The Case of the Speech Writer

So, I was thinking back to my past stories, and I thought this one deserved to be shared.  Some of you may have heard this many times….but others haven’t heard it at all.

NOTE: As you read this, think of different voices for each of the characters.  This was my creative expression speech 2009.  Took me to sections!


                She came to me with a case.  They usually do.  Said a girl had been causing a ruckus in the neighborhood, which was hard, because she lived in the country.  At least four people had been mentally troubled as of late because of the happenings. Five, including herself, a counselor who saw these things everyday.  Said the girl had not meant trouble, but was merely writing her speech.  But I thought otherwise.  It’s my job.  I’m – a private eye.

                The name’s Thursday.  JoAnne Thursday, but around here, I’m known as detective 09072454.  This was a tough case, but I knew one like this would come my way one of these days.  This was, THE CASE OF THE SPEECH WRITER.

It started out with her first attempt:

It was a dark and scary night . . . (dark because it was 10:30 and the lights were off, scary for effect).  I sat in the basement, notebook and pen in hand, trying to write a speech.  I jumped as I heard the step creak, and I looked over to see a shadow descending down the stairs.  Some suspenseful music started to play, and suddenly, out jumped—my sister?  I mean, MY SISTER!

“Ahhh!” I screamed.

“Ahhh!” she screamed.

“Ahhh!” I screamed.

“Why are we screaming?” she screamed.

“For effect,” I shrugged, using my non-screaming voice.

“Why?” she asked, also in her non-screaming voice.

“I’m trying to write a ‘Horror Speech.”

“Um, Anna,” she said, “try again.”

From there, things got worse.

Once upon a time, in a land not too far away, there lived a girl who was 5’5” AND A HALF, had blondish hair, bluish eyes, and was a senior in high school.  She must be an extraordinary girl, otherwise I wouldn’t be writing my “Fairytale Speech” about her.

So anyway, she was sitting in her tower one day, trying to write her speech, when the evil dragon came barging in, demanding a walk.  Rolling her eyes, the girl went to get the leash, but was stopped by an evil witch.

“Where are you going, my dear?” the witch asked, evilly.

“Oh, you know, to get the leash to walk the dragon.”

“Would you like a snack first? You must be hungry after thinking so hard in your tower.  Would you like an apple?”

“No thanks.”

“How about a banana?”


“Orange?  Melon?  Grapes?”

“Sorry—I’m a vegetarian.”

It was then that I noticed a troubling trend.

“Are we on third street or are we on fourth street?” an old lady asked her husband.

“I don’t know.  Let’s look at the map,” he replied.  He got out the map, and then proceeded to check all of his pockets.  “It looks like I forgot my reading glasses . . .”

“Oh, dear, how will we ever find our way?”


“Oh, Captain, can you help us?  We’re trying to find our house.  It’s blue with white shutters, and it says ‘Hanson’ on the mailbox.”

The Captain looked around for awhile until he figured it out. “Right this way, Lady,” he said, escorting her back up her driveway.  “Home sweet home!”

“Oh, Captain Obvious, thank you!  How can we ever repay you!?”

“No need, old lady.  I am merely doing my heroic duty, making sure the people of this town are safe from being lost and confused.  Making sure all the people are safe from being robbed…and…other bad stuff.  Making sure all the people—(a scream is heard)—and I’m off!”

Then, the unthinkable happened.

“But, Anna, how could you leave me?” cried out the blue-ink pen.

“I’m sorry, but I had to.”

“How could you?  How could you ever write another speech without my smear-less, water-saleable ink?”

“I’m sorry, but the black-ink pen is –“

“BLACK-INK PEN? You’re leaving me for THAT?”

“I’m sorry, but it just looks nicer on the page.”

“What?  I thought blue was your favorite!”

“It was, but . . . I’ve moved on.”

“Moved on!?  What about me?  I will never again let my ink write for another soul!”

“I’m still sorry, but the black-ink pen is more dramatic— perfect for my ‘Soap Opera Speech!’”

“Never again . . . never again. . . NEVER AGAIN!”

Finally, it got to a point, where things could not get any worse.

“So tell me, sister, what exactly happened?”

Sister: “I was so scared!  She was sitting in the basement, lights off, and she just started screaming!  I didn’t know what happened!”

“Do you think there’s a reasonable explanation for this?”

Sister: “All I can think of is . . . her speech.”

“What about you, witch?”

Witch: “She was fantasizing in her tower again.  Wouldn’t even stop for a snack!”

“And then what happened? Why?”

Witch: “She even made the ‘walk’ with the dragon more of a run because . . . she wanted to get back to her . . . SPEECH!”

“How about you, old lady?”

Old Lady: “Well, she ensured the introduction of the Captain and myself, but then she had to cut it short by screaming.  And we were just starting to hit it off!”

“Wasn’t your husband standing nearby?”

Old Lady: “Well, sure, but that doesn’t mean anything.  She just wanted to move on to the next genre of her speech!”

“And blue-ink pen? Why, you look like you’ve been crying!”

Blue-ink pen:  “She set me down, and picked up . . . the BLACK-INK PEN!  How could she?”

“Why? What was the reason for all this?”

Blue-ink pen: “She wanted to be more dramatic when she was writing . . . HER SPEECH!”

Witch: “Yes, it’s her fault!  All because she wanted to write that stupid speech!”

Sister: “Why did she have to write a speech about that?  Couldn’t she have picked one topic and have stuck to it?”

Old Lady: “You’re supposed to be nice to the elderly, not set them up just to knock them down again! Dumb speech!”

Blue-ink pen: “Never again . . . never again. . . NEVER AGAIN!”

It was then that I stepped in.  I would not let this speech writer make another move.  I finally found her in her room, laughing, with the black-ink pen in hand.  She had meant trouble the whole time, just as I had suspected.  She would never again mentally trouble someone because of her writing.  At least not in this speech.  But I knew that all along.  After all, I’m—a private-eye.