If you like to write stories and haven't checked out 
This challenge is equally fun, you can find the details at A Fictional Story Challenge. The premise is that you can write this story in any manner you chose once you have composed the first sentence containing phrases based on a chart using your birthdate and the color of your shirt. Are you intrigued yet?
Here are the three phrases that I am required to use in my first sentence and thus setting the idea for the story:
My birth month (August) prompt:
My birth day (9th) prompt:
The color of my shirt (black) prompt:
And so the gauntlet has been thrown, the challenge given, and the gears start to turn.
It all started when I extracted Britney Spears from the visitors’ room at Rikers Island and when I asked her how she came to be involved in the hostage situation she replied, “because I’m friends with Trump!”
As a hostage negotiator for the FBI, I’ve seen a little bit of everything, but when I got out of bed this morning, I wasn’t expecting to rescue Britney Spears! When I had tuned in to the news this morning the breaking story was the thousands of New Yorkers gathered outside of Rikers Island. A small section of the onlookers was wearing MAGA hats and protesting that Trump should be released. The majority of the crowd, and steadily growing, were there cheering that justice had finally prevailed.
My phone rang as I watched the TV coverage and the message was from my HRT squad leader to get down to Rikers Island immediately, there was a hostage situation underway. I called from my car on the way downtown and was shocked to learn that Trump was holding Britney Spears captive in the visiting room with the presidential fountain pen at her throat.
A year has passed since the great Covid-19 scare of 2020 and millions of people all over the world had lost their lives, but the USA was the hardest hit of all. Following President Biden’s election in the fall of 2020, the nonpartisan task force had been established to investigate the handling of the epidemic under Trump’s leadership. He’d been recently convicted of gross negligence by denying the public the timely and accurate knowledge of the epidemic, by delaying measures to contain it, and by profiting off stock ownership in the drug he tried to con the American people into taking as a cure.
So I knew the background of how ex-President Trump was being held at Rikers awaiting his sentencing and final disposition, but how the devil had Britney Spears gotten involved?
When I arrived at the scene the crowd had swollen to tens of thousands. I ducked into the communications trailer to liaise with the team. The captain quickly brought me up to speed. Britney, a Trump fan since her appearance years ago on The Apprentice, had been summoned by Rudy Giuliani to pay a visit to Trump. It seems Trump had a very smart, very very smart, the smartest idea in the world, to have Britney write and perform a song on his behalf and rally the MAGA troops.
How the altercation-turned-hostage situation had ensued, or how Trump had managed to be incarcerated in possession of his presidential fountain pen was still undetermined. A preceding visit from Giuliani under lawyer-client secrecy was thought to have played a part.
“We’ve got Trump on the line and he’s given us his first demand”, said the Captain. “He wants a large bucket of the KFC Extra Crispy delivered immediately. And he wants his cell phone so he can get his message out to his Twitter followers. We have the chicken ready and we’re sending you in as the delivery woman. He’ll never suspect that a simple woman delivery person would be able to get the best of him. Just be careful he doesn’t grab you by the p------, errr, private parts!”
We decided the simplest non-violent solution for everyone was to drug the chicken with a fast-acting sedative. It should knock him cold with minutes of the first greasy bite. I was made up like a delivery person and wearing only the skimpiest of clothing to make it clear I was unarmed. I was escorted to the visitors’ room, bucket in one hand and cell phone in the other.
Trump was sitting on top of one of the round metal tabletops with Brittney seated on the attached stool in front of him. The sharp point of the pen was held to her jugular vein at her throat. She didn’t look frightened though, she looked royally pissed off.
I advanced slowly into the room as nonthreatening as possible. “I see you only have one hand available, which would you like first, the chicken or the phone?” I asked demurely.
“We can get down to business as soon as I’ve had some of that chicken, the food in here sucks and I’m starving. Get over here and hold up a chicken leg for me!” Trump ordered.
Brittney rolled her eyes and sighed.
I walked over to Trump, eyes downcast, and timidly held out a chicken leg within his reach. He had the meat slurped off the bone in no time then looked at me with a puzzled expression, a single drop of grease marring his orange jumpsuit. Then he gave a grunt of surprise and his eyes rolled back as he dropped the pen and slumped forward falling on Brittney’s back.
“Ewwww, get him off me!” Brittney exclaimed. I lowered him to floor and she jumped to her feet to give me a hug.
The guards poured into the room to remove Trump and Brittney and I walked back toward the command center for a debriefing.
She looked over at me while rubbing the red mark on her neck from the point of the fountain pen and nodded thoughtfully, “I’m going to have to do a better job of picking my friends!”
