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You've Got a Date with Destiny (and with Me, the Fastest Pancake Eater in the West)

You've Got a Date with Destiny (and with Me, the Fastest Pancake Eater in the West)

ATTENTION, BUTTS: I hereby challenge each and every one of you to a PANCAKE-EATING CONTEST BATTLE ROYALE SUDDEN DEATH MATCH. It will commence tomorrow at dawn. Bring your own utensils. And your own pancakes. Also, a bucket for barfing. And lastly, a you-sized coffin.

Now that that's out of the way, let's celebrate all the riotously well-written responses to last week's uber-challenging prompt!

Sparklers' Choice (with 7 votes): haha<3! This seems like the perfect first page for a novel that we would TOTALLY read.

I remembered the good old days, when flying buses were exciting. Now I don't even bother to look out the window. I know the whole route by heart.
I climb on wearily, taking a window seat and get ready to stretch out. I move to put my bag on the seat beside me, but a squeaky voice chirps out.
"Wait, can I sit here?" I look up at the boy, he's short with thick glasses. Honestly, my only thought is of a hipster Urkel. He's shaking, and as much as I want to stuff my headphones in my ears and stare at the floor, I take pity on him.
"Sure. Of course." I move my bag, and he sits. He tries not to touch me, but I can feel his twitches against the bus seat bench. "Are you alright?"
"Yes, yes, just terribly afraid of heights." His voice has gotten squeakier. "And this is my first time on this bus." He drops to a whisper. "Someone told me we pass over the Bermuda triangle."
"Uh, yeah, we do. It's no big deal. A couple hundred years ago people thought it was some big deal and that people mysteriously died, but no one believes that anymore."
"I kinda do." he fiddles with the straps of the backpack sitting on his lap.
"Maybe you would like a distraction? Like reading?” I plunge my hand into my own bag, and pull of my well-worn copy of Quidditch Weekly. “This was a great read. Told you all about the World Cup, and some secrets about the teams. You can even keep it.” I had at least four more at home, one of which was framed and hanging above my bed.
“No, no, reading while moving makes me ill.” But then his eyes lit up. “But I can get a quick fix before we start moving. I can’t eat while moving, either.” He opens his bag, and I stare at in surprise. It’s filled to the brim with full sized Snicker bars.
“They make me feel better.” He gazes at them, identical and snuggled in like kittens. He runs his fingers over them and chooses one, no, another. I feel disturbed as I watch him unwrap it slowly, eyes moving up and down it.
Suddenly, watching the view out of the bus seems like the best idea I’ve ever had.

Dagger's Choice: a-shy-purple-platypus! My new favorite insult = "You mealy-stomached waffle-eater."

Lasers were shooting out of my eyes.
Well, not literally. But pretty darn close, because I have a killer (no pun intended) glare, and I was directing it full force at the man across the isle of the bus. As my fury heated the air like the burner under a skillet, the man turned, utterly baffled. Only for a moment. Then he spotted the badge I wore on my poncho. Comprehension dawned on his face as he took in the irregular circle shape, the golden brown color…
“So this is what it’s come to,” he whispered, his voice hissing like butter on a griddle. Suddenly I found myself engaged in a full-out eye battle as he glared back at me. He straightened his own badge.
“You think you can beat me in the noble sport of pancake eating?” I roared. The old lady next to me gasped as I whipped out my McJammer 26-Chromosome Turbo Spatula (2010 edition). “You’re as slow as refrigerated molasses!”
“Me? Ha! HaHA!” he laughed, louder than my iPod when I turn it up to jam out to my favorite song (it goes ‘do you like pancakes? Yeah we like pancakes!’) “If you beat me at this divine challenge of pancake supremacy, I shall let you break my leg with my own spatula!” As he drew forth his Flippinator Sensitivity 4000, the old lady whimpered, shielding herself with a fan made of the wrappers of seven Snickers bars.
We both turned to her, our scowls of indignance at her traitorous tastes cutting her like a table knife through a perfectly cooked flapjack.

Forty-five minutes later:
“I have to admit, I’m as jealous of your trophy as a five year old with broccoli is of a kid with crepes for breakfast,” my one-time opponent conceded.
“Hand over the weapon, you mealy-stomached waffle-eater,” I gloated. Suddenly the atmosphere became as thick as syrup with his discontent. The bus swayed as we turned onto Alpaca Avenue, which cuts into the 5,000 foot tall Alpaca Cliff.
“I utterly loathe you,” he muttered, his voice grinding the way it would if you put sand in your pancakes.
I seized the spatula, nodded at the old lady to open the window, and batted my once-adversary out over the edge of Alpaca Cliff, watching him soar gracefully down, like a flapjack being tossed in the air to be flipped.
He broke his leg.

Dagger's Runners-up:

I'd Rather Be in Dublin

A hearty congratulations (and an even heartier heaping of assorted breakfast foods) to all of you! Now put down those sausage links and get cracking on this week's prompt:

Write the funniest, most heartbreaking, or most fascinating "Wanted" ad you can imagine; it can be for/from the perspective of anyone or anything you can think of (feel free to be totally ridiculous).

Related post: Writer War Archives

Topics: Books, Life
Tags: writing, fiction, short stories, sparkler fiction, writer wars

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About the Author
Chelsea Dagger

Since 2010, Chelsea Dagger (known in real life as Chelsea Aaron) has been SparkLife's sweatiest editor. She's currently working on a how-to-kiss guide for teens, and when she's not conducting smooch-related research on her life-size Joseph Gordon-Levitt cardboard cutout, she's eating pancakes, stocking up on industrial-strength deodorant, and destroying everyone at Harry Potter trivia. (EXPECTO PATRONUM!)

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