Exam revision is annoying and eats inspiration almost as much as it eats spare time. So here's some filler stuff that I did a while ago at Oneword. (You guys remember oneword, right?) I make no apologies for crapness. These things were written in 60 seconds, cut me some slack.
She grasped the gun in her hand. The metal felt cold against her skin: But they always did. Everything had felt cold since five years ago, when everyone on the planet had become little but a ball of fire. Some others, like her, may still be sentient, but she couldn't tell beyond the flames.
It was dark. Of course it was dark. That's how things worked on this planet.
Still, Dktgyer was unnerved. Darkness was new to him. What did darkness entail? Did the humans have some other sense they could rely on?
This problem would have to be solved if the race was to be successfully enslaved.
It had been six weeks. Six weeks of nothing but darkness. Brian thought he might mention it to someone, but he decided against it. What if he was the only one? they would LAUGH AT HIM. Like they had LAUGHED AT HIM WHEN HE ASKED FOR COFFEE. But today he woiuld show them! He would preform pink floyd hits in such a way as to make them jealous! THEN THEY WOULD SEE!
I think it was in May: when caked flowed like water, or vinegar, it depended on the number of strawberries.
The cake looked up at me: at least, metpahorically- It was, in fact facing downwards but I swear it was telling me to eat it.
That's why I killed the President, your honor.
Ah, he said; He said, with his hands clasped around a cheeseburger, he said: "Ah, but that is not the reason I am here".
It was at that point that fifty holes in the wall appeared, and sixty men came out carrying guns protruded, shouting various things.
"I am here to distract," he said.
They stared at the computer screen, as numbers became letters, and letters became numbers.
"What does it all mean?" asked one.
"How the hell should I know? Maybe it's some kinda prayer, or art, or something. Like, the numbers are meant to represent suffering."
He said, looking at the vase: "well, I suppose it'll make a nice gift for the parents of the child".
"Weren't you listening?" she said, clutching a small vase-making mallet. "It's a type of radish. The vase is in another dimension at the moment, going clothes shopping."
Where is he from? I think I recognise the dress; the blue hat, the green shirt, but apart from that, he seems to be nothing but a small model.
Ahh, but what you think is a model may very well be a small rodent, in DISGUISE.
it was then that we knew grandpa was too old for grave digging
They looked at him, writhing on the floor in agony.
"What the hell did I do to you? What did I ever do to you, you bastards?"
John smiled, and walked out the room. In five weeks, his victim would snap at a secretary because of this. That secretary would quit and then
Nothing. Nothing but white for endless miles. Or perhaps they were walls. Bill couldn't see anything, couldn't make anything out.
Perhaps they were circular walls. He looked at his hand. It wasn't there.
Slowly, he pulled the piece of paper from his eyes.
[yes I know that's not how light works. But I only had 10 seconds to come up with an ending, so the laws of physics can go fuck themselves.]
Can you hear anything? Can you see anyone?
No. You can't. You can't because you never went to medium schoollllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll
i say mr. jones that hat is quite dashing WHAT DO YOU SAY I FIND THAT INSULTING
so said the walrus to the crabman oh yeah.
The robin fell down branches and twigs, trying to remember what it had done, and what was happening to it. The answer came into focus far too clearly as he spied the ground. He would have to remember, think back to learning how to fly, and he had six seconds to do it.
Stop playing with that. I need it for my new project; I shall collect all the balls of yarn in the world, and I shall label each one according to a complex numbering system. Then I will give them back. All this shall be done isntantly, so noone will notice. It shall be a nice mystery to figure out and will be much more fun for them than knitting
CIRCUS: It was a fine day for it: the sun was, as usual, on fire, but it was several million miles away so such things did not matter to him. All thatt really mattered was that he was falling seventeen feet and the trampoline was not sufficient to accomodate is fifty-pound self. He should not have eaten so much at christmas.