PLOP the soggy sandwich landed across her forehead. Taking her pudding cup firmly in her hand she… launched the SQUISHY, QUIVERING treat across the table into Mateo’s no longer SQUEAKY lunch box. Mateo responded quickly by… slammed it down as hard as she could. SHKLAP chocolate rain came down on all the near by tables. Jamie slipped on the droplets sending… . . . placed the small spoon into the cup, tasted a bit of the chocolate glop and thinking, “Mm, this is good. Such a shame to waste it,” Emily picked up Andy’s applesauce instead, dumping it on top Jamie’s head SMOOSH! it drained down his face. Red applesauce faced, Jamie … grabbed up one of the meatballs rolling across the floor and flinged it at Priscilla’s ear. DONG! it rang as Priscilla paused to reach for more ammunition. jumped on top the table, ripped the top off his Hostess cupcakes, balled them tightly and aimed at the back of Mrs. Huntley’s three foot high beehive hair do. WHING, FLING, DING!…Contact! Mrs. Huntley turned… . . . around quickly to see who was responsible for such rude behavior in the lunchroom. As she made a pirouette, to reprimand the rascle, Mrs. Huntley’s now one foot beehive hair do, adorned with sticky chocolate crumbs and sweet vanilla goo wooshed about smacking Mr. Ham, the principal . . . in the face. WHACK! Mr. Ham hit the floor, dazed and sticky. Just then, Jamie, still oozing applesauce down his chin, slid into Mr. Ham, landing with an OOF! atop the heavy-set principal. Mr. Ham rolled Jamie off of his wide belly and said, . . . nothing anyone could understand because much like a roast pig (his namesake), his face was hot-red and one of the meatballs plugged his mouth. Sounding much like the adults in “Peanuts” animation, Mr. Ham yelled, “Mwooo mwamwamwamwa mwaw mweh?!” He then bit into the meatball and chewed. “Not bad,” he said, then ate the other half. “OK, WHO’S RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS CULINARY CARNAGE?” Mateo ducked out of sight, hoping he would not be blamed. It WAS Priscilla’s fault, after all. Then he saw the juice box, meant for him explode against Mr. Ham’s chest with a loud SPLORT! All heads swiveled accusingly to face Mateo. Mateo tried to quickly duck under the table but it was too late. A laughing Mr Ham grabbed the last remaining meatball and lobbed it across the room. KERPLUNK, SLURP, it hit Mateo in the forehead and SLITHERED… to the lunchroom floor. Oh, no! Mateo was out of ammunition! Then he spied Emily’s cup of lime jello, untouched. So far. Sliding across the table, Mateo grabbed it and SPLOOK! lobbed it at …into Priscilla’s outstretched hand. She closed her fist SQUISHing the meatball. “Hey, Mr. Ham. Why don’t you pick on someone your own size,” she yelled. “Besides it was Jamie Frank who started the whole thing.” Mateo’s mouth fell open… and so did Jamie’s. He remembered being hit by Priscilla’s apple. “NOT TRUE!” he yelled, as he tossed a handful of spaghetti BLORSH covering everyone between him and Priscilla. Which now included the Lunch Lady and the Custodian who were both SIZZLING mad. “Who’s going to clean up this mess?” BLURTED the Custodian as spaghetti streamed down his face.

And this is how it ended…

WWWOOIIIIEEEEEHHH! It was Mrs. Georgakis, the PE teacher, blowing on the trusty whistle hanging ’round her neck! The sudden silence was dizzying, but for the SLURPs, GOOPs and SPLATs as bits dripped down to the floor. Mrs. Georgakis stood measuring, feet apart, hands on her hips, as always. “Fourth graders to the left. Fifth graders to the right. Mr. Ellis, buckets and rags, please. We start work top to bottom,” she ordered. “Not a word.” And they didn’t dare.

Once the tables and benches, walls and floor were wiped, they marched solemnly, single file out to the playground. There were smiles of hope, because no one expected the hose-down. And. It. Was. Cold. The air was warm, but students stood like popsicles. They were meant to shake it off and dry out a bit before heading back to class, but moved like molasses straight from the fridge. Mateo felt a poke in his back. Yep. Priscilla Weatherspoon. “You may have had the first move today, but we have a whole school year ahead of us,” she muttered. He could feel her bitter breath on his neck. “Plenty of time. Plenty.”  GULP!

Priscilla Weather spoon_01-1

Thanks to all who participated: Catherine Johnson, daynesislendesign, Donna L. Sadd, Jacquesartandbooks, KidLitReviews, Lauri Meyers, Lee Braff, Louann Brown, Mary Flynn, Prairie Garden Girl, Sarah Maynard, Sue Poduska, thiskidreviewsbooks, and writersideup! Check out all the wrap ups on Marcie Colleen’s blog – HERE

The Dreaded Intent – Food Fight ’14

YAY!  The Write Routine’s Second Annual FOOD FIGHT! in celebration of World Read Aloud Day is here! The object is to write a story up to the moment when a food fight breaks out. And then stop. Then readers please do as Marcie asks, “Read the posted story and all of the comments that precede you. Then, post your comment. Be sure to build on and further the existing story. Your comment should flow. The story should read as if it was written by one person when read from beginning to end. 

