“What the hell is that sound?” asked Jess.
“Sounds like… bees?” said Heather.
“I don’t think there are bees in zoos.”
“Bees in zoos would make a great band name. Or kid’s cartoon. Fuck it, I’m writing that down.”
Heather reached into the inner pocket of her denim jacket, removed a notepad and pen, and jotted down the name. What she would do with it was anyone’s guess. She worked at Starbucks and had seemingly no ambition to move up in the world, but wrote down every “good idea” she heard.
“Oh, maybe it’s music?” said Jess, listening more closely. She hated the zoo. The morals of it. Plus it smelled. Not a specific smell, but an ever-changing assortment of barnyard, saltwater, oats, wet dog, etc. But Heather wanted to see the flamingos, and Heather always got what she wanted. It seemed.
“More like muzak,” Heather said, flipping closed the notepad and stuffing it away. “Come on, I think we’re close. I can smell the pink.”
“Stop saying you can smell the pink.”
“It’s a wonderful smell.”
“You’re gross. Oh hey, is that them?”
They approached the railing that blocked the path into the wading pool. Long-legged birds perched in the pools and fluttered their feathers indifferently. The buzzy music played in overhead speakers mounted on a pole. Jess thought they looked like megaphones, like those alarm speakers you saw in military flicks. Or in Shawshank Redemption when what’s-his-name played the classical music.
“Those aren’t flamingos, bitch,” said Heather. “They’re not pink.”
“They’re kind of pink. What else would they be? They’re fucking flamingos. Look at them.”
“No way. Those are, like, pelicans or something.”
“Pelicans don’t have long-ass legs like that!”
“Well they’re not flamingos. They ain’t pink, they ain’t flamingas. That’s my policy; it’s served me well.”
“Maybe flamingos are like rabbits. You know. Maybe they’re only pink in the summer?”
“It is the summer.”
“It was an example!”
“God, who’s playing that music? It sounds like a cat being shaved by an electric razor.”
“Maybe that’s just the sound these flamingos make.”
“They’re not flamingos. Let’s go home.”
Today’s three prompt categories were: “An oddly-coloured flamingo,” “Muzak,” and “Bees?”
This is a writing prompt about nothing. And I love it. An all-female Seinfeld. Despite being plotless I enjoyed writing these characters. I think I’ll use them again.