Friday July 29th, 2016

The exercise:

Write four lines of prose about: the recluse.

So hot. Brain all melty.

Going to the farmers market with 24 crates of nectarines, 12 crates of apples, 6 crates of peaches, 22 pints and 11 quarts of blackberries.

Hopefully long weekend make good.

Night night now.


I've heard the raucous bells on Christmas Day. I've seen the gaudy fireworks on New Year's Eve. I've smelled the sickly sweet roses on Valentine's Day.

Go on and enjoy them, if you must... just leave me be.


Greg said...

I sympathise with the heat issues you're having. Malta seems to have gone exceptionally humid just now, which is definitely not helping. I have a dehumidifier for the bedroom though, bought last week, and that _is_ helping, so it's not all bad!
Hah, I like your recluse. Though they're nowhere near as grumpy as I know you can be... ;-)

The recluse
Samantha's fingers tightened on the tea-cup handle as Margaret laid down "RECLUSE" on the Scrabble board, neatly making "RHO", "EYE", "LA", "UM", "SEVEN" and "EN" in the process. When she had the cheek to sit there adding up all the points she got -- "and then the bonus of 50 makes 212" -- the handle of the cup snapped and lukewarm milky tea showered the carpet.
"Butterfingers," said Margaret sweetly, with a smile that Samantha wished she could have caught on camera because it would have justified her next action in the eyes of the harshest judge.
"Recluse beaten to death with Ottoman over Scrabble board!" declared the next day's headlines.

Marc said...

Greg - hah :P

Aw man, any bit of writing that manages to include Scrabble just automatically makes me happy. Toss in some game induced murder rage and it's got everything I could ask for!