Once upon a time, I fell in love head under heels; had it been the other way around, things might have gone differently. Cupid and his fucked-up aim! I always tell him, go see an optometrist, or, at least, take archery lessons.
"This is your own stupid fault," Janet snarled, "always stomping around the place."
"Pray tell, what must a gnome do?"
"Do yourself in, for all I care. This marriage's done. I'm taking the hut, carriage, gold spindles, and our firstbor--"
And thus she vanished, in a puff of powdery air.
Agitating Rumplestiltskin? Never a good idea.
It was head under heels that caught my eye first.
I love those kinds of phrase twists.
And fractured fairy tales always amuse me.
One little update and you’re snowed under. Snarls of e-mails, muddles of files --I'm a sucker for these kinds of meta entries.
“You can’t do that.”
“Talk to your audience. It’s called --”
“I know what it’s called. Get off my lap.”
“I will not.”
“Let me work in peace!”
Sheesh. Grumpy Cat is my worst critic. Always picking apart everything I do.
“Don’t do that,” GC cautions. “Or you’ll be deader than . . . you know.”
“I want good writing.”
I snap the cage closed. “Let’s see you break that fourth wall!”
Back at the keyboard, I crack my knuckles.
This (story) is your own stupid fault, Janet . . .
I’m Sasha the dog.This just cracked me up completely.
My two-legger brought home a dunderheaded dog today.
She said it was a cat.
I never heard of a cat.
Don’t like it, I grumped.
Has a stupid bark.
Asks for food when it still has half a bowl. What a dodo.
Then I heard the worst thing from my two-legger, “I’m a cat person.”
I brought her my leash.
Here’s something that idiot won’t do.
“Don’t worry. I’m a dog person too,” she said.
She opened the door, the cat bolted.
It’s your own stupid fault Janet.
What a bad dog.
At last up, I delivered my best rendition of “Go-going to the chapel,” as I teetered up the aisle.It says nothing good about me that I think this is hilarious.
The result was gr-grum. Possibly because I’m tone-deaf. And d-drunk.
My ma-maid of honor actually turned and s-snarled.
I belched when I reached the altar.
“It’s all your stupid fault, Jan.” Etiquette be d-damned, I hurled my bou…bou… flowers in the groom’s face.
Hope had died under the deluge of newly discovered texts. “I do-do not take this man, Jan. You can have him. Since it appears you already did.”
I love the idea of marching up the aisle, drunk, to hurl your bou...bou...flowers at Mr. Not-So-Wonderful
Today the gawpers carry coats, grumpy about the rain. But in here it's perfect: dry, great temperature. Always is, behind my glass.
“What's she thinking about?" A girl, nose against my window.
"Nothing, stupid. It's stuffed. Dumb if you ask me." Dunderhead boy drags her away.
The girl doesn't even snarl. Like she's used to this kind of thing.
So when she turns for a final glimpse, I tilt my head. Just a little. And wink.
Dead as a dodo, eh? Well, long as I'm here, I'm keeping imagination alive.
One wink at a time.
This appeals to me on so many levels. I love the vivid language.
I love the concept.
And that last line is perfect.
Down by the river, I spy that snarl-headed McPherson. Like his kin, you kin tell he’s dunder brained. He keeps stroking them purple flowers and tilling the earth ‘round them with cow dodo.
Like that’ll make ‘em grow.
And he hums. It gives me the grumps.
So, I’ll keep watching him. We Perrys don’t hold with McPhersons. We drink blood or they’re moonstruck animals. The origins is fuzzy. Yet there’s something in his melody. Maybe I’ll go drink from yonder river. Ask him a question or two. And find out just how stupid the McPhersons are (for myself).
Everything this story is about isn't on the page.
It took me two passes to see the subtle beauty here.
What drew my eye first was kin: Like his kin, you kin tell. Lovely lovely clever use.
It was a VERY tough choice this week, but after re-reading everything again the prize goes to Nliu.
Thank you to everyone who entered, who took the time to write and post. It's always a real pleasure to see your work.