Into Dark Wood I think there came some fuss of paper. One paper now said a brilliant thing. Something shone in its brilliance. Brow people came to read it. They wore scented hats, each hat stank in its own way. Caramel, honey, fart, orange spice, spicy caramel, honey fart, orange caramel honey fart spice.
The dowdy woman in fart nailed the vim. Where is this paper, she said crossing into Dark Wood. She carried a commendation from the Dean of No University.
The table sat with stumpy legs. Smells wafered through the trees. Bears drew from their tents. One boy was ate, a young doctor, a special assistant who stood too near the patch. Still now everyone shuffled around the papers. They handed the papers back and forth with brainy fingers. Many of them fainted, all thrilled.
I thought to myself uncannily. I haunch-hunkered low in my corner, thumb amouth, visualizing the paper in her leafless New York grip. What words? What muck in this truth? Now the scent rose fulsome from my sweet wrinkled tam.
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Not published, not submitted anywhere, I wrote this in response to a rejection that said I wrote to regular.
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yuck, this story stinks. (don't know how to write emoticons, but put a teasing one here)
The line, "Many of them fainted, all thrilled" should appear in every story ever written. can you get on that, pronto?
Ha, LES's comment is too clever to follow up with something similar. The "each hat stank in its own way" got me, particularly as I've been running all week with the same hat and well that line just resonated too much.
The last line is great, using "tam" and "fulsome" in the same sentence with aplomb is pretty fucking cool.
you should definitely send this to whoever sent you the rejection letter. maybe write it out on the back of a postcard in serial killer handwriting.
oh, and,
my favorite line:
"They handed the papers back and forth with brainy fingers."
awesome
this is very irregular. in a really great way. you need to to submit this elsewhere. i insist. and i am very bossy. many here will back me up on that.
Thanks for the feedback y'all people.
Lauren, I'm scared of you. Will you be my manager?
adam -- i think bossing you around already qualifies me as your manager! (and i'm not that scary ... i hope the same people who will attest to my bossiness will agree with that assessment!)
Aromatically explosive. The devil's trumpetwork, here. And he blows mad.
Piques my curiosity in regards to the piece you originally submitted. This, certainly, seems worthy of publication.
Many thanks for the savagely entertaining wordplay, as well as the back-story, Mr. Robinson.