Get ready for this weekend's creativity challenge.
I dare you to write a story using 299 words exactly, not including the title. Use this opening: “Sir, you have an urgent message.”
We’ll showcase the top challenge responses in our newsletter. And the best part, you, our readers, decide who wins. The entries with the highest number of likes will be declared the winners. You’ll have until Sunday or Monday midnight to post your response. Once we lock the thread, we’ll reveal the writing champions and their entries! Are you up to the challenge?
I watched a beautiful young woman burst through a glass door with gold lettering and hand a young man a note. He glanced at it, crumpled it, and dropped it on the sidewalk. He stepped into the waiting black limousine and was gone. The woman picked up the note and went back inside.
“Sir, you have an urgent message.”
I watched a frazzled young woman holding a baby burst through a restaurant door and hand a young man in a taupe raincoat a note. He glanced at it, crumpled it, and dropped it on the sidewalk. A second later, he stepped into a waiting taxi and was gone. The woman watched the car drive away, picked up the note, and cried.
“Sir, you have an urgent message.”
I watched a young girl and a woman who looked like her mother race off the front porch of a big green house and hand a young man in uniform a note. He glanced at it, crumpled it, dropped it on the ground, climbed into the front seat of a red pickup, and drove away without saying goodbye.
“Sir, you have an urgent message.”
I watched a young woman dressed in blue scrubs step into the waiting room and hand a man in a rumpled plaid shirt a note. He glanced at it, crumpled it, and looked down at a small boy sleeping on the couch. The man looked at the nurse in blue and started to cry.
I walked up to the man in the rumpled shirt. “Sir, you have an urgent message.” He looked at me like the world's weight was on his shoulders. “Who are you?”
“A friend. I have heard your prayers, and your wife will recover. I got your urgent message.”
“Sir, you have an urgent message,” the young hostess said.
George looked up into her bright blue eyes. They had captured his attention the moment he stepped into Molly’s Grill.
Now they were beckoning him to follow her for some kind of message.
Her stride was easy to follow. She moved with seductive grace. His eyes traced the smooth line of the heels, up her legs, to a black skirt hugging her body.
His mind traveled through time to an image from long ago. Another beautiful young blue-eyed hostess who stole his attention and heart.
She seemed uninterested in the young man trying to win her attention. Day after day he returned, but not for the food. Her gaze captured his heart, her beauty pulled him in like quicksand.
For the longest time she acted like he didn’t excess. Even when he asked her out, she would simply smile, but never answer.
Finally, she agreed to a date and the two slowly became inseparable.
George and his blue-eyed beauty have been in love ever since, over 50 years.
A few hours earlier, he gave his bride a kiss.
“I love you, my dear,” he told her. “I’ll be back after lunch.”
Their journey together was ending, he hadn’t yet come to grips with it. The cancer was going to win, the fight was nearly over. The pain cut deep.
George struggled to envision his world without her, but that day was coming.
Molly’s Grill was only a few blocks from the hospital. It reminded him of the restaurant they first met. A quick meal and back to her side.
“There is a call for you,” the young girl said, handing him the phone.
“Hello.”
“George, this is Dr. Packard,” the doctor, a friend, said. “I’m sorry, but she’s gone.”
“Sir, you have an urgent message. I panted as I slid to a stop.
“SIR, YOU HAVE AN URGENT MESSAGE.” I yelled as I shook him.
“SIIIRRRRR!!! YOU HAVE AN URRRRGEEEENT MESSSSSAAAAGE!!!”
Can you see the look on my face as I shake him? It is my daily task to wake him. To yell at him. To encourage him. To gently talk to him.
WHY do I have this job?
Why do I have to be "The Waker of the Sir?”
No one else has this job.
They all have lovely jobs. To dress The Sir. To make him meals. To walk his dog, to polish his shoes, to open the door… Yet, I have the daily horrendous task of WAKING HIM. WAKING HIM.
Don’t they know that he drinks too much? Don’t they know that he smokes too much? Don’t they know he sits in his room after the lights are out and stares for hours into the firelight and talks to himself…
over
and over
again.
