He hadn't written anything in nearly a year. No. That wasn't entirely true. He had written something. Many somethings. Many somethings tantamount to nothing. They were no more than writing exercises. He would start with an idea, a wonderful idea, a brilliant beginning and it would go nowhere after a day. His flirtatious romance with inspiration was just that. His obsession with her kept him in withdrawal when she left and his sense of direction deteriorated. In his languor, he wondered why he kept to such deleterious circumstances. And then, she returned.
Speaking of deviants, Gantic, are you in Deviant Art?
Nope.
--- I plan on expanding this next one since it doesn't necessarily capture what I intend to express.
Oranges
He turned an orange over in his hands, carefully considering the juice content of the plump fruit. He put the orange back and sifted through what fruits were left in the stand. Rolling the oranges around, he finally picked and bagged five and pushed the shopping cart along. Fruits. Meats. Vegetables. Bread. He went around the aisles again in case he may have forgotten something and came upon an employee restocking the oranges. Were there better ones? No, he made his choice already.
He turned an orange over in his hands, carefully considering the juice content of the plump fruit. He put the orange back and sifted through what fruits were left in the stand. Rolling the oranges around, he finally picked and bagged five and pushed the shopping cart along. Fruits. Meats. Vegetables. Bread. He went around the aisles again in case he may have forgotten something and came upon an employee restocking the oranges. Were there better ones? No, he made his choice already.
She on the other hand had not. The prospect of apples seemed more enticing. She had lost her lust for oranges. The sweet calls of citrus had been replaced by melancholy whispers in haiku form.
He turned an orange over in his hands, carefully considering the juice content of the plump fruit. He put the orange back and sifted through what fruits were left in the stand. Rolling the oranges around, he finally picked and bagged five and pushed the shopping cart along. Fruits. Meats. Vegetables. Bread. He went around the aisles again in case he may have forgotten something and came upon an employee restocking the oranges. Were there better ones? No, he made his choice already.
He felt as though he was some sort of orange connoisseur; a master of citrus in all of it's forms. Of course, the cruel irony of the Universe took him as a victim. He was strolling down the street, parading his oranges around in a satisfied manner, when he realized he had an appointment. Not stopping to see if he was allowed to cross the street, he bolted across, right in front of a Tropicana truck. it hit him with full force, the orange falling gingerly out of his hand. But hell, life isn't all irony.
How about some personification! ---------- The orange noticed the truck coming before the man did, and so the orange braced itself. It did it's best to hold on to the man's hand, whilst simultaneously cursing that it had been given a spherical shape with no extremities. The truck slammed into the man with full force, and the orange braced itself. The orange was okay; it was relieved that it hadn't shot out of the man's hand like when Lois gave birth to Stewie, and then nudged his fingers down and gingerly hopped out of the cold, dead hand to find new fortune. -------- There. Happy now? :P
Why would the man be holding an orange in his hand while crossing the street when he has oranges?
Chapter Two
He heard the hum of the spinning dryer drum and the click clack of buttons and zippers as he toddled along. He enjoyed the baking warmth of clothes as it came out of the dryer. Laundry smelled nice, too. None of it was his because he only wore diapers. He liked anything warm, though. All he had now was that warm fuzzy feeling inside he sometimes had and that wasn't caused by laundry. He hated doing laundry. Life used to be so simple.
He heard the hum of the spinning dryer drum and the click clack of buttons and zippers as he toddled along. He enjoyed the baking warmth of clothes as it came out of the dryer. Laundry smelled nice, too. None of it was his because he only wore diapers. He liked anything warm, though. All he had now was that warm fuzzy feeling inside he sometimes had and that wasn't caused by laundry. He hated doing laundry. Life used to be so simple.
Seems like he's having an epiphany... Laundry is fun well I like doing the laundry.
