There he is, ladies and gents. This is the image of who must be driving me around these days (and no, I don't mean John Candy). About this time of year, the little red devil perches himself on my shoulder and starts to whisper in my ear.
"Nah, you don't need to finish that up. Ain't there somethin' on YouTube?"
"You'll get back to that scene, don't worry. We got some games to play, remember?"
"Eh, that bad feelin' in your gut ain't guilt over your abandoned projects, my man. It's just bad chicken from last night - trust me!"
The Procrastination Devil is one I fight on a continuous basis, but for some reason he really gets ahold of my ear as the year begins to wind down. I find myself getting distracted much easier, and next thing you know I'm forgetting things. This would be how I managed (for the second time no less) to forget my turn on the blog chain. But I suppose late is better than never, so I'll put up my entry nonetheless.
Michelle M. has really decided to challenge us as the year comes to a close, with her question:
In 100 words or less, write a story using the words ride, post, soulless, local, dehydrator, girdle. Your story may take on any form you wish. The only two rules are 1. you can't simply list the 6 words; you must actually craft them into something creative, and 2. you must use ALL six of them.
I won't kid you; this has really made me sweat, particularly since everyone else has done such a great job with it. If you haven't read any of the previous entries on the chain, you need to work through them all. There are some impressive writers here. Despite my reticence however (that little devil is buggin' me to pass), I'll give it a go.
The ride past the post office brought bad memories; He still saw the twisted bodies, like old meat sitting too long in a dehydrator. Tim usually avoided Main, but tonight it was the only safe path. The feeble beam cast by his flashlight poked holes through the black curtains between streetlights, but it was barely enough to see by. He glanced at the sign hanging askew, a ragged woman’s girdle covering one end. The Local Pub now read as The Abyss, a bloody scrawl gleaming through the pale fabric. He pedaled harder, ignoring the soulless groans coming from within.
I was supposed to precede Sandra, but I have ended up posting after her anyway LOL. Check out what she came up with though. Actually, work your way through them all. This has been the most fun AND difficult post I've had to write in a long while.