I’m the “WAKER” and the Waker has to be there ALL the time. To wake, to observe, to tend… I’m really a fancy TENDER. Tending all the “important needs” - discretion, caring, befriending, being mother and father, adviser and soul friend all at once.
It is an important job.
I guess…
Yet, I’m here now AGAIN and I can’t WAKE HIM.
“SIR.” I yell.
“SIR!” I say in my most authoritative voice.
“Sir,” I pause and say again in my softest voice, “Sir.. will you wake today? You have an urgent message…Sir, will you wake JUST ONE MORE TIME. Will you wake and take this message. It’s the same message from yesterday and the day before, and the day before then and then and then…It is signed “From, Your Heart.”
“She says it is. She sent it by courier, so it must be…”
“Let me see…”
<I Must Tell You That I Am Not Pleased With Your Behaviour. You Seem To Be Ignoring All My Wants And Needs.>
“That is what she means by ‘urgent’; each word in upper case.”
“Well, at least it’s not all in upper case.”
“Small mercies, yes.”
<I Have Asked You Seven Times Already To Tell Me If You Like The Cruise I Chose. I Left The Brochures On The Sideboard In The Living Room And I Am Sure You Saw Them Because I Aligned Them Exactly With The Doyley And Now They Are In A Different Position. If You Don’t Say Anything, I Shall Be Constrained To Book Anyway, By 3.00p.m., Today. If You Decide Not To Come, I Will Choose To Take My Little Sister Because She Is The One Who Suggested This Cruise In The First Place.>
“That would give you a month of blessed peace and quiet, natch…”
“Yes. I like the idea of not liking the cruise and not going. It will give me time enough to move my things out…”
“Really?”
“Yes. I am tired of all this micro-managing. She thinks that showering me with gifts because she’s loaded gives her the right to treat me like a pet.”
“That’s not right, Sir, with all due respect.”
“I know. She made me stop shaving because she loves facial hair. I have to eat fish three times a week. If it were for her, I wouldn’t even go to work any more…”
<The Fact That You Do Not Reply Immediately To My Messages At Once, Makes Me Uncomfortable; It Is As If You Do Not Care For Me.>
“Sir, you have an urgent message.” The man said it like he’d sold the pie shack. Every soon-to-be yuck-berry pie must’ve fetched him a last minute fortune. He pulled his coat around and swiveled a little near the railing.
After an odd amount of ticks, I said, “Alright then, lay it on me.” He moved the envelope to my hands like an egg. A sound equal-parts turtle hiss and pig grunt rolled out from under his mustache. He retreated up the street while I muttered “Good riddance.”
The envelope was sturdy beyond its said urgency. And it fit just right on the stovetop. Dial turned clicking into a flame. I already knew when and where Fudge Harlow would be tonight. I’d be there, early, waiting in the wings, listening to the musicians rehearse, and gripping a pistol.
The nickname came from his father’s chocolate company. Ever heard of Cocoa Crawlers? Yeah, didn’t think so, probably before your time, but twenty-five years ago, you could get a bag for seventy cents at any gas station. Harlow made a decent snack, I’ll give ‘em that, but they got bought out by some bad news cats. Ever since, they’ve had their hand in every sweet deal in town.
I nearly burnt the kitchen down with that envelope. Is arrogance flammable? While smothering that hellfire I got a hankering for chamomile. The kettle blew just about when the door blew off its hinges and somersaulted into the foyer. The splintered shelf of knickknacks splayed unnaturally across the linoleum. Two off-duty personal trainers thumped into the kitchen.
You think you’ve won, Fudge? But between blows, I’m doing a mental jigsaw. The picture gets clearer as my consciousness fades: Cocoa Crawlers in a pie shack rigged with explosives, and Fudge drizzled all over the floor.
"Sir you have an urgent message"? The old radio boomed into action. There was a time when Ivan gave out the orders to his men. Served during the war he did on old Britania, like all good things the old girl, had gone to rest. The radio cackled not a clear signal. Slowly Ivan turned the craft around the clear waters of the North of Broads.
