Friday, May 13, 2016

A River Runs Through It

Way back in ancient times before I was online, my sister and I used to exchange strange letters. They weren't just letters, they were collages, cartoons, etc. Sometimes there were even physical objects like the big rock she gave me one time that has "BITE ME" written on it in indelible ink. And speaking of ink, when writing letters that you intend to be kept for many years, maybe you shouldn't use shitty pink ink in your fountain pen.

The above illustration is a letter from my sister circa 1992. I kept a lot of these letters in a box under my bed. Last night a river decided it needed to come to existence in my bedroom. (Heavy rain, old basement wall with a crack in it.) Luckily most of the letters were fine, but there were a couple that looked like the one above.

Friday, May 06, 2016

Plot Generator

I was just over at playing with the short story generator. This is what it spat out.

The Drizzle that Rained like Sitting Mice

A Short Story
by T. Barrel Shittington

Melanie Porridge looked at the silver blade in her hands and felt cross.

She walked over to the window and reflected on her cold surroundings. She had always loved grey McDonald's with its colossal, crispy crowded. It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel cross.

Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Owen Merriam.
Owen was a caring academic with vast fingernails and blonde feet.

Melanie gulped. She glanced at her own reflection. She was a witty, considerate, tea drinker with dirty fingernails and curvaceous feet. Her friends saw her as a muddy, magnificent monster. Once, she had even helped a manky enormously fat man cross the road.

But not even a witty person who had once helped a manky enormously fat man cross the road, was prepared for what Owen had in store today.

The drizzle rained like sitting mice, making Melanie surprised.

As Melanie stepped outside and Owen came closer, she could see the weak smile on his face.
Owen gazed with the affection of 8606 sweet late lizards. He said, in hushed tones, "I love you and I want an invitation."

Melanie looked back, even more surprised and still fingering the silver blade. "Owen, It's in the mail," she replied.

They looked at each other with ambivalent feelings, like two giant, gentle gerbils laughing at a very ruthless snow storm, which had classical music playing in the background and two lovable uncles singing to the beat.

Melanie studied Owen's vast fingernails and blonde feet. Eventually, she took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," began Melanie in apologetic tones, "but I don't feel the same way, and I never will. I just don't love you Owen."

Owen looked confident, his emotions raw like a rapid, rare record.

Melanie could actually hear Owen's emotions shatter into 3419 pieces. Then the caring academic hurried away into the distance.

Not even a cup of tea would calm Melanie's nerves tonight.