Weekly Challenge #907 – Mustard Yellow

Lisa Richard Tom Serendipidy Lizzie Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is Basic LISA A Mustard Yellow Hoodie in the Charity Shop He was just an ordinary man dropping a bag of clothes off at the Charity Shop. Sally, the student volunteer on the till, sniffed the air trying to identify a familiar smell. Realisation made her retch before she opened the bag. It was tied tight. Her fingers frantically worked the double knot loose. She recognised the clothes with a plummeting heart, felt about in the pockets, then shrieked as she pulled out her pal’s student ID. One trembling hand still clutched the hoodie as she called the police. “…Yeah! It’s definitely the one she was wearing the night she disappeared…” RICHARD Off-Colour “Which do you prefer,” she asked “the mustard yellow, saffron, corn cob or honey?” “It’s just yellow,” I protested “not a restaurant menu! Look, I’ve told you before, men only understand a windows 3.1 palette – 256 colours! It’s all yellow to me! You choose what you like, and I’ll do the painting. Deal?” She gave me one of ‘those’ looks, but she knew I was talking sense. In the end, she chose the mustard yellow. Three days of hard work later, the kitchen was resplendent in its new colour. “I don’t like the shade” she complained “it’s far too brown”. LIZZIE #FFDB58<br /> That was it. A color reduced to a strange combination of letters and numbers.<br /> The universe is made of numbers, his Math teacher told him, that’s the universal language.<br /> And he hated that because he wanted the universe to be made of words. He wanted the universe to be made of stories. He loved stories!<br /> When a fellow student asked the teacher how we could communicate with aliens, the teacher said “With numbers”.<br /> He yelled and said “No, no! They’ll want to know our stories!”<br /> The Math teacher looked at him and said “But we already know your stories”. SERENDIPIDY I love the pretty colours and how they change and blossom over time. The first flush of pink, becoming mottled, angry crimson, then gradually darkening to dark indigo, fringed with dull violets. Then, glorious hues of mustard yellow, blooming like flowers, petals fringed with black. Bruising is so beautiful. I am the artist. Your body: my canvas. My fists: the tools of my artistry. But that colourful expression is so transient, and passes all too soon. And it is but a short time before you lie unblemished before me again: A fresh blank canvas. Pain becomes painted, all over again. TOM My first Car In days of old one could after much search come upon a vehicle which was yours for a mere $100. This auto was long in the tooth and often had structural imperfections or at the least cosmetic ones. The Ford I found had turn over its odometer but on inspection no signs of Bondo or countersunk pry hole. It has been will maintained by a navy guy. The reason it was still on lot was our navy guy’s choice of colors. It wasn’t so much confection yellow as mustard yellow. Actually, it was French’s mustard on a hot dog yellow. NORVAL JOE The three hulking teenagers with the mustard yellow teeth appeared frozen in place, confusion drawn across their collective faces.<br /> Mr. Withybothom joined his daughter to point. “Aren’t you going to arrest them?”<br /> The cop stammered, “I can’t…”<br /> The teenageres turned and lumbered into the trees.<br /> Linoliamanda turned he