Friday November 25th, 2016

The exercise:

Write four lines of prose that have something to do with: incubation.

Sat around doing not much this morning. By mid-afternoon I was feeling ready to get out of the house, so I took Max to the park - after making sure he understood I couldn't do much with him (especially pick him up or climb up on the equipment).

It ended up working out nicely, as one of the boys he knows fairly well arrived with his family not long after we got there. They played together great, so I was mostly able to stand around and watch.

It was really nice to get out and do something, even if it tired me out more than I care to admit. Hopefully another night of rest will allow me to do more tomorrow.

Mine:

It is growing, in width, in length, in strength. Safely out of sight, it gathers its resources and prepares for its coming delightfully dreadful emergence. Oh, how eager I am to see the looks of surprise, shock... astonishment on their faces when it reveals itself at last!

But not yet... for patience - yes, so very much patience - is required, as my creation is not yet ready to unleash its cruel beauty upon my enemies.

4 comments:

Greg said...

That sounds like a nice afternoon for you, and definitely better than being confined to bed! Especially with the advent of other people who could help out. Well done on catching up on comments too; I think you're going to catch up with the House of Mercy just in time for the final installment to come round. And I'm glad you enjoy this tale of Ernest Derby!
Hmm, well that's a little bit creepy -- in a good way though! I read it a couple of times and I'm still not sure what's incubating there, and I'm pretty sure I'm not going to like the answer. Great work on creating that emotion in the reader.

Incubation
"The ancients observed that the planets that they knew about corresponded with platonic solids, and later artists depicted the planets encases in those forms. This, we believe, was the inspiration for the creation of topomancy: the use of the Will to transform one shape into another, such as doughnuts into coffee cups or socks into ovens. We will begin with incubation, the means by which we encase something -- anything -- in a cube of solid matter." The teacher looked around her attentive class and smiled: "This might just save your life eighty or ninety times."

Marc said...

Greg - well, looks like I'm a bit ahead of schedule on catching up on comments. For once. Maybe tomorrow... nah, not going to jinx it.

Hmm, now you've got me wondering - is this class in the same world as the Ernest Derby tale? Regardless, I enjoyed this entry very much - especially that final line and the way it was delivered :)

Dana said...

Marc: creepy :)
Greg: brilliant use of esoteric philosophy there,

Mine:

Incubation

It was round and itchy - like an itchy, red ring on the inner skin of her elbow.
It'd been there for several days and was slowly driving her mad, so she headed for the clinic to resolve her dilemma.

The doc took a skin scraping and muttered under his breath, "It looks like Trichophyton mentagrophytes, but I'd like to be sure so I can prescribe the appropriate treatment to eliminate it for sure."

"How long do I have to wait...?" she started, but he cut her off curtly, "It takes six weeks for the incubation and identification," he answered, leaving her hanging in disappointment, scratching, itching, six more weeks...argh!

Marc said...

Dana - thanks :)

Oh man, the horror of that diagnosis. 'Yeah, it's itchy and annoying, and... we'll have an answer in a month and a half.'

Ugh. No, thank you very much :P