This challenge is produced by GirlieOnTheEdge with the following simple rules:
Write 6 Sentences. No more. No less.
Use the current week’s prompt word – INGREDIENT
Click here to hear the author read his words:
He tells me that he was brought up by the Cherokee, his mother was half Comanche and half something else that he mumbles with his head turned away so I can’t hear, and that his father was ‘probably from some rubbish tribe across the other side of the mountains, or maybe the milkman’.
I tell him that I was born in Toonheid (Townhead to you posh folk), that my mum was from the Garngad (where they spell culture with a k) and my dad from the Calton (where, throughout recorded history, they have never found the need to ever spell culture), none of which has even a nodding acquaintanceship with the better districts of Glasgow.
I call him otnoT because, in the time I’ve known him, he has done so, oh so many things, that he ought not to have.
He calls me Kemo Sabe which, I’ve discovered, loosely translates as I-find-it-unbe-jolly-lievable-that-you-remain-as-yet-unscalped-you-numpty.
I explain to him about our Highland games, how we eat haggis, where no single ingredient is as important as the sauce, uisge beatha, which you call fire-water, play bagpipes and throw tree-trunks about the place while dancing around swords wearing kilts (us, that is, not the swords).
He scowls at me through his war-paint, pauses for a moment from paring his toenails with a tomahawk, and grumbles (in an impressive display of confused ethnicity) ‘Jings, crivvens and michty me, these palefaces call us savages…’