Losing It, A Saturday Centus

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“Welcome to the 20^th week of Saturday Centus, that wildly popular literary game show hosted by Jenny Matlock at her blog, off on my tangent!”     

(Uproarious applause explodes from the audience as they rise from their seats in a frenzy of enthusiasm.)

“As you know each week writers battle each other out trying to write the most amazing little stories with only 100 words using a supplied prompt, a phrase or sentence that must be used in its original form anywhere within the story and does not count toward the word limit.   And what are the other rules of this meme, audience?”

“No pictures and no vulgarity!” they loudly exclaim in unison.

“That’s right!  That means you can’t use words like &#$@ or $#*^!  or even &#@*$ - #%!  And you can’t post pictures.  And once they finish writing their stories, our partakers of petite prose link them up to Jenny’s meme post so that we can all share their takes on the prompt with one another.  How does that sound to everybody?”

“Yay!!!  Hooray for Centus!  Hooray for Centus!  We love you, Jenny!”

(The crowd goes wild.)

“And now friends, I won’t keep you in suspense any longer.  This week’s prompt comes to us courtesy of Tina!  And heeeeerre it is!”   

"This is never going to come out," she thought as she scrubbed at the spot on the worn carpet.

“Now all of you wind up your thinking caps and get busy writing those 100 word dinky dramas!  And for all you watching at home, you are all welcome to join in and play Saturday Centus too!   Go, Centusian, go!!!"  

(More thunderous applause is heard.)

Here is my attempt at this week's Saturday Centus challenge.  I hope I win.  I really want that collection of ladies watchbands from Speidel. It's always been a dream of mine.  I don't know why.   I have entitled this one:

Losing It

At 92, Agnes was a spry and happy resident of the Sundown Vista Retirement Home.  But seeing her rubbing a wet washrag against her bedroom floor, you could tell she had other issues.

"This is never going to come out," she thought as she scrubbed at the spot on the worn carpet.

“Why not use the awesome stain-fighting power of OxiClean, Agnes?” boomed a voice from nowhere.

“Who said that?  Is that you Billy?”

The image of Billy Mays shimmered before her eyes.

“It cleans, it brightens, it eliminates odors from imaginary stains,” he said.

“I know, Billy!”  Agnes replied as she held out her Super Poligrip. 

“I’m not just getting it clean, I’m getting it OxiClean!”

Try it!  You'd have to be crazy not to!

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