Archive for November, 2010
I have a story to tell you, though I am dreadfully nervous to even speak of the madness that visited me that lonely December evening. I sat at my desk working on a poem about a particular repetitive raven when I became ravenous for a midnight snack. I got up from my desk and wandered throughout the house, searching for something that could relieve my hunger when I came upon this tart, this sugary cake with pink frosting, sitting upon the counter. Despite the sugary cake’s protests, I quickly devoured it and went back to my desk to finish the poem.
However, I quickly felt a pounding in my stomach. Thinking it was merely indigestion, I ignored the sensation and picked up my quill. Yet as I moved to dip my quill into the ink, I heard a small voice speaking from inside of me.
“I’m going to punch out your lights for that!”
Startled, I dropped my quill and knocked over the ink. It spilled all over my poem, making my words quite indecipherable. Am I mad, I thought? But how acute my senses were – how clearly I could hear the voice inside my stomach, and how calmly I recount the events of that fateful December evening.
I thought that would have been the last I heard of the voice, but as I stood up, shaking, from my desk, I heard it speak to me once more.
“Where are you? I can’t see. I’ll knock the pudding out of ya!”
In horror I recoiled from the desk. I cried out, “who’s there?”
“I’ll sting like a red hot, float like a blow pop!”
In a nervous sweat I fell onto the bed, clutching at my stomach. As I lay there the sound of the sugary cake’s threats increased until it became unbearable. I thought I might tear my hair out, yet there was nothing to be done.
“I’m warning you, I was taught by the legendary Bruce Spree!”
The sugary tart is still there, in my stomach, shouting some inane words such as ‘beating the stuffing out of me’. Let this be a warning to you, a cautionary tale. Never eat a sugary pink cake on a lonely December evening if you wish to get any writing done.