ALSO, your comment needs to include at least one word of onomatopoeia and one thrown item of food. Your onomatopoeia must be a word that has not been used already in that story, as well. That’s right. Be creative. “

THE DREADED INTENT

It was a lunch hour like any other at Bacon Elementary, when a chill ran up Mateo’s spine. His hair stood at attention down his bony arms. Cautiously he lifted his gaze, millimeter by millimeter. He dreaded the worst. And sure as a pop-tart is sugary, there she was, staring straight at him. Priscilla Weatherspoon – the meanest, leanest prankster this side of the Mississippi. Her eyes grew smaller as they locked onto his. Slowly, slowly but sure as a mosquito bite, she drew her chin towards her chest and that’s when Mateo saw The Intent, right there under her thick, dark caterpillar eyebrows knit between her tightly pulled braids. Those chesnut-brown peepers were. not. cute. He knew then and there. He had just become her business. It was a speck of a second, but felt like slow-motion sickness. As the sweat started to gather in his armpits, and a heat rose to his ears, he lowered his sandwich with his left hand as he went for the juice box with his right…

Mateo_01-1

Food Fight Over, Out on the Plains!

Check out all the completed  Food Fight entries on Marcie Colleen’s blog, The Write Routine.

 Food Fight-sticker75%

Out on the plains, stranded in a sea of buffalo grass, lived a farmer and her husband. Running behind their house, was a skinny sliver of a river. The couple used its water to wet their throats and grow fruit and vegetables.

And grow they did! Strawberries and raspberries, brussel sprouts and broccoli, nectarines and tangerines, lettuces and radishes, cabbages, carrots, and more.

One night the wind rolled over the plains, and whistled through the keyhole. It rattled the windowpanes and tossed the couple in their bed, and robbed them of their sleep. The wind tossed the vegetables in their beds too, robbing their scent and sweeping it out over the plains.

The sun was high in the sky before it roused them. They had not heard the munching and crunching in the garden. The couple caught a glimpse of white tails squeezing out between the fence posts, and the sight in the garden knocked their sleeping caps clear off.

“Best to keep guard tonight, dear,” the farmer said to the husband. “We should work in shifts.”

The husband took the first shift. He sat smack in the middle of the tomato patch and waited. The first fuzzy fellow to peek his nose through the fence slats got what he was looking for – but not in his mouth!

SQWATSCH!

“Whoop! I got him,” cheered the husband.

But underneath all that tomato splatter the animal chewed.

CRUNCH MUNCH CRUNCH

Then SPIT! SPAT! Vegetable purée flew from the fuzzy fellow’s mouth and pegged…

the farmer’s husband SPLAT in the kisser.

He doubled over and crawled into the strawberry patch grabbing a fistful of strawberries SQUISH.

The juice dribbled down his shirt and jeans. He took aim at his target. SMASH! The farmer’s husband leaped with joy. “Got that dang varmint!”

SLURP, the critter licked his fur, swallowed and purred, which sent the husband into a dance of rage. The farmer rushed out of the farmhouse to find out what all the kerfuffle was about. Seeing her husband’s shirt soaked in red, she freaked and started lobbing cabbages like a pro footballer. KERPOW!

But the bunny was the head of the Fluffy Dodge Ball Team. He caught the cabbage and took a bite, staring down the farmer with menacing eyes. The farmer’s goat had wandered over now. He was the only one allowed to throw things at the farmer! He hoisted a pumpkin in his horns and chucked it at the bunnies. Poof! Orange fur balls flew in the air.

With a huge PLOP, those orange bunnies did drop, like harvest moons, into a pig’s trough of slop. They sputtered and bobbed, in the green, gooey glob, struggling to get back in the game.

But the pigs were fascinated as they nosed the rabbits down to watch them pop back up in the drink. “Corn cobs are what this stew needs,” said a pudgy pink porker as he scooped up cobs with his snout and SPLASHED them upon the bobbing bunnies.

But back into the game they got. Hiding behind a large pumpkin, the bunnies discussed their tactics. A full-court press was needed. On the count of three with carrots, tomatoes and peppers in hand, the bunnies jumped up and threw. A barrage of vegetables landed Kir-Plat, Splach, Swap on the farmer, her husband and the goat.

They fell backward into a recently upturned patch of earth where the onions grew. Hoping that cut onions would make those bunny eyes water, the Farmer and her husband spilt a few, CRUNCH, and swung them under the pumpkin leaves.

TUMBLE-TUMBLE, but the onions fell short, rolling under the pumpkin leaves. The EFFECT was different though! It worked like a gas bomb! The bunnies couldn’t see through their tears, so when the 3 small bunnies threw their food, it hit the BIGGEST bunny! THUNK! HUNK! TUNK! The Farmer and her husband cheered, sending more onions to get the job under control…

The bunnies retreated, temporarily stymied, but not defeated. UGH, groaned one. WAHH, cried the other. SHUSH, said the third. “It’s time to be smart,” he said. “Why don’t we lay a trap? We’re great diggers, so let’s dig a giant hole to lure them in, and then we’ll bombard them with their produce.”

