Your prompt today: verse 47.
There's an author on Protagonize by that name who was considering changing it to something else. He was convinced not to but I became intrigued as to what the story might be behind this one and so... this prompt was born.
"And so we move on to verse number forty-six," the man spoke into the microphone, a thin finger returning his glasses back to their perch at the top of his hawkish nose.
"Oh man," I whispered to my friend Kevin, "I don't know if I can take much more of this."
"I know, but it can't be much longer, can it?" We exchanged silent glances, devoid of any and all hope, before turning back to the front of the lecture hall. Then, out of the corner of his mouth, Kevin asked, "Do you reckon he's a Vogon in disguise?"
"Not a chance," I replied softly as the speaker droned on. "They only write the third worst poetry in the universe."
I think we both would have laughed then, had the situation not become so desperate. As it was, all that escaped Kevin was a resigned giggle. Unfortunately that was enough to draw the attention of Mr. Phillips, our second year English professor, who glared at us with sufficient hatred to return us to inattentive silence.
And then the moment arrived that we had been praying for ever since our guest speaker had begun. Or so we thought.
"And now I shall conclude with the forty-seventh and final verse." I was half out of my seat, a whooping cheer bubbling in my throat. It only made what followed even worse. "Which, at two hundred and thirty-five lines, is the longest verse I have ever written..."