To kick off @steemfluencer's Second Writing Challenge, we were given this:
Tony is a writer. He lives not far from the local Walmart. Once he was walking in the nearby park when he met his brother Jack. Jack complained that he had forgotten to buy a present for his wife and that day was their anniversary. Jacked asked his brother to go to Walmart and buy some food so that he could get back home to tidy the place and start preparing for his wife's arrival. He decided to cook dinner and the only chance for him to finish on time is to delegate the shopping to his brother. The shopping list was so huge that he had nothing else to do but to create a story so that all the items were combined all together and could be easily memorized.
The shopping list is:Bananas Tomatoes White wine Gone with the Wind - book Greek yogurt Coke Oranges A tasty bone for Charlie (the family's dog)
Your task is to help Tony create the story.
Produce Productions Presents a Premier Performance
“Alright, everybody, listen up!” exclaims the portly tomato with the clipboard and pen at work, as if he’s writing and speaking at the same time. “We’ve got a lot of auditions to go through and not much time, so we thank you in advance for you cooperation.”
A soft din envelopes the room as food items murmur to one another in nervous anticipation of auditioning for the Produce Production’s premier performance of “Gone With the Wind.” Never before has such a monumentous production been put forth, calling from all aisles of the Downtown Grocery Store. This is every aspiring food’s chance to hit the big shelf, and they all know it.
The tomato leers at all of those who are still busy whispering to their neighbors in nervous chatter until they notice his red-eyed glare, then suddenly settle down.
When the tomato finally has everyone’s attention, he waits another moment to build up the tension - he, too, has a flare for the dramatic, in spite of being a secretary.
“We will begin with auditions for Scarlett O’Hara, followed by auditions for Rhett Butler, and finally auditions for the servant, Prissy.” The tomato reads from his list and checks off each item as he announces them. He then peers over his wire-rimmed glasses, “Any questions?” He looks around the room disapprovingly, as if to imply there really shouldn’t be any questions at all.
“Yes, I have one,” says a sultry banana at the front of the group as she adjusts her peel seductively. “What’s your name, big boy?”
The tomato consults his clipboard, and not finding his answer there fidgets a bit with his pen and then stammers, “Some call me…Tim?” He regards her questioningly and almost gives an audible sigh of relief when the banana responds with a smile and a wink.
Tim clears his throat with a rather seedy grin on his face and raises his voice, “We will begin with Ms. Babs Foster.” He looks around as if searching for the auditioner, who everyone else knows is the banana.
The remaining auditioners convene to their own little worlds as Babs climbs the stage and manages to lose a little more peel on her way up the stairs. “Oh my!” she exclaims with an exaggerated southern Belle accent and a half-attempt at covering up as she saunters to center stage.
“Great balls of fire. Don't bother me anymore. And don't call me Sugar!" Babs tosses her pale yellow hair as she delivers the first line.
“She’s pretty good…for a former stripper,” sloshes a glass of white wine as he sidles up to the Coke bottle. He appears to be a bit tipsy and leans up against the Coke bottle to right himself.
The Coke fizzles a bit at the jostling, “Oh…my…gosh….are you serious?? Why would they ever consider someone like that? Like, she’s totally a LOSER. She couldn’t possibly pull off Scarlett!”
“Oh, that’s SO true - I’ve seen the bunch she hangs around with,” splatters the glass of wine, who manages to spill over a bit onto the Coke’s dress.
“Ew! You like, ruined my dress! Now I smell like a wino!” yells the Coke bottle in a huff, bubbling over in frustration as she wipes at the wine stains. She globules in frustration and foams off in search of a bathroom.
The wine glass just chuckles to himself, hiccups, and manages to sop the nearby tomato. “That’s it!! Get out!!” squishes Tim the tomato, and jostles the drunkard out to the street, causing the wine to emit a fine spray over all auditioners in his path before being overturned like a bailing bucket in a boat.
Meanwhile, over in the corner huddles the Orange, a very unassuming fruit who in zesty tones squirts, “I don't know nothin' 'bout birthin' babies!…I don’t know nothin' 'bout birthin' babies!…I don’t know nothin' 'bout birthin' babies!…”
“NEXT!!” splats the Director Danny Oikos, a famous Greek actor known for his vanilla delivery of Shakespeare in the remote dairy section.
Ms. Orange presses on for one last attempt, “I don’t know nothin’ 'bout birthin' babies!” She pulps a fist, “Yes! That’s it!”
Director Oikos gives Ms. Orange a milky stare as she courageously rolls on stage and delivers her line.
“I don’t know nothin’ 'bout birthin' babies!” she spurts out before barely reaching center stage, her voice resonating into the corners of the vast hall.
“Well, Miss…” Director Oikos checks his list again, “Orahnge,” he says with a fake accent, “Am I pronouncing that right? Yes. Thank you.”
“NEXT!!”
When no one is forthcoming and the room is silent, Mr. Oikos turns to Tim questioningly, “Where is Mr. Blanc? I was told he was auditioning for the role of Rhett Butler?” Tim just shakes his head and shrugs bulbously, heaving a sigh as his response.
“Well, I guess that leaves…” Mr. Oikos consults his paper once more, sloshing slightly at the name written there. “Mr….Doggie Bone??”
Mr. Oikos looks around wetly surveying the remaining auditioners.
A lonely dog bone plunks forth, prodding up the steps in a slow, methodical march evoking a funeral dirge. The room becomes suddenly silent, both horrified and mystified by the lonely plunks of the bone on the stage steps, unable to turn their gaze away yet wanting nothing more than to run for the door in panic.
Mr. Oikos contemplates the Doggie Bone with no more than a bland, lacteous stare, however. He’s seen this kind of actor before. Always wanting to make a big statement. He can handle this.
“Well, Mr…. Doggie, if I may call you that,” and his tone says he will absolutely do that regardless, “you may begin when ready.”
The Doggie Bone stands erect, almost in a rictus stance at center stage, opens his mouth, inhales a rattly breath and rends the air with a simple, clear, “WOOF!”
Everyone holds their breath for a moment, not sure of what they just heard. Certainly a doggie bone from the depths of the pet aisle couldn’t possibly play the role of Rhett Butler. And yet, their mouths are agape at the ringing tone of his simple, yet effective, interpretation of the role.
Suddenly the room breaks out in applause and exclamations of wonder! Never before had such a bold take on Rhett Butler been heard. This premier will be an historical production! The room is bubbly with excitement until a loud, clear voice in a southern genteel breaks through.
“Oh, but how could I ever play a part with a Doggie Bone as a leading man?” The word “man” coming out as two syllables, “may-un. “Why, I reckon he can’t even say anything more than, “Woof!” if he tried!” Babs split out.
Mr. Oikos finally sets down his pen and glares over at Babs. “Frankly, darlin’,” he says in his best southern drawl, “I don’t give a damn.”
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