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Ten Minute Writing: Wordle Edition

Fastest Gecko in the West.  

In an acutely underwhelming assessment, Wordle is a popular game.  It is also a literary goldmine for writing prompts.  Therefore, I'll use the words from a few weeks ago (May 9th-13th, 2022) and turn them into a 10 minute story.  As before, I will ideally write for 5 minutes, pause to assess, write 5 more minutes, then edit that writing (disclaimer: it takes me longer than 5 minutes each time).  In addition, I'll start with the LOCK system. Let's see what I can accomplish.


Prompts: SHINE, GECKO, FARCE, SLUNG, TIPSY

LOCK:
  • Lead: alcoholic gunslinger gecko. 
  • Objective: Returning the shine-elixir of a small town.
  • Obstacle: Faceoff against the hidden foe, Mask, who's stolen the elixir.
  • Knockout: Shootout with beetle minions. Gecko defeats Mask by sacrificing his tail.
Story:
    Grumbles Gecko threw down his empty bottle.  It shattered, reflecting a weary, scaled face in the broken fragments of glass.  His body was a drab brown from seasons of hard drinking.
    He got up from the rickety table.  He was more tipsy than a bottle fly at a brewery as he stumbled towards the door. 
    This town had been good to him.  Now, he was its only hope.  Wasn't that reason to stop the bottle? It's been hard, after so many years of chasing strong drink to blur the pain.
    He stomped outside in his boots.  In the light of the half-moon, he found himself with company.  Mask was right on schedule, a farce in folded clothing.  The epitomes mask hid his face, and a heavy cloak shrouded his body.   
    "Give back the shine-elixir," Grumbles mumbled.  "It's this town's way to keep the water clean."
    Mask chuckled.  "I don't think so."
    He flew towards the drunken gecko like a crazed mannikin on strings, a large knife appearing in his hands.  Even if he'd had his guns on him, Grumbles couldn't have made a shot at such closes quarters.  Instead he grappled feebly, avoiding the knife as best as possible, head pounding.  
    Grumbles managed to fend the knife using an extra-sticky grip on Mask wrists.  Mask pulled back, laughing some more.  "You'll never stop me, you old drunk."
    With that, Mask ducked around the corner and disappeared.
    Grumbles slumped to his knees.  Mask was right.  He lurched back into the saloon and took the last bottle off his table.  He threw it down without tasting a drop.  His brown. sickly body was sprayed with liquor as the full bottle shattered.  
    Shaking, he swept off into the night.  As his homestead, he crept to his secret spot under his basement steps and opened the chest that held his guns.  
    "I promised I'd never fire you again until I stopped drinking.  I need to fire you now, so I have to give it up.  This town's been too good to me to let it suffer any more."
    The next day, he waited on the dusty street, guns slung on his belt.  Mask arrived like normal to collect the tribute from the town in return for daily use of the shine-elixir.  He didn't see Grumbles at first, so the gecko let out a growl.  
    "Stop right there."
    Mask started.  "Your guns!"
    "That's right."  He pulled them faster than any lizard that side of the Slug River.
    Mask stared for a moment, then fled.  He dashed behind a row of rocks next to the water tower.  Grumbles gave chase. As he turned the corner, his tongue dried out.  It was a trap.  A dozen spiny desert beetles with picks and axes rallied behind Mask.
    "To win, I'm going to have to give up something fierce."
    He aimed his revolvers, cool as the day he first held them, when he'd been vibrantly green with youth.  Bam, bam, they roared, taking down one viscous beetle after another.  
    Mask slinked away.  Grumbles kept watch in his peripherals.  He needed the timing to be just right.
    Not yet.  Not yet.  Now!
    Grumbles deliberately turned his back on Mask as faced the charge of the final two beetles.  Bam.  Bam.  Slice.
    Grumbles felt a sharp pain under his spine and hot blood dripping down his legs.  He turned to find Mask backing up, bloody knife in hand.  Grumbles' tail lay severed on the ground.
    Grumbles, wincing with pain, turned his revolvers on Mask.
    "You're out of bullets.  I kept track.  You're done for."
    "Wrong.  The third cylinder is still full."
    "Third?"
    The last spasm of nerves ran through Grumble's severed tail and the trigger of the third revolver at the tail's end squeezed tight.  
    Bam.
    Mask's mask rolled off as his body hit the ground.  The shot had gone straight through the heart.  Grumbles recognized the face.  It was his old foe, Dervish Fox.
    "Should have know it was you.  After all, why else would you have tempted me to start drinking?"
    Grumbles left the body alone and limped out to the cactus forest until he came to Dervish's lair, now empty.  Sure enough, spread out in a wide bowl, the precious shine-elixir glistened.  Taking an empty whiskey bottle, Grumbles collected the elixir and returned to the town.
    The townsfolk hailed him as a hero.  They invited him to the saloon for a victory drink.  He declined, heading back to his little farm house to recover instead.
    Slowly, over the next season, his tail grew back.  When it was fully grown, it was no longer a dull brown.  It was a vibrant green.
    

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