This is what it had come to? Taking tourists out on trips along the broads. Well it beat sitting in his bedsit with his toes curled up waiting for the Almighty. Maybe some one had forgotten their Rennie tablets? A smile appeared on his cracked lips. Soon he would find out what was the matter?
At the quay side he was met by the coast guard. His Annie had had another seizure. Why, oh why did life have to be so cruel.? With her mom gone he was all Annie had. The coast guard had arranged a taxi for him to the hospital. Breaking the news to the passengers on Sea Farer. Who were more concerned about Ivan.
All in a day,Ivan sat with his daughter Annie stroking her pale forehead, they had always been close. He had upped sticks from London to be with Annie. When his wife had died, that was when Annies seizures had started. Her eyes flickered. They would sea another day.
Oh, for the wonders of modern science and tecnology. As he gripped Annies arm he knew that life had a meaning, to care for your loved ones and keep them close.
“Sir, you have an urgent message.” I looked up from my desk and shot a questioning look at my co-worker. She nodded, “Yeah. It’s the ex.”
When the receptionist had gone I held my head in my hands. Why couldn’t Lucy just get it? It was over. I know twenty years is a long time but people change. Time moves on. I really didn’t need it today, it had been a tough meeting and I wasn’t happy with the way things had gone. If I’m honest: I felt the team had let me down. I checked my phone: twenty five missed calls. The meeting had been an hour. That was good going, even for her. Everyone left the office but I stayed to work up my notes from the meeting. Later I grabbed a coffee noticing there were fifteen new missed calls so I phoned Lucy back.
Surprisingly a man answered.
“Who’s this?” I felt wrong footed.
“Hi Bob. Erm. Sorry. It’s Lucy’s new partner- Phil. She’s here. You OK?”
Lucy was sobbing so badly I could barely understand her. “Sorry to call the office earlier. You’ve seen the news?”
The TV was on in the coffee shop- a chaos of emergency services and swarming people. I recognised where they were but it took a moment for reality to properly dawn: My daughter’s college.
“Lucy, I’ll call you back. “
I ended the call without taking my eyes off the screen as information scrolled across it: a lone gunman. No details yet of casualties. Shots had been heard. I checked my phone. The missed calls weren’t from my ex-wife. They were from my daughter. She had left a voicemail message.
A quiet voice told me she loved me. She was scared. She was all alone. And then she cried.
"Urgent, as I said. I- could you look up, please, sir?"
"Not at the moment, Simon! What's up?"
"Well–"
"Simon!"
"It is your adversary."
"Ah! Mr. Do-good himself! I was expecting him. We're at the ready!"
"Sir."
"... why? What's he up to?"
"He has penetrated the outer wall defenses, sir."
"Has he now?"
"And the inner moat. The one filled with alligators and surrounded by spikes."
"Wait, hold on. What happened to the outer moat?"
"Yes, sir, the one with the piranhas. It's currently out of order, due to an algae problem."
"Guess it can't be helped!"
"But that is not all, sir."
"Oh it isn't, is it?"
"No, it is not. He repelled up the sheer face of the seaside cliff. He breached the outer wall of the fortress. He made it across the minefield and past the dogs."
"All the dogs?"
"Yes. Even the backup dogs, sir. He is currently scaling up– Wait. Hold on."
"Well? Hurry up, Simon, I've not got all day."
"Sir, you might not have all hour. Your adversary, he is rewiring the loading dock elevators. From there it is a short jaunt to the service worker backhalls, and an easy path to the headquarters."
"That all?"
"He has taken out everyone but the lead guard, who the latest message is from."
"Would that be who, or whom, Simon?"
"Who, sir. Trust me on this one."
"As you say. So, then. What do you propose we do?"
"Sir. I brought the message to you and will disseminate your orders. Your call."
"Oh. Damn."
"Sir?"
"Simon, bring me my gun."
"Your gun, sir?"
"After the alligators and the spikes and the dogs and the toxic mists and the landmines… they never expect a pistol."
