Friday December 18th, 2015

The exercise:

Write four lines of prose about: cobwebs.

Hey, remember this? Well tonight was my first shift since then. Needless to say, I remembered somewhere in between nothing and very little. I got through it, at any rate, and without too many missteps.

That I'm currently aware of.

Also today: I went and picked up Max's toddler bed frame. And it was, in actual fact, a toddler bed frame this time.

I didn't have time to put it together, what with working from 3 to 9, but Max isn't going to stand for that for much longer. So I'm pretty sure we'll be doing that tomorrow morning. I'll let you know how it goes.


It is... difficult for me to remember this. As I move through the dark forest of my memories I am entangled with cobwebs at every turn. Dust fills my nostrils, turns to filthy paste upon my tongue, blinds my aching eyes.

It is so very strange to think that this was all once profoundly familiar to me...


Greg said...

Ah, I was wondering if they were going to give you any work to do! Oddly I was thinking about that at the start of the week though; funny how these things coincide! It sounds like it wasn't too bad for your first day, and I'm sure they'll let you know soon enough that you've inadvertently sacked your current Prime Minister and put the old one back into power :)
I like the strangeness you've injected into your story today, though four lines is probably too short to do it justice given the last line. Perhaps one for your "to be continued" list?

The dungeon was an earth-floored room that flooded when it rained and whose rock walls were covered in algae, fungi and (from time to time) blood. Patrick was manacled to one of those walls, hanging uncomfortably by his wrists, when the fairies glimmered into being in front of him.
"We're the Cobwebs," said a fairy who was holding a tiny, sparkling saxophone, waving at him. "We're here to play you every single song Justin Bieber has ever released!"

Anonymous said...

It was a slow—agonizingly slow—journey through the house. Every corner and crevice was white lace, with the layers of dust overlaid by cobwebs. Ever the adventurer, Chester had no qualms about the disarray: he was far too busy tearing the cobwebs from their holdings and shaking them about as if they were his rope.

That’s a dog for you.

Marc said...

Greg - no no no no. This Prime Minister can stay as long as he likes, while the old one can get stuck in a snowbank for as long as I like. :P

Hmm, that to be continued list is getting longer and longer. I should maybe do something about that.

That is some seriously inhumane torture you've got going on in your tale. I think I'd start trying to lick the walls at that point.

Ivy - hah, was not expecting that last line. Really enjoyed your descriptions in the first three lines as well!