The eerie music continued long past what should have been reasonable, long enough to make everyone in the party nervous as they explored further into the murky depths of the old abandoned mansion.
Upstairs, they found a remarkably intact child’s room, a pool of clean paint, clean carpets, sturdy furniture, and a row of stuffed animals.
I reached for the teddy bear at the end, and as my fingers touched it I realized that I could never give it up, never put it down, never run around and desert you, never make you cry, never say goodbye.
When I started this project, my goal was fairly simple: demonstrate that the cards work as a writing prompt by writing things. To be sure, I could have used far fewer deal per spread, stopped after a few of the obvious spreads, and called the project a success.
But somewhere along the way, it became more than just about the demonstration. I have found that the daily writing exercise has been valuable to me personally. I know it has made me a better writer, even though the majority of what I write is technical proposals and reference material.
Fred watched with dismay as the drum tipped off of the burner, spilling forty gallons of hot ointment base across the shop floor, where it spread like a giant slippery ice flow under shelves and benches through most of the space.
The glimmer of hope was that the expensive and fragrant orange oil hadn’t yet been added to the batch, so the financial loss was not all that large.
While the slippery accident caused no lasting damage to the room, Fred never did live it down, and for the rest of his days would find dabs of ointment in unlikely places as mocking reminders.
The alarm rang again, again, again, again; because some wise fool decided to include a human in the loop, and I am that human today, and the alarm rang again, rang again, rang again; some fool; alarm; alarm; alarm!
The rows of desks extended apparently to infinity from where I stood, in all directions around me, at each desk a monkey, in front of each monkey a typewriter, a stack of paper, and a supply of ribbons.
The alarm rang so there is a desk that produced something worth examining, and in the distance a pin spot illuminated a single monkey sitting silently at its keyboard, waiting while the alarm rang again, again, again, again, for the human, that is me, to turn off the alarm and check his work for signs of the Bard; all while the alarm continues to ring; and I prepare for disappointment yet again.