Thursday, May 31, 2012


Nigel Lasserby knew his time was growing short.

In a gathhering of his closest friends and family members he informed them of his imminent demise and offered each of them a parcel; a memento by which to remember Nigel.

Inside his Great-Niece's package was half of a medallion and clues as to where the remainder of it was hidden. Brother Christoph had been given a book of quotations with many of the sayings highlighted with underlinings. Kenneth was Nigel's man-servant. His "prize" was a key to a safe deposit box that Nigel had kept at the bank. Lastly, Kitten, a buxom stripper who had befriended Nigel in his final days, received a note book with a series of random numbers.

Before he could explain each gift, Nigel was stricken by a fatal heart attack and died.

Write from the perspective of one of the recipients about your "inheritance" and see where it takes you.


  1. “Uncle Nigel!” Carissa cried out.

    Carissa could not believe that old man Nigel just passed away. She saw the last light in eyes first waver and then flicker off. Wide eyed and stunned she looked around the room finally making eye contact with Brother Christoph. Her attention snapped back to the front of the room as the man wearing the tweed jacket finally got up and began addressing the room: “I am Mr Ashworth and I am the executor of Mr Nigel Lasserby’s Last Will and Testament. It saddens me that my friend of many decades has just passed away. Nigel anticipated that he may not last to handle all the prepared parcels and pass them on to. If you will excuse me, I will proceed to hand out the remaining parcels. Then we can talk about what these mean.”

    Carissa got up and headed to the wet bar in Nigel’s study. She needed a drink and she needed it fast. She needed it! She poured herself a Jack Daniels and focused on the lesson Nigel had taught her. He had been horrified when he had seen her knock back glass and gulp it down like common drunk. He had said “You are not worthy of drinking whiskey. If you must, at least do it right.” She chuckled to herself and started to take the necessary measures to drink a whiskey.

    Through eyes blurred by tears she gazed up her glass of whiskey which she had poured in a wine glass. She soaked in the sight of the amber curvaceousness as an errant ray of sunlight interceded to add brilliance to the color. She then brought the glass to her nose and sniffed in the rich peaty aroma. The smell was old, rich and ancient releasing a lifetime of stories arrested within- the lay of the land, the sea-salt air, the green grass and barley, the animals and workingmen who have made that land their home, the smoke of the funeral pyres of ancestors. She took a deep breath and steadied her hands as she took a long and slow drawn out sip.

    A sob erupted from her. She could not wait the ritual thirty minute wait. On this day, Nigel’s day, she could not even manage to honor him and his instructions as she lost the her control and gulped down her whiskey.

    “Miss Carissa Locke.” Someone was calling her. She ignored them till she felt a tap on her shoulders. It was Mr Ashworth.

    “Miss, per the will, it appears that Nigel gave you a different parcel than the one noted in the will. I am at a legal loss. I have to execute the letter of this document. I need to take the parcel that you are holding and give it to your Cousin Edmund. I give you this parcel in exchange.”

    She did not respond. In fact she could not. There were a thousand thoughts racing through her mind. She was so occupied by them that she did not notice Mr Ashworth pluck the parcel from her now listless fingers. He placed the other parcel on the bar and walked away.

    Perhaps, this new parcel will contain something of value she hoped. She dared not open it. Was it really meant for her. Had Nigel had a last minute change of heart or was it a true error made by a dying man, she wondered. She will never know, she realized. She was in no rush to open this package. What she wanted was another whiskey and this time she would drink it the correct way.

  2. "What the fuck is this?" Kitten hissed snapping her chewing gum. "Numbas, you stupid old shit! And afta all we've meant to each otha awl these past few days!"

    The stripper was incensed. Nigel was worth millions. What about all those lovely greenbacks?

    Her gum chewing was annoying. Her presence was even more. She was brought in by Cristoph to give pleasure to his dying brother one last time. And she ended up staying for days. It seems she found true love in the intimacy of his quarters. She found it in the multitudes of dollars as well.

    "You'll all hear from my lawya! Kitten stormed out as she ripped the pages from her book, and shredded the pages into tiny piece as she disappeared through the door.

    "Thank goodness for bad trash!" Kenneth said dutifully as he retrieved the vacuum cleaner to eradicate the mess the horrid bitch had left behind.

    He emptied the bag from the unit to deposit it at the curb for the trash pickup. His timing was as impeccable as he had kept Sir Nigel's manse. The truck sped off as a red sports car careened into the long winding drive. It was her again.

    "I want my pages with the numbas!" Kitten demanded.

    After some thinking she realized they could have been important telephone numbers. Or combinations to some safe lock. Swiss bank account numbers? She had been too hasty.

    "You are too late Madam!" Kenneth sniffed. "But if you hurry you might catch up with the garbage scow that just passed you on the street. I vacuumed your mess and made the trash just in time!"

    "Son-of-a-bitch!" Kitten shouted as she hurried back down the drive.

    Lucky for her she found the truck that had hauled the refuse away. She saw it pull away from the dump just as the breeze caught the last fragment of paper from the heap.

    She ran lunging head first into a steaming pile of compost. She had a lot of searching to do!

  3. Excellent offerings Meena and Walt!! I enjoyed these!! :)