I hope you’re having a good week. Here’s a new story challenge:
Can you tell a story in 46 words using the following words in it somewhere:
- DUMBFOUNDED
- VITAMINS
- WATERFALL
- THUMB
- GARLIC
Last week’s challenge was to write a story in 70 words using the following three words in it somewhere:
- SCAB
- PILATES
- TEAPOT
- GLADIATOR
- PLANK
- DOVE
- VELVET
Here are your funny stories:
Anne is Writing:
Sitting on the velvet couch stroking the nap, I knew there would be a mark when I stood up – maybe a dove? I wish. My sore arms from my 60 second plank meant I’d skipped my Pilates class but I felt strong and positive. The company logo smiled at me while I shuffled. A gladiator holding a teapot. Strong tea! At least my trousers covered the scab on my knee.
Forewarned is forearmed, or something. I just thought it was another class, you know, like fit-box. Have some of that, I thought. I’m the gladiator, me. I walked in. Over in the corner was a kettle and teapot and bags of camomile tea. Confusion. Then the Pilates teacher started, with dove-like movements. I ended up wishing my mat had been velvet, I managed to scab my knee doing the plank.
Nicola Daly:
‘This year’s Naked Gladiator Games are quite the thing. To win the coveted dove-grey velvet cloak, you do the pilates session where you do the plank whilst singing”I’m a little teapot.”.’
‘Tricky. And if you fall flat on your face?’
‘It’s ok if you just get a scab on the end of your nose. But if you get one on anything dangling, then you’re automatically disqualified.’
‘Ouch. Sounds painful.’
Kate in Cornwall:
Titus Budgetimus hated being called a scab every time he crossed the Gladiator Union’s picket line (a length of 4×2 across the entrance to the Colosseum).
Pilates classes, seed for his pet dove, and new velvet-lined gloves for his fight-ravaged fists didn’t come cheap. He needed the money.
He had to create a diversion…
“Hey! There’s a mouse in your teapot!” he cried as he leapt agilely over the plank.
Pete:
When I signed up for the Gladiator Pilates class I should have been more suspicious. From the teapot poised on a plank resting on cinder blocks in the middle of the classroom, to the velvet gloves issued to each participant; the question arose. Was this a union instructor or just a Visigoth scab? The dove on the teacher’s shirt was a dead give away. I asked for a refund immediately.
The issue of her weight was like a scab being constantly picked at.
The Pilates class held promise, but she was no gladiator for endurance and body control.
Afterwards, a very large teapot beckoned, as did a rather sticky cream bun grinning at her from behind the glass counter.
Back home, she was now going to act like a plank as she dove into the velvet comfort of her bed.
The Warrior’s Peace
The gladiator’s knuckles bore each scab like a medal. Twenty years of blood and sand, now teaching Pilates to housewives who flinched at his scarred hands. He held the plank position, steady as stone. Afterward, pouring tea from his grandmother’s worn teapot, he watched a dove land on the velvet cushion she’d embroidered. The bird didn’t fear him. Finally, something didn’t. He smiled, tasting chamomile and peace.
Marvin glanced at his profile as he walked into the gym for his Pilates class. He flinched because he was more the little teapot, short and stout, than the gladiator he saw in his imagination. Today, he chose to avoid the plank walk because of the scabs on his forearms from when he dove on the rubber mat. He now wears a velvet tracksuit to protect his vulnerable exposed parts.
Murray Clarke:
It was a hot day in July. Having walked the plank and entertained the baying crowd with his skilful display of pilates – thus strengthening all his muscles – Gladiator George plonked himself down on his comfortable velvet sofa, and began picking at the particularly nasty scab on the side of his leg. Just for fun, he rubbed the teapot vigorously with a feather duster, and out flew a beautiful, white dove.
I’ll share a tale of a scab that would stand outside of the Teapot Plank and Pilates fitness center in the mall watching the ladies through the window. As a former contestant of the show American Gladiator he understood how this training would leave them sore. When he finished his Dove velvet chocolate ice cream bar he would search for the work union employees weren’t doing for $35 an hour.
After completing his gladiator-style Pilates workout, Frank slumped exhausted on the red velvet sofa. A scab began forming on his knee, injured when his screaming muscles collapsed as he tried to hold his rigid plank position just a little too long.
Frank poured himself a cup of tea from a small teapot and watched a dove coo on the windowsill, its gentle movements a stark contrast to Frank’s aching body.
I reluctantly joined the Broadway walk out. I didn’t want to be labelled a scab. Luck was with me since I nabbed a gig as a gladiator in the velvet underground play titled, “The Pilates Plank.” My biggest part was a monologue about the teapot, the dove, and the dragon. The critics hated it and I was glad the strike ended when it did.
Velvet was a gladiator in every undertaking
The scab, from her most recent Pilates injury, had just fallen off leaving a scar resembling a dove inflight above her eyebrow. That gave her pride as she winked at her reflection in the kitchen window.
“My delicate name be damned!”
Presently, she stomped after her breakfast teapot flipping a floor plank into her chin.
The ER Day-Nurse finally won their ongoing “pool”.
In a dusty Pilates studio, a retired gladiator taught balance.
His mat bore a scab from years of plank practice.
