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dig her own clams. She then turned off her Suzie had been imprisoned on the island
headlamp when the main group met Phyllis for 90 years, since her plane crashed on the
and Brenda, and watched as the group was led way to a Storymasters retreat. Using a bit of
to the cave, which was available at low tide but glass she managed to reflect moon beams to
would flood dangerously as the tide rose. Serena catch Phyllis’s attention, which hastened her
heard the cry of the hungry beasts’ horde, the rescue from the tower. Phyllis came and cut
screams of the clambering clam diggers, and the bars to let Suzie escape. Phyllis used some
the roar of the waves on the beach. She waited very noisy and powerful saws to cut the bars,
in the dark, watching. but that was necessary because of Dr. Joe F’s
tendency toward excess security measures.
Brice owned the other half of the island
and had been annoyed by Dr. Joe’s activities, And so it happened one dark and stormy
but left him alone to maintain pleasant rela- night that I, Dr. Joseph M. Frankenstein, was
tions with his neighbor. He watched all of the cruelly deprived of my amusements. Through
activities on the island and was compelled to no fault of my devoted groundskeeper or
call 911 when he saw the clam diggers being led curious neighbor, those fickle clam diggers
to the cave to be drowned or eaten. Until now and experimental subjects slipped from my
grasp, never to set foot on the cursed island I
Brice had limited himself to making snarky call home. My only regret is that I have not,
references to Dr. Joe F’s part the island as the as of yet, perfected an antidote to the neuro-
Island of Dr. Moreau whenever he was in an toxin that pricked so many before they fled.
online chat room. Sometimes he typed in all Hopefully they find some diversion from the
capital letters if he was really angry. mind-shredding hallucinations that will plague
Cate laughed and so did the police when their every hour. More’s
they came to inves- the pity.
tigate, and stood
around drinking Now I return to my
from the ship’s beer lab to continue working
cooler. The beast with Lynn and her fabu-
horde chased the lous leeches. Never have
new Brenda-Beast I worn seaweed shorts
and the clam diggers so fitting, so comfort-
all around the shore, able. She assures me the
like a re-enactment of summer line of seaweed-
the classical Keystone and-leech accessories
Cops, or so it seemed will be ready for sale
to the drunks. The soon. I wonder if an extra
police decided to arm would speed her
arrest everyone on production time. . .
clam-digging charges
since it was illegal to Storymasters meets
even be on the beach every Thursday, 6:30-8pm
during clam mating season (why it smelled so at Providence St. Vincent
bad). The beastly horde ate the giant clams Medical Center, Stanley Family Medical Center,
raw (no lemon) and did not bother eating the 9205 SW Barnes Road, Portland, Oregon. Visitors
police despite their plumpness and the smell are always welcome to join us on our journey into the
of bacon. Dr. Joe embarked on a new experi- realm of storytelling and narrative arcs. For more
ment; transplanting clams into neat corn-row information, visit their website at http://4649162.
scalp designs. toastmastersclubs.org/.`
Volume 2 Issue 7 - FEBRUARY 2016 25
