Friday November 23rd, 2012

The exercise:

Write four lines of prose about: the toolbox.

This backdated post brought to you by the shrieking hellion that has taken possession of my son. I'll let you know when we have our sweet sleeping baby back.


Whenever Travis received a phone call requesting his services, he was out the door before the caller could hang up their phone. All he had to do was grab his toolbox and he was ready for action.

Its contents were not extensive, but they were all that he required: a roll of duct tape, a fully loaded nail gun, earplugs, a slender coil of rope somewhere in the neighbourhood of twenty feet, and a two liter bottle of whiskey.

Yes sir, when Travis was needed as a babysitter, that man could be at your door mighty quick.


writebite said...

marc...the joys of parenthood. he is just coming to terms with his new post womb life, digestion and all. you have this to look forward to...

the toolbox

She dressed him up and they were ready to go out.
It was the first time he was old enough to go trick or treating and everyone was excited.
Daddy held the camera steady and he pointed it at his son who was all dressed up in blue singlet, jeans, hardhat and boots that squeaked when he walked,
Down the road they went, knocking on doors, saying trick or treat, and the little one held up his toy toolbox which rapidly filled with sweets of all shapes and sizes.

morganna said...

Sweet little story, writebite. Marc -- the hellion just appears out of nowhere, and usually retreats just as quickly some unknown time later, leaving his/her parents deafer than before. Eventually, hopefully, the hellion appears very rarely and only when the child is very tired or getting sick. But I hear that this time called adolescence lurks ahead, with many hazards we thought we had overcome, and new ones to be faced.
Red and shiny
A special order from Sears
It still won't hold all our tools!

morganna said...

I forgot to say, anyone who was interested in how the poem I wrote the man in white prompt turned out, I have a post about it up on my blog today: Lizbeth's Garden

And I apologize for only 3 lines -- I confess I was not paying sufficient attention.

Anonymous said...

There are always pieces missing in a big toolbox. In my house, the toolbox is better known as a large orange bucket. Our landlord asks that we call him up every time we want to screw in a shelf or hang a picture “to preserve the walls,” he says. He hasn’t been here to replace the rotting bathroom wall. The bucket is covert home improvement.

writebite said...

morganna, read yr poem, liked the third ending best...most impact, nicely done

morganna said...

Thanks, writebite.

Marc said...

Writebite - yes, I keep reminding myself that this too shall pass...

And I'm already looking forward to next Halloween :D

Morganna - I have a feeling the adventures are only just beginning around here :)

Hah, yes. Doesn't matter how big they make 'em, there's never enough room for everything, is there?

Just read your Man in White poems. My goodness, the ending on that last one! Also loved that you shared the evolution of the poem - I always find things like that fascinating.

Anonymous - 'covert home improvement' <-- love that.

Actually, that might make a decent writing prompt...

*wanders off, pondering*

Anonymous said...

The ToolBox

My heart is always being broken but never can if fix it. If only there was a toolbox for my heart, a box to hold the tools to fix my most often broken heart...

Marc said...

Anonymous - that would be one heck of a toolbox. Definitely a best seller, sadly.