The exercise:
Write about: the raccoon.
Because I was just woken up by a raccoon knocking something over just outside our door on the deck. Took a while to get it to walk around front into the light, but I saw he or she was a pretty good size once he/she did.
Town Hall was about as bad as I figured it would be - much too big a job for the time allowed. I think next week I'll get even more done on Sunday and see how that works out.
I thought having my 'Monday' on Friday was bad. Apparently having my 'Friday' on Monday is much worse.
I quite regularly forgot what day it was throughout my shift. I had to stop myself from doing another four lines of prose prompt.
I think I am ready for my weekend now, thanks very much.
Mine:
Masked bandit
In the night
Looking to see
What he might
Find around
The house -
He's much larger
Than a mouse!
I think I shall
Watch from here.
Uh, nothing
To do with fear.
Just, uh, I think
I like this view,
Because, um, it's like
Being at the zoo?
Yes, that's it,
That's quite right!
Especially at
This time of night...
2 comments:
Raccoons sound nice :) Though I guess they might not be so nice if you've got small children in the house. I don't know if they're particularly aggressive or not.
Ah, the Town Hall problem was the size of the job! That makes sense -- I expect the time might be ok if you're experienced at doing it and you're willing to cut a few corners where they'll go unnoticed :)
Your poem reminds me of your writing when you first discovered Mr. Wriggles :) I like how you hint at things, gently suggest that the reasons given might not be quite the truth, but still come out on top. Good work!
The raccoon
The noise of the traffic was muted this high up; barely a susurration above the gusting of the wind. The lights were a ribbon of brightness in the darkness, reaching into the the nexus to the north and then exploding outwards like a photograph of a supernova. Above, the clouds nestled densely against one another obscuring the moon and stars and threatening rain. The wind smelled sweet: it was coming from the east and carrying the scents of the illegal poppy plantations with it.
A tall man with a heavy beard, thick brown eyebrows and ears that could serve as satellite dishes rested a hand on a billy-club strapped to his belt and stood on the viewing platform. Fourteen years early the local government had decided that they wanted to attract tourists and businesses to a new location outside of the main city and had started an ambitious building program, and this three-hundred foot tower was the last part of it to be begun. The inevitable coup had killed off the workers and hence the work, so while the first twenty-five floors were finished and, to a limited extent, in use, the rest of it was more structure than integrity.
He rubbed his upper lip where he'd shaved off the moustache that morning, and sighed.
"Well, Raccoon," he said, still staring out into the night, "we have eight and a half kilos of opium. How are we going to get this out of this rat-infested country?"
Raccoon, sitting on a splay-legged garden chair, as out of place on the steel-and-glass viewing platform as a stripper at a society wedding, was a huge woman. Despite the cool evening air the Bear could smell her sweating (the lifts terminated seven floors below them) and something else, like mayonnaise left out in the sun. Her face was bruised in the patterning of the animal codename she was using, and her stubby, cylindrical fingers were blackened.
"The airstrip is still usable," she said, her voice slow and thick. There was something in it that made the Bear shudder. "The only problem is getting the product there. I would suggest...."
He waited. Appearances were deceiving; she had a mind like an obsessive AI.
"I would suggest a helicopter."
"The no-fly --"
"Exactly. It's enforced by three military planes and eight radar installations. We need a gap to fly through, and that can be obtained by just commandeering one of those radar stations for less than an hour."
The Bear sighed. "My job?"
The throaty chuckle from the raccoon made him feel nauseous.
"No. I shall have the fun part. You can make sure the pilot of the chopper does as he's told."
Greg - I'm not sure how aggressive they are. I think they're pretty shy? I wouldn't want to test that theory out by sending Max out to scare it away though.
Yeah, I think a combination of experience and a few cut corners is the way to get it done, sadly. I'm trying to alternate at least. Cut one corner one week, make sure I do that the next... while cutting a different corner.
Anyway, haven't had any complaints yet, so I can't be doing too badly.
Love your opening descriptions. And I am intrigued by this duo. I hope to see them reappear as I continue my attempt at comment catch up.
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