A velvet curtain hid his prized teapot, always steaming.
One day, a dove fluttered in, knocking it over.
Tea spilled, but he laughed, recalling fiercer battles.
“Life,” he mused, “isn’t about avoiding spills, but pouring again.”
And so, he brewed another pot.
I had a hell of a pilates workout listening to the Velvet Underground. The soothing sounds of Sweet Jane played while I finished on a 15 min side plank. Later tonight I plan to get together for some rough & tumble dove wrasslin’, Gladiator Style. When I say rough I mean it, you should see the scabs all about my body. Oh my teapot calls my name. Gotta go love.
Pilates the Gladiator scowled, he had just fought his arch rival and won, but he was not happy. He lazily picked at a scab on his broken nose. Lifting the dove shaped teapot he thought of his mother. Her velvet gown. Her golden jewellery. How had he been forced into servitude and slavery? Because basically he was very strong and agile. But also because he was thick as a plank!
I was picking at a scab on my finger and contemplating whether I should do some Pilates when the teapot went off. I poured my hibiscus tea and was staring out the window when I saw this majestic ten-point buck in velvet. I felt so inspired that I dove to the floor in a perfect plank which I held for five minutes. It made me feel like a female gladiator.
When she found a dove lying on the plank on its velvet soft belly, its feet covered in scabs, cooing miserably, she took it home.
She called it Gladiator, because of its strong will to survive.
It loved to sit on the table next to her teapot when she was doing pilates and watched almost smiling about the absurdity of humans.
She still misses that mocking look doing her stretching.
Brain VS Brawn
A gladiator in velvet leggings was attempting Pilates. He struggled doing a plank, grumbling, “I’d rather fight lions. Nearby a kettle whistled. “Where’s my teapot?” he sighed. A dove then swooped, landing on the scab on his head. “Careful,” he cried. “That’s sensitive!”
The dove chortled. “It’s just a scratch – hero!”
“It’s a battle wound!” cried the gladiator.
The dove flew off cooing – the victor, I think!
Post workout
Dove was fastidious about checking the tables in her cafe to make sure they were spotless. The Pilates and plank classes down the road just let out, and several porcelain teapots were steeping refreshing hot liquids. Her red velvet based gladiator biscuits were tasty treats for those who wanted to replenish their energy. With white gloves covering the burn scabs on her hands, she was ready to unlock the door.
A new surprise challenge awaited the mighty gladiators. “We’re doing what?” They said, “The Pleiades? How is that possible when the stars are so high? Stretches? Breathing?” They agreed not to do the pilates, but dove into the planks which gave them a few scabs. “It was well worth it!” they said in unison. “And for the prize of velvet cake and fine tea in the golden teapot.”
I was off out when Doreen rang.
“Guess what’s happened?”
“That plank of a husband upset you?”
“No. It’s Scab-face Simon the hairdresser, claims he’s been on Gladiators? Wears velvet trousers, smells of Dove soap. I saw gossipy Miriam this morning. She caught him at it with shy Audrey.”
“Right.” What else could I say?
“Anyway, get off to your pirates class, love.”
“It’s Pilates,” I said. She’d already gone.
A plank with the words Velvet Dove and a bird holding a bit of cloth in its beak perched between the words, hung outside.
The pub’s rough appearance included roof shingles looking like plaster taped over a scab; however, her holiday research raved about the lunch menu.
Opening the door, a poster greeted her – Gladiator & Teapot Pilates. Noon. T W TH. A clock chimed twelve. Thank goodness it was Friday.
Squirreljan:
“Ouch,” I picked at the scab I’d got from colliding with the giant toy teapot in the gym as my attempt at the plank went wrong. I was now sitting beside the Pilates instructor outside the park coffee shop, relishing the velvet richness of beetroot cake. “I just wanted core muscles like a gladiator.” He smiled, shook his head sympathetically, and took my hand as the dove of love landed.
Theo the scabby gladiator walked the plank for his punishment. It wasn’t easy. With the crowd watching in the arena, he had better not slip. If he did he would be fed to the hungry lions! He could hear them roar as they paced their cage! His velvet eyeband was wet with sweat. All this because of a broken teapot! Wives! He wished he could fly away like a dove!
“Hear me, people!” announced Spiculus. “Today I am a free gladiator.”
“Will you retire?” asked his friends.
“I’d rather walk the plank than stay home with my wife, Pilates.”
“But we’ve seen your wife; she is beautiful, a delicate velvet dove.”
Spiculus laughed. “Yes, she’s a goddess….but this scab is what remains after she bashed me with a teapot!”
“A goddess and a hell-cat! You’re a lucky man, Spiculus!”
The Stranger of the Colosseum
“How’s Octavius so flexible, Lucius?”
“Pilates.”
“Pilates?”
“A discipline he learned from that oddly dressed stranger with that… teapot.”
A horn sounded. We marched to the planks.
Commodus, in wafting velvet, watched from above.
“The gladiator from the city of Future offered those clothes as a bribe.”
“Didn’t work then?”
“Nope.”
“Blood and glory,” bellowed Commodus.
A dove rose. Steel clashed. Lucius split my scab. Suddenly, everyone was an enemy.
***
Esther Chilton 
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