On one hand, waking to the sound of an alarm, the first thought was to make sure everyone was safe. On the other hand, the attempts to round up and evacuate those in the house were met with some degree of resistance. It was then that the source of the alarm was discovered. The coffee machine had somehow figured out how to copy the screech of the smoke detector. There it was screeching like a banshee. One touch of the trouble button disclosed the reason. The water level was low. Filling the reservoir caused the alarm to come to a sputtering halt. The halt acted like a signal for the two Baskerville hounds to cease their protestations.
Pressing the two coffee button soon gave me the liquid soothin’ syrup that promised to quell the hammer on anvil chorus that was playing in my head. After the third sip, another chorus joined the cacophony. It was the Westminster chime routine of the doorbell touching off another round of the Bark-You-to-St. Louis symphony. Throwing two stuffed toys into the soundproof room and slamming the door after the eager fetch-it twins brought peace back to the valley.
Checking the security monitor, all that was visible was the blurred outline of something running in a circle. The “Who’s there?” challenge was answered with a “beep beep.” Knowing further communication was futile, the security system shutdown began.
The SWAT team needs to be put on standby. A quick text to the leader confirms that status. Also, the flight of A-10 Warthogs must be diverted. Another call to the commander puts that worry to rest. The SEAL team needs to be called off, and a call to the leader makes that possible. A call to the tow truck driver stops the deployment of an M1A1 Abrams Tank. The control panel simplifies the shutdown process of the security system. The boiling oil vats are put on standby, the turret mortars disengaged, the Trebuchet on safety, the concertina wire rolled, the Claymore mines reset, the tower Gatling guns on safety, the moat net dropped, the alligators fed, and the IEDs and shoulder-held rockets put away. The Proton torpedoes switched off. The gamma ray beams covered. The high-powered maser guns switched to standby, and the nanorobots were chained in the basement. The locks on the door are thrown. And the door opened.
Running in a circle was a roadrunner bird. On one pass, an envelope flew out of the blur into my hand. It was from Linda Hill. A thanks you to the bird caused it to stop and raise one leg in the classic “Tip me” fashion. “Here’s a tip. Avoid all things ACME,” and slammed the door. I opened the envelope, and a note was inside. It read:
Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “hand.” Use it as a noun, use it as a verb, use it any way you’d like. Enjoy!
To see what others have done with the prompt, visit Linda’s post. Here is the link. https://lindaghill.com/2025/09/12/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-sept-13-2025/
Hand by John W. Howell © 2025
“We need to hurry.”
“Why?”
“You ate up 500 words with that intro. Need to use as few as possible and get out of here.”
“Okay, call Uber.”
“Already did. It’s over there.”
“Wow, that looks like a 1977 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme Brougham.”
“It’s hard to tell those rear sidelights look different.”
“Well, anyway, it is a nice ride.”
“I agree.”
“I have to hand it to you.”
“Oh yeah?”
“This one you got right.”
“Why, thank you. There is just one thing.”
“Oh no.”
“We just have to make some Uber Eats deliveries.”
“Doesn’t sound too bad.”
“Pastrami sandwiches.”
“Sounds good, actually.”
“Here is a clothespin.”
“Oh, come on.”
