Me: “Hey, book.”
Book, still sprawled out all over my life like the non-rent-paying couch-surfer it is, looks up. “Hmm?”
Me: ::Punches book in the face so hard it flies through the window, over the city, and lands in an open grave. The impact is so powerful that the piles of dirt on either side collapse onto it, burying it completely.::
Me, an hour later: ::Saunters up to grave, a celebratory burger in one hand, a marble tombstone tucked under the other. Drops tombstone in place and takes out broken, petrified femur stolen from Dorothy L. Sayers’s coffin. Kneels down and carves “A KEY, AND EGG, AN UNFORTUNATE REMARK” at top of headstone with bronzed tip. Below that line, carves “Agent has called this one to judgement.”::
Me: ::Walks away, eating burger::
(Actually, I haven’t sent it to my agent yet. I have to prep a nice little thing to accompany it it first.)
Mirrored from Twenty Palaces. You can comment here or there.
