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Go to your nearest book. Turn to page 51. Find the first line of the last paragraph on the page. Use that line to start your scene.

I knew, when I decided to overuse this prompt, that my stories would be overrun by my Honours readings and bloody Chelsie. And so, this first time, we use Faulkner. Hello, Tasha. Sorry, Professor.

Pa stands over the bed, dangle-armed, humped, motionless. I know that despite the pile of bright bills, disconnected massagers, and wind instruments spread before us, Louie—shifting and craning beside me—is itching to ask what her real name is. "Call me Pa," she says (it took me nearly three months to realize she even had the cant of her grin identical every time; so too the length of time she shakes their hands, and the little laugh when the name is repeated, syllable rolled over tongue and tasted careful—you could see, in the grin, how she pleased she was, how many times she'd had someone stumble up drunk to her and tell her, listen, Pa, that's messed up, that's not the type of name for a pretty girl like you—they use this logic often, like when Louie busts out the spirit gum, and we go to parties, and some He not eying Me tells her, Hey, why you wearing that? I bet you'd look a lot more beautiful without that mustache. I'll bet, Mister).

Most people stick with the monosyllable, but Jackie took to calling her Palpatine. That's how Louie knows about her. Palpatine. I'll bet anything Louie didn't know Palpatine's skin would be so brown and so smooth, that her cheekbones would catch the desklamp's gold and send it settling over the bridge of her narrow nose so nice. Pa humphs.

"We're going to have to get back in there," she says.