Scenarios
“Sir, you have an urgent message.”
I watched a beautiful young woman burst through a glass door with gold lettering and hand a young man a note. He glanced at it, crumpled it, and dropped it on the sidewalk. He stepped into the waiting black limousine and was gone. The woman picked up the note and went back inside.
“Sir, you have an urgent message.”
I watched a frazzled young woman holding a baby burst through a restaurant door and hand a young man in a taupe raincoat a note. He glanced at it, crumpled it, and dropped it on the sidewalk. A second later, he stepped into a waiting taxi and was gone. The woman watched the car drive away, picked up the note, and cried.
“Sir, you have an urgent message.”
I watched a young girl and a woman who looked like her mother race off the front porch of a big green house and hand a young man in uniform a note. He glanced at it, crumpled it, dropped it on the ground, climbed into the front seat of a red pickup, and drove away without saying goodbye.
“Sir, you have an urgent message.”
I watched a young woman dressed in blue scrubs step into the waiting room and hand a man in a rumpled plaid shirt a note. He glanced at it, crumpled it, and looked down at a small boy sleeping on the couch. The man looked at the nurse in blue and started to cry.
I walked up to the man in the rumpled shirt. “Sir, you have an urgent message.” He looked at me like the world's weight was on his shoulders. “Who are you?”
“A friend. I have heard your prayers, and your wife will recover. I got your urgent message.”
Love and Loss
“Sir, you have an urgent message,” the young hostess said.
George looked up into her bright blue eyes. They had captured his attention the moment he stepped into Molly’s Grill.
Now they were beckoning him to follow her for some kind of message.
Her stride was easy to follow. She moved with seductive grace. His eyes traced the smooth line of the heels, up her legs, to a black skirt hugging her body.
His mind traveled through time to an image from long ago. Another beautiful young blue-eyed hostess who stole his attention and heart.
She seemed uninterested in the young man trying to win her attention. Day after day he returned, but not for the food. Her gaze captured his heart, her beauty pulled him in like quicksand.
For the longest time she acted like he didn’t excess. Even when he asked her out, she would simply smile, but never answer.
Finally, she agreed to a date and the two slowly became inseparable.
George and his blue-eyed beauty have been in love ever since, over 50 years.
A few hours earlier, he gave his bride a kiss.
“I love you, my dear,” he told her. “I’ll be back after lunch.”
Their journey together was ending, he hadn’t yet come to grips with it. The cancer was going to win, the fight was nearly over. The pain cut deep.
George struggled to envision his world without her, but that day was coming.
Molly’s Grill was only a few blocks from the hospital. It reminded him of the restaurant they first met. A quick meal and back to her side.
“There is a call for you,” the young girl said, handing him the phone.
“Hello.”
“George, this is Dr. Packard,” the doctor, a friend, said. “I’m sorry, but she’s gone.”
The Waker….
“Sir, you have an urgent message. I panted as I slid to a stop.
“SIR, YOU HAVE AN URGENT MESSAGE.” I yelled as I shook him.
“SIIIRRRRR!!! YOU HAVE AN URRRRGEEEENT MESSSSSAAAAGE!!!”
Can you see the look on my face as I shake him? It is my daily task to wake him. To yell at him. To encourage him. To gently talk to him.
WHY do I have this job?
Why do I have to be "The Waker of the Sir?”
No one else has this job.
They all have lovely jobs. To dress The Sir. To make him meals. To walk his dog, to polish his shoes, to open the door… Yet, I have the daily horrendous task of WAKING HIM. WAKING HIM.
Don’t they know that he drinks too much? Don’t they know that he smokes too much? Don’t they know he sits in his room after the lights are out and stares for hours into the firelight and talks to himself…
over
and over
again.
I’m the “WAKER” and the Waker has to be there ALL the time. To wake, to observe, to tend… I’m really a fancy TENDER. Tending all the “important needs” - discretion, caring, befriending, being mother and father, adviser and soul friend all at once.
It is an important job.
