I'm submitting two Flash Fiction pieces and I don't think either serves the prompt but here it is:
The Head Voice
“Who gets to be the president of the voice club?” The loudest voice asked. Then several other voices spoke up mumbling, stuttering, murmuring about what was being said. In all there had to be seven voices. That was a lot for a head to handle but it had gotten to the place where one voice had to be in charge. The committee gathered and it sounded like an orchestra tuning up. Every voice, voiced their opinion to almost no end when that voice which could be heard over all others seemed to control the podium. The other voices stepped back in a submissive way as the first voice exclaimed, “I think I hear voices!”
“Well, it wasn’t me,” said the second voice.
“Nor I,” said the third.
“It could have been me as I’ve been known to talk to myself,” the forth voice explained.
“Well, I never,” the fifth voice started out when the sixth voice chimed in, “never what?”
“No! I don’t believe it was any of you,” the head voice said then continued on with, “I believe this came from somewhere outside of where we reside. There is another world I think which feeds information to the processing agent which shares this place with us.”
“Here! Everyone, come over here and listen,” the head voice directed whereas they all moved to one side of the room and heard, “Next!”
The word was followed by, “How can I help you?”
Then another voice responded with, “Well, Doctor, I keep hearing voices.”
“Are they attached to anybody?” The doctor questioned back.
I wonder if he hears the voices I hear; if they are audible from my ears, the Doctor thought to himself.
The voices collected by the head’s ear jumped back in a state of surprise at such conjecture. At this place the head voice said, “Shhhhhh!”
The Popeye Chronicles
It began with a craving for spinach. Marge served it with pork chops and a baked Idaho one night and I found myself a asking for it again the next day. She said ok but the third night in a row, I got a look from her; one of those long stares that penetrate. In two weeks time I was buying extra behind Marge’s back. I’d eat it frozen out of those vegetable freezer bags like a sugar freak did M and M’s. She left me several months later when I started to gallop down the sidewalk with both arms pumping together.
Then I noticed something weird. My forearms were muscling up; almost, downright puffy. A month later my voice changed and it now ranged between a bullfrog and a billy goat. My right eye began to shrink while the other bulged and when I laughed this, “Cu,cu,cu,cu,cu” came out.
I got another craving other than spinach which started a few months later. It was for a tall, skinny, high pitched woman with a Greek name and goal post legs. One year later I found her when purchasing a sailor’s hat. She called me Popeye and I called her Olive Oil. Her sister, Canola had a child out of wedlock then passes away leaving Sweet Pea, her child, with Olive Oil. We were a tossed salad of life.
Things settled down after that for awhile, when one day when I didn’t expect it, the Jeep appeared then disappeared. The Jeep was a magical dog which sort of looked like a balloon dog a clown would make. I was glad he was housebroken. I got an urge for boating and bought a small craft. Eventually I changed my last name to The Sailor and have been looking for my Pappy ever since.
Anchor tattoos and a smokin pipe seldom lit seemed to garnish my psychosis when during my travels, I picked up a cheap, hamburger eating friend and a brute of a two faced enemy. Life was a cartoon of sorts but manageable.