![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
candylandToday's exercise in Creative Writing was that we were given a phrase and had to write for five minutes on it. Here's the phrase, and here's what I came up with. It really doesn't make a lot of sense, but that's okay, it's free-writing...
Okay, so maybe sneaking into the haunted house in lieu of a hiding place hadn’t been his best idea ever. But when one’s face was all over the news for armed bank robbery, one couldn’t be too picky about one’s hiding places, could one?
Of course one couldn’t.
And now his imagination was getting the best of him. Of course the house wasn’t haunted. There were no such things as ghosts. Right? Right. It was just your typical, run of the mill, abandoned ancient decrepit and very creepy old house. Not. Haunted.
…and that idea was squashed soundly into the dirt when he heard a creak on the landing outside the room he’d chosen as his hiding place. Instinctively, he cowered into the nearest corner, pressing flat back against the wall. The wood was old and rough, splintered from years without proper care. The light blue paint was flaking badly, and he could already see where it was sticking to his dark sweater. Quite a contrast.
Oh, right, back to the sound outside.
It was like something out of a cheesy horror movie. A filmy white figure stepped through the closed door and moved to stand proudly in the center of the room. He was a taller man, relatively common in features, and his eyes were focused on the robber.
Only…
“Brendan?” the ghost said.
The robber—Brendan—started, then took a closer look. “Steve?”
The ghost frowned and loomed ominously. “What the hell? The note said meet me at three, not shoot me at three!”
Brendan’s shoulders slumped. “I can’t read…but I brought money! Look!” He pulled out the prize from the heist he’d pulled. “Don’t hurt me!”
Steve the Ghost gave him a deadpan look. “Haven’t you ever heard the saying ‘You can’t take it with you’?”
Okay, so maybe sneaking into the haunted house in lieu of a hiding place hadn’t been his best idea ever. But when one’s face was all over the news for armed bank robbery, one couldn’t be too picky about one’s hiding places, could one?
Of course one couldn’t.
And now his imagination was getting the best of him. Of course the house wasn’t haunted. There were no such things as ghosts. Right? Right. It was just your typical, run of the mill, abandoned ancient decrepit and very creepy old house. Not. Haunted.
…and that idea was squashed soundly into the dirt when he heard a creak on the landing outside the room he’d chosen as his hiding place. Instinctively, he cowered into the nearest corner, pressing flat back against the wall. The wood was old and rough, splintered from years without proper care. The light blue paint was flaking badly, and he could already see where it was sticking to his dark sweater. Quite a contrast.
Oh, right, back to the sound outside.
It was like something out of a cheesy horror movie. A filmy white figure stepped through the closed door and moved to stand proudly in the center of the room. He was a taller man, relatively common in features, and his eyes were focused on the robber.
Only…
“Brendan?” the ghost said.
The robber—Brendan—started, then took a closer look. “Steve?”
The ghost frowned and loomed ominously. “What the hell? The note said meet me at three, not shoot me at three!”
Brendan’s shoulders slumped. “I can’t read…but I brought money! Look!” He pulled out the prize from the heist he’d pulled. “Don’t hurt me!”
Steve the Ghost gave him a deadpan look. “Haven’t you ever heard the saying ‘You can’t take it with you’?”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-01 07:17 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-01 06:43 pm (UTC)Oh, and be proud of me--I had my first idea for an actual poem in ages. Expect to see some stuff posted here, just because ^_^ Lurvs!!
(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-01 04:44 pm (UTC)Give me another!
(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-01 05:07 pm (UTC)"Where's my money, ho?" Casper slapped Wendy across the face.