I guess…
Yet, I’m here now AGAIN and I can’t WAKE HIM.
“SIR.” I yell.
“SIR!” I say in my most authoritative voice.
“Sir,” I pause and say again in my softest voice, “Sir.. will you wake today? You have an urgent message…Sir, will you wake JUST ONE MORE TIME. Will you wake and take this message. It’s the same message from yesterday and the day before, and the day before then and then and then…It is signed “From, Your Heart.”
“From whom?”
“Erm…”
“So it’s not urgent.”
“She says it is. She sent it by courier, so it must be…”
“Let me see…”
<I Must Tell You That I Am Not Pleased With Your Behaviour. You Seem To Be Ignoring All My Wants And Needs.>
“That is what she means by ‘urgent’; each word in upper case.”
“Well, at least it’s not all in upper case.”
“Small mercies, yes.”
<I Have Asked You Seven Times Already To Tell Me If You Like The Cruise I Chose. I Left The Brochures On The Sideboard In The Living Room And I Am Sure You Saw Them Because I Aligned Them Exactly With The Doyley And Now They Are In A Different Position. If You Don’t Say Anything, I Shall Be Constrained To Book Anyway, By 3.00p.m., Today. If You Decide Not To Come, I Will Choose To Take My Little Sister Because She Is The One Who Suggested This Cruise In The First Place.>
“That would give you a month of blessed peace and quiet, natch…”
“Yes. I like the idea of not liking the cruise and not going. It will give me time enough to move my things out…”
“Really?”
“Yes. I am tired of all this micro-managing. She thinks that showering me with gifts because she’s loaded gives her the right to treat me like a pet.”
“That’s not right, Sir, with all due respect.”
“I know. She made me stop shaving because she loves facial hair. I have to eat fish three times a week. If it were for her, I wouldn’t even go to work any more…”
<The Fact That You Do Not Reply Immediately To My Messages At Once, Makes Me Uncomfortable; It Is As If You Do Not Care For Me.>
Well, actually… I don’t.
【Film Noir Cop in Candyland】
“Sir, you have an urgent message.” The man said it like he’d sold the pie shack. Every soon-to-be yuck-berry pie must’ve fetched him a last minute fortune. He pulled his coat around and swiveled a little near the railing.
After an odd amount of ticks, I said, “Alright then, lay it on me.” He moved the envelope to my hands like an egg. A sound equal-parts turtle hiss and pig grunt rolled out from under his mustache. He retreated up the street while I muttered “Good riddance.”
The envelope was sturdy beyond its said urgency. And it fit just right on the stovetop. Dial turned clicking into a flame. I already knew when and where Fudge Harlow would be tonight. I’d be there, early, waiting in the wings, listening to the musicians rehearse, and gripping a pistol.
The nickname came from his father’s chocolate company. Ever heard of Cocoa Crawlers? Yeah, didn’t think so, probably before your time, but twenty-five years ago, you could get a bag for seventy cents at any gas station. Harlow made a decent snack, I’ll give ‘em that, but they got bought out by some bad news cats. Ever since, they’ve had their hand in every sweet deal in town.
I nearly burnt the kitchen down with that envelope. Is arrogance flammable? While smothering that hellfire I got a hankering for chamomile. The kettle blew just about when the door blew off its hinges and somersaulted into the foyer. The splintered shelf of knickknacks splayed unnaturally across the linoleum. Two off-duty personal trainers thumped into the kitchen.
You think you’ve won, Fudge? But between blows, I’m doing a mental jigsaw. The picture gets clearer as my consciousness fades: Cocoa Crawlers in a pie shack rigged with explosives, and Fudge drizzled all over the floor.
Sea Farer.
"Sir you have an urgent message"? The old radio boomed into action. There was a time when Ivan gave out the orders to his men. Served during the war he did on old Britania, like all good things the old girl, had gone to rest. The radio cackled not a clear signal. Slowly Ivan turned the craft around the clear waters of the North of Broads.