“We know what to do,” one of the bunnies shouted. “Follow me.” He ran into the barn, jumped on the tractor and turned the key.

RRRRRUMMM, RRRRUUUUUMMMM, the engine roared as another bunny pressed the gas pedal.

A third bunny shifted the gears while the first bunny grabbed the steering wheel.

The farmer said, “Oh my.” The farmer’s wife said, “Golly.”

The bunnies drove the tractor out of the barn and drove it in circles digging a bigger and bigger hole.

But as too many cooks can spoil the broth, so can too many  bunnies driving a tractor spoil the fight! The tractor tipped, spilling out the critters in a pile of giggles. And  giggling is contagious. All the animals joined in, including the farmer and her husband. Bwahaha! Chortle! Hee, hee! Guffaw! Hackigigigi! Hyuk, ho, hoo! Snigger! Snort! Teehee!  They just couldn’t stay mad while  laughing so hard! The couple looked into each other’s eyes and they knew. It sure would be nice to laugh more often, so they decided to plant for themselves – and for their friends, and were no longer … stranded in a sea of buffalo grass!

Carrot

The alternating bold and regular fonts distinguish between the ‘throws’. The only changes made to the added comments were to keep the farmer’s ‘pants’ on the right spouse, because SHE is the farmer in this story!

Special thanks to all that read the story and threw hard: Susanna, Catherine, Jen, Penny, Donna, Heather, Patricia T., Joanna, Lauri, Patricia N., Gretchen, Sarah, Erik, Sylvia, Robb and Marcie – for bringing us all together in this fun-filled community building kerfuffle!

Food Fight: Out on the Plains

FFparticipantbadge300pHead over to Marcie Colleen’s blog, The Write Routine to read the rules – and join in the FUN! If you don’t have a blog, relax…your participation will be needed too. The more people slinging peas and flinging Jell-o the better. See step #3 on Marcie’s page.

If you liked to add to the story below, here’s what you do:
1. Read the posted story and all of the comments that precede you.
2. Post your comment.
3. Be sure to build on and further the existing story. Your comment should flow.
4. The story should read as if it was written by one person when read from beginning to end.
5. ALSO, your comment needs to include at least one word of onomatopoeia and one thrown item of food.

*note- Your onomatopoeia must be a word that has not been used already in that story.

You can add to my story below until March 8th:

Out on the plains, stranded in a sea of buffalo grass, lived a farmer and her husband. Running behind their house, was a skinny sliver of a river. The couple used its water to wet their throats and grow fruit and vegetables.

And grow they did! Strawberries and raspberries, brussel sprouts and broccoli, nectarines and tangerines, lettuces and radishes, cabbages, carrots, and more.

One night the wind rolled over the plains, and whistled through the keyhole. It rattled the windowpanes and tossed the couple in their bed, enough to rob them of sleep. The wind tossed the vegetables in their beds too, robbing the scent and sweeping it out over the plains.

The sun was high in the sky before it roused them. They had not heard the munching and crunching in the garden. The couple caught a glimpse of white tails squeezing out between the fence posts, and the sight in the garden knocked their sleeping caps clear off.

“Best to keep guard tonight, dear,” the farmer said to the husband. “We should work in shifts.”

The husband took the first shift. He sat smack in the middle of the tomato patch and waited. The first fuzzy fellow to peek his nose through the fence slats got what he was looking for – but not in his mouth!

SQWATSCH!

Days Ten, Eleven, Twelve: Share, Declutter and Provoke

Day Ten Jeff Goins told us to share others’ work, and fellow 15 Habits of Great Writers participant Marcie Colleen invites us to do so with a blink: blog about a writer we admire, and to post the link on her’s. I have chosen to put a spotlight on the work of Jon Agee (pronounced ay-gee).

Listen to Jon Agee read from Terrific

He has been making picture books for 30 years now, but I only just ‘met’ him this past year. When I  felt like I had read most of the picture books on the NEW! shelf (and thought it was about time to give the other kids a better chance at the suggested reading section) I decided to attack the library’s collection more efficiently and rummage through shelves for titles I haven’t read, starting with Section A. One per author was a good way to tackle it, and that’s when I found The Retired Kid (Hyperion,2008). How could I go wrong with a title like that!

Since then I have read all the other Agee titles my library district owns, and some from other connected libraries.

Now I’ll tell you why: it’s simple – they are funny. Lough-out-loud funny. Seriously funny. And his art is wonderful: simple, straightforward and delightful. Agee is a master of pure-form cartoon and composition. I hope you enjoy discovering these books as much as I still do.

Day Eleven: Goins reminds us to declutter, first our workspace, then our writing. “Eliminate weak, lazy words like “that” and “things” and anything you don’t absolutely need. Then say what you have to say and be done with it.” But this holds no dread for me as I love to put things in order, straighten and tidy (some friends might whisper OCD). I pick up on a hung picture askew like a dog notes eau de fox. A-hunting I will go!

And provoke: here I will link you to an interview with Laura Smith on the patientdreamer.com which captures the essence of Goins’ advice on why we need art.