Stories are made of words…

Prepare yourself for a totally non-literary, rather silly blog post… Ok, prepared? Well, here goes. My housemates Debs and Mel joined me in one of our fun little games that take the place of clubbing or political discussion or whatever other people in their mid-twenties do. We write a story between us, by going round in a circle each saying just one word at a time. Of course, foiling others and causing obstacles is all part of the fun. Here’s the story we came up with tonight:

“Stop right now!” shouted Kenneth. He ran towards them quickly, waving a hankerchief aflame. The sailors refused to listen: “It’s our duty to scrub these potatoes until they gleam!” Softly, Kenneth pushed the boat away from the mooring.

“Ahoy!” complained Aloysius, carefully putting golf-balls directly into Kenneth’s outstretched eyes. “These balls need returning before sundown, otherwise all Hell will break loose! Leastways, it won’t be sunny, apparently.”

Kenneth stepped away, laughing hysterically. “What in the world do you mean? If the portents portend correctly, there needn’t be any golfing disaster today. However, if you don’t stop scrubbing those spuds, something monolithic, fiery, and generally painful will wreak havoc aboard that vessel!”

“Arrrgh!” concurred multiple sailors boisterously – but Aloysius remained firm. Suddenly water splashed onto H.M.S. Bloomingdale. A second flaming ‘kerchief hoved from starboard.

“Ahoy,” Kenneth said. “Finally multiple persons are amassed, ha!” (Alcohol made him incoherent.) The second bearer of flaming haberdashery paused, puzzled.

“I am on fire!” As he alerted the sailors to his predicament, Aloysius dove into the cabin, retrieving a hose, but the victim jumped straight over the nearby railings, extinguishing his flaming ‘kerchief, alongside the ship.

“If you’d foreseen this end, you mightn’t have continued igniting linen and scrubbing root vegetables, willy-nilly,” exclaimed Kenneth.

THE END.