This is what it had come to? Taking tourists out on trips along the broads. Well it beat sitting in his bedsit with his toes curled up waiting for the Almighty. Maybe some one had forgotten their Rennie tablets? A smile appeared on his cracked lips. Soon he would find out what was the matter?
At the quay side he was met by the coast guard. His Annie had had another seizure. Why, oh why did life have to be so cruel.? With her mom gone he was all Annie had. The coast guard had arranged a taxi for him to the hospital. Breaking the news to the passengers on Sea Farer. Who were more concerned about Ivan.
All in a day,Ivan sat with his daughter Annie stroking her pale forehead, they had always been close. He had upped sticks from London to be with Annie. When his wife had died, that was when Annies seizures had started. Her eyes flickered. They would sea another day.
Oh, for the wonders of modern science and tecnology. As he gripped Annies arm he knew that life had a meaning, to care for your loved ones and keep them close.
Bob's Bad Day
“Sir, you have an urgent message.” I looked up from my desk and shot a questioning look at my co-worker. She nodded, “Yeah. It’s the ex.”
When the receptionist had gone I held my head in my hands. Why couldn’t Lucy just get it? It was over. I know twenty years is a long time but people change. Time moves on. I really didn’t need it today, it had been a tough meeting and I wasn’t happy with the way things had gone. If I’m honest: I felt the team had let me down. I checked my phone: twenty five missed calls. The meeting had been an hour. That was good going, even for her. Everyone left the office but I stayed to work up my notes from the meeting. Later I grabbed a coffee noticing there were fifteen new missed calls so I phoned Lucy back.
Surprisingly a man answered.
“Who’s this?” I felt wrong footed.
“Hi Bob. Erm. Sorry. It’s Lucy’s new partner- Phil. She’s here. You OK?”
Lucy was sobbing so badly I could barely understand her. “Sorry to call the office earlier. You’ve seen the news?”
The TV was on in the coffee shop- a chaos of emergency services and swarming people. I recognised where they were but it took a moment for reality to properly dawn: My daughter’s college.
“Lucy, I’ll call you back. “
I ended the call without taking my eyes off the screen as information scrolled across it: a lone gunman. No details yet of casualties. Shots had been heard. I checked my phone. The missed calls weren’t from my ex-wife. They were from my daughter. She had left a voicemail message.
A quiet voice told me she loved me. She was scared. She was all alone. And then she cried.
Agent 299
-
“Sir, you have an urgent message.”
"What is it, Simon?"
"Urgent, as I said. I- could you look up, please, sir?"
"Not at the moment, Simon! What's up?"
"Well–"
"Simon!"
"It is your adversary."
"Ah! Mr. Do-good himself! I was expecting him. We're at the ready!"
"Sir."
"... why? What's he up to?"
"He has penetrated the outer wall defenses, sir."
"Has he now?"
"And the inner moat. The one filled with alligators and surrounded by spikes."
"Wait, hold on. What happened to the outer moat?"
"Yes, sir, the one with the piranhas. It's currently out of order, due to an algae problem."
"Guess it can't be helped!"
"But that is not all, sir."
"Oh it isn't, is it?"
"No, it is not. He repelled up the sheer face of the seaside cliff. He breached the outer wall of the fortress. He made it across the minefield and past the dogs."
"All the dogs?"
"Yes. Even the backup dogs, sir. He is currently scaling up– Wait. Hold on."
"Well? Hurry up, Simon, I've not got all day."
"Sir, you might not have all hour. Your adversary, he is rewiring the loading dock elevators. From there it is a short jaunt to the service worker backhalls, and an easy path to the headquarters."
"That all?"
"He has taken out everyone but the lead guard, who the latest message is from."
"Would that be who, or whom, Simon?"
"Who, sir. Trust me on this one."
"As you say. So, then. What do you propose we do?"
"Sir. I brought the message to you and will disseminate your orders. Your call."
"Oh. Damn."
"Sir?"
"Simon, bring me my gun."
"Your gun, sir?"
"After the alligators and the spikes and the dogs and the toxic mists and the landmines… they never expect a pistol."