Friday, April 16, 2021

Digestive Disturbia

Today’s post is a writing challenge. This is how it works: participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once and all the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.

My words are:

jam ~ honey ~ biscuits ~ flour ~ constipation

It was submitted by:

I haven't been able to write fiction since I had covid, and I know this isn't my best, but I needed to stretch those muscles.

"we're gonna jam, honey!"

Lita heard those words followed by what sounded like a crowd cheering, but it was coming from the kitchen, and there was no way a crowd could fit in the tiny kitchen in her apartment. She couldn't even put a whole grown ass refrigerator in there. If she had someone over for dinner, the guest had to stand outside the kitchen door or risk making the whole pantry shelf fall over if they passed one another. What the hell?

She made her way towards the kitchen then with her I Listen to Serial Killer Podcasts to Fall Asleep ass, but somewhere halfway there or abouts, something resembling sense kicked in.

Why the fuck am I not afraid? she wondered Like I'm hearing voices from my kitchen right now so why am I not afraid? Should I go back to my room for a weapon?

It was too late for that. She was already at the door. It made a sound like a swamp banshee when she pushed it making her wince. There was no sneaking up on whatever's going on unfortunately.

She heard whispering behind the door and what sounded like dozens of tiny sneakers squealing on the floor as she stuck her head in and turned on the light while yelling "HEY BEAR" like she learned to do on that one hike she did last year in case she happened to see a bear on the trail like she wouldn't just piss herself and play dead. Or actually die trying to pet it. She hadn't been on another hike after that. It wasn't the feel good take some mushrooms and see nature kind of time that she had hoped for. Thinking about a bear attack on mushrooms is not something she'd recommend to anyone. Ever. Anyway...


She took a quick look around the room in the not great glow of the overhead lights...still nothing. Oh well maybe she was a little more high from that edible she took than she thought. Probably be best to get herself back in bed and finish up that podcast episode she'd been listening to about Herb Baurmeister. That had to be it. A John Wayne Gacy killer and the thc? Maybe it wasn't the best combination for keeping her imagination from running wild.

Two seconds maybe after she clicked the light off and shut the door behind herself, she heard, "yo we need to get the biscuit recipe and flour we came for. Ain't no time for jammin' tonight." It was clear and distinct and had that tinny quality of a cartoon bee or maybe the chipmunks.

Ok cartoons?? She had to be having some kind of...was the weed laced or something?

She heard the cabinets open and close, some dragging, some shushing... She raced back to the door and flicked the lights on again.


For a moment she considered some kind of mental break, but Lita had never suffered so much as constipation. She was healthy as fuck. She'd never really had depression, anxiety, or even had a panic attack. Her eyebrows furrowed. Her mind raced. What the hell was going on?

She walked out, shut the door, heard the noises, then looked back in 3 more times like she was in some old cartoon, Scooby hiding from The Wolfman without the groovy soundtrack or sandwich ingredients. She felt like she'd lost all touch with reality. The room got a little brighter, a little more vibrant each time she looked in.

Somewhere in the house her phone started ringing and ringing and ringing. It sounded urgent, the trill of the ring and the buzz of the vibration getting louder and louder and more impatient. She ran down a hallway that seemed much longer than what it had been, barreled into her room, and fumbled with the phone...

She woke up covered in sweat, heart racing. She glanced down at the phone while she tried to catch her breath. 1 missed call. Mom. When she reached down to grab the phone and call back, she stopped and shook her head.

She still had half a biscuit and some jam from earlier sitting on the table.

Note to self she thought as she hit the button to call her mom. No more pre-nap snacks ESPECIALLY biscuits.

Here are the links to the rest of the posts!

Baking In A Tornado

On the Border

Wandering Web Designer

Part-time Working Hockey Mom

What TF Sarah


  1. Love that you're dipping your toe back into fiction, and this story made me smile!

  2. Well done, Jenniy! Yep. Biscuits and jam definitely have that effect on me! ;)

  3. I would say you more than stretched them! That was terrific! I loved it!