hey i made a thing


i wrote a short story for school a while back, and i just had the thought that you guys would get a good kick out of it. it’s not the greatest piece of work i’ve written, but i still feel a bit proud of it.

ALsO, there’s multiple easter references/easter eggs/whatever you kids call ’em. so if you see any, lemme know. ;D


The red and blue lights flashed round and round, lighting up an entire street in the quiet, peaceful neighborhood. The brilliance of one Butte, Montana (that’s pronounced “Byoot,” mind you) patrol car would have been enough to practically blind you, but four more were parked nearby. Wet pavement reflected the lights, magnifying their brightness even more. Vivid yellow crime scene tape ran all around a small Victorian-styled home with the flashing cars surrounding it.

“Alright ma’am, so let me get this straight. You spiked the men’s drinks because they placed their muddy boots on your coffee table?” My voice held an expression of both confusion and amusement as I looked down at the stout, chubby, elderly woman standing in front of me. The silver hair plopped on her head bobbed up and down as she nodded vigorously.

“Yes, yes, I did. A family heirloom, that table was. Kept through the generations for centuries! Handcrafted in 1802 by my German grandfather, that table was. Those two youngsters really drove me up a crick with their selfish deed, and I had had just about enough!”

She spoke rather fast, her Irish accent slurring the words together. I pulled back my trench coat and placed my hands on my hips. I glanced over towards my assistant a few yards away. She just looked back at me with both eyebrows raised as she snorted to herself. Turning my head the other way, I watched two body bags being lifted into an ambulance.


4 hours earlier.

A thick and very worn manilla file was plopped down on my desk, resounding with a soft thunk. I glanced up from the fifty-seven papers you could call a report to see my assistant, Christine Withers, waiting expectantly.


“That,” she gestured towards the file, “is everything we have on the Butte Bros. Dead ends. All of it.”

“Crudmuffins…” I muttered with frustration as I flipped through the pages, almost every one stamped with a big red “DENIED”.

The Butt–I mean, Butte Bros were a notorious pair of ex-gang members, James Morgan and John Freeman. They stole, burned, knifed, and shot just about anything–or anyone–they got their hands on. We’d been going after them for about 6 months now, scavenging for any leads we could get. Every time we got close to snagging the two, they managed to slip away. And apparently, we’d just met a road block.

“Thank you, Withers. I’ll double-check a couple of these to make sure we didn’t miss anything.”

She nodded once and opened her mouth as if to say something else, but at that moment a loud ringing filled the room. Withers headed out as she pulled her cellphone from her back pocket. Does anyone silence their phone these days? I heard her muffled voice through the walls until out of the blue, she burst back through the door–not even bothering to knock. Such respect.

With her phone held to her ear with one hand and the other covering the speaker, she frantically whispered, “BBros, 704 Walnut St.”

Denied file forgotten, I grabbed my jacket and threw it on–practically falling out of my chair in the process–then we both scrambled back the way she had come. I fumbled for my keys as we slammed through the doors and climbed into my black sedan. With multiple sirens blaring their monstrosity behind us, we tore through the streets. We skidded to a stop in front of a dainty Victorian home.

Officers flew out of their cars, guns in hand. They stormed onto the small porch and shouted their usual demands through the door. Not bothering to wait for an answer (not that they ever do), they proceeded to break it down. I followed close behind them, but we were instantly met with a…

…old lady?

“Oh, thank the precious Lord Jesus above and all His parentage, you finally came!” Her face fell with relief as she literally waddled back through a doorway. Hesitantly, I waved away the officers and followed the chubby woman. I turned the corner and tried to take in the whole scene at once. I failed.

It was a small sitting room. A rocking chair in the corner closest to the doorway was piled high with satin and lacy pillows. Right next to it sat a circular side table with the frilliest lamp I’ve ever set eyes on standing  on top. The wallpaper was pastel green and pink and bordered with large painted roses as well as white pin stripes running from floor to ceiling. A tiny coffee table sat in the center of the room, its legs so skinny I thought the top would buckle them at any moment. And right behind the coffee table was a very poofy, velvet couch.

Basically what I’m saying is that the entire room screamed old lady.

Except for the two bodies on the couch.

Wait; what?

“I tried to find a garbage sack so I could throw them away in small pieces,” the rickety voice continued on, bringing me back to reality, “but I didn’t want to stain the carpet.” The woman looked down at the two-inch-thick fluff she called carpet, a small frown furrowed amidst the wrinkles on her face.

After waiting a pause and not getting an answer, she continued on, “So I thought you and your strong, young boys could help. Do be a dear and dispose of these for me?”


Present time.

As officer Jones led the woman–who told us she was called Aunty Granny–away to take a ride to the “Happy Place,” I walked back into the house to find Withers in the living room. She straightened up from examining the drinking glasses and placed a drink sample in a small black case. The case locked closed, and my assistant pulled off her plastic gloves with a snap.

“So… care to explain it?”

She took another look around the room and shook her head.

“So apparently Bob and Larry over here were on the run. They came into this dump, preparing to give lil’ old Mrs. Munchkins over there the ‘what for.’ Turns out she didn’t have a clue what they were doing, so they let her take ‘em in and give ‘em tea. Munchkins liked the two guys, but once they put their feet on her oh-so-precious table, she spiked the tea, and they were goners.”

A corner of my mouth turned up in a lopsided smile, partly at Withers’ unique nicknames, but also from relief. I’d lost more sleep than I’d like to admit chasing after those two rascals, and I was thankful they were finally caught.

At least, if that’s what you’d call what happened to them.

“Pretty crazy how an old aunt like that would do this just because she could. Who ever has poison just lying around?”

Withers shrugged. “Looks like senile hags do. I’m just glad all this is over.” She picked up the sample case and began heading out. “Although, I’d suggest a full house search anyways. Who knows what else this lady could be hiding…”

My gaze switched to the window overlooking the street, where they were getting ready to load “Munchkins” into a patrol car. An officer began to help her through the door, then suddenly stopped and felt her coat pocket. I watched as he pulled out a long vial filled with a surprisingly suspicious purple liquid. With a soft chuckle, I turned back to follow Withers and nodded at her request.

Later, after I dropped Withers off at the lab to get the drink tested, I headed back to my own office. I had just fallen back into my nice, plush chair to get back to that report, when another employee ran in through the door. He stopped to catch his breath for a moment before blurting out,

“It’s the Daisy Dudes again, sir. They just broke into town hall.”

Annnd thus continues just another day in Butt–er, Butte, Montana.

and that’s literally it. no plot, no moral, seriously nothing that makes the story worth-while.

it’s fabulous.

*yes, yes, yes, unoriginal name, but yA KNOW WHAT.

hope you guys enjoyed this lil’ something or other. oh, and i’m somehow alive from the dead?? who would’ve thought… i still dunno if i’ll be back to doing things in a normal fashion, but i can’t deny i just love being rebellious that way.


how’s life? you guys surviving over there? on the home stretch of torture school, and at the moment i’m just barely flopping along like a fish outta water.

i really shouldn’t even publish this as it’s not making any logical sense and i’m not making any progress or anything with this. it’s so random..

gotta love the life



2 thoughts on “hey i made a thing

    1. Ah, thanks Sarahhh. At least someone appreciated it.

      Bro I feel ya. They’re coming up so fast and I’m low-key freaking out right now. Just gotta keep summer in mind, that’s what we gotta do.. we got dis, gurl.

      Liked by 1 person

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