For Task 2 of @steemfluencer's 2nd Creative Writing Challenge, we were assigned these parameters:
Using the phrases below, try to build a short fictional story. There are few notes that [look like this].
Two Monks with Spunk
“Jumpin’ Jehoshaphat! I’m late!” exclaimed the old man who had just recently began nodding off in the library. Joey wiped a line of dribble from the corner of his mouth as he looked around, hoping no one noticed his little spontaneous nap. He’d never live it down if one of the young’uns witnessed that slight indiscretion.
He tucked away his quill and ink in a small bag as the 94 year-old sighed, “It stinks gettin’ old,”carefully closing the large tome before him, loving the sound of the little creak the binding makes. “Well, at least not everything old is worthless,” he said fondly as he hefted the book and his lantern, heading for the doorway at the far end of the room.
The library was empty for the most part, except for the few monks that took their studies seriously. Most of them couldn’t be bothered with noticing a tottering old monk going about his insignificant business. After all, what good is a scribe whose hand shakes so badly he can no longer write legibly? Joey knew the acolytes all grumbled behind his back - he was old, but his hearing was sharp as the day he was born. He heard it all, but pretended not to, and stored the information away for later use. Joey usually got his revenge on the little whippersnappers and usually get away with it.
“I guess there are some advantages to being old,” he chuckled to himself as he heaved the oak door shut and shuffled down the hall, hunched over his tome and with his lantern held out before him.
He hoped that Tom wasn’t upset. He wasn’t late all the time, but he knew how much punctuality meant to Tom. Which is why he was only late some of the time. What kind of friend would he be if he didn’t test the boundaries a bit? Certainly not his best friend, and that’s what he was.
Joey and Tom had been novices at the monastery at Fontevraud at the same time, both being the 3rd and 4th sons respectively of the rising middle class merchants in France. Having nothing better to do with them, their families sent them to learn to use their gift with numbers. Joey, while being gifted with being able to do complex calculations in his head, could not compare to Tom’s propose in accounting. Tom was still considered the smartest accountant in the Abbey, in spite of turning 95 years old this winter.
Having seniority, the two friends weren’t assigned the mundane tasks of accounting and inventory for the monastery, but more ambitious projects like how to cut costs and make the most out of the funds received from mass and from the Roman Catholic church to give aid to the townspeople that relied upon charity.
It was always exciting to find new extravagances that the younger monks would take…perhaps an extra ration of beer here and there, or too fine a robe and sandals for a humble monk. And they had the power to make them sell those items back for more humble replacements, or work extra hours to make up for expenses.
Today, Tom and Joey had plans to announce a reworking of the entire budget for the Abbey which would finally get them out of the red. It was the pinnacle of their work together - their legacy for future generations.
Joey reached the doorway at the far end of the hall at long last, and gently knocked, bracing himself for the anticipated berating for tardiness. No answer…odd. His heart skipped a beat, almost afraid to even think what could be the reason for the silence. He knocked again more insistently. Tom was older, sure, but he wasn’t supposed to go first! They had discussed this and even planned out the details of who would take on the different tasks when they passed from this world.
“This can’t be happening!” Joey whispers as he gathered enough gumption to open the door. His hand rested on the doorknob as he took in a deep breath, then without further preamble he swung open the door, letting it crash loudly against the bookshelf behind it.
Joey regarded Tom’s form, slouched in his chair, but at the sound of the crashing door, Tom let out a big SNORT and jolted awake.
“Gadzooks, man, have you finally lost your marbles?!?” bellowed the startled Tom as he attempted to stand, his knees creaking not unlike the old book in Joey’s hand.
Joey simply offered Tom a wide grin, slamming down his book on the desk in front of Tom and pulling up a chair.
“You’re late,” chided Joey as he pulled up a chair and set down his quill and ink.
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