November 6, 2014

A Flight of Fancy

A Flight of Fancy
Janelle Spiers

The Flight Of Fancy: A Collection of Short Story Samples All Based On This Beginning Sentence...

"The rain continued to pour steadily, and I was getting sick of it."

The rain continued to pour steadily, and I was getting sick of it.  Grandmother's home was comfortable enough and was by no means unpleasant, but I was longing for a chance to stretch my legs and run around without danger of breaking an antique tea-set.  "Billy," Grandmother said with a dull tap of her cane on the wooden floor, "come sit beside the fire and read to me." 
I swung my legs wildly from where they dangled over the side of the sofa.  I was too short to reach the floor, and the distance between hard ground and my feet was a bit alarming when trying to get down.   
"Must I, Grandmother?"  I asked.  I liked the whispering sound my teeth made when I said, s. I had just lost a tooth and the hole was pleasurable for a seven-year-old to explore with his tongue.   
My Grandmother rapped on the floor again, "Yes, child.  You might as well come do something instructive and worth your young hours until the rain subsides." 
I looked at the distance between the floor and my stockinged feet.  I was going to have to jump and I prayed a little honest prayer to God, asking for his protection from splinters.  I screwed up my mouth, squeezed my eyes shut, and launched myself off the sofa.

The rain continued to pour steadily, and I was getting sick of it.  No, sick was not the right word.  Oh, poor me! I couldn't think of the word I wanted, I was too wet and shivery. I whimpered mournfully as the rain splashed onto my nose. If only Tony would have patched the roof last Saturday like he was told to.  I had overheard Mom tell Tony to, 'Fix the doghouse roof. It's got holes in it and it's supposed to rain this week.'
But Tony didn't do it, and now I suffer. Oh, poor me! The rain kept splashing onto my quivering black nose and I couldn't shake it off inside the doghouse. I made up my quaking courage to go to the Big House and see if Mom would let me in.
The rain fell harder and faster when I scooted through the mud, oh me!  All of the little drops were making me feel so sad. I climbed up to the porch and scratched at the door with timid wetness.  Mud streaked on the door, oh, poor me!  I made a mess and was likely to 'get it!' like I always do. But suddenly the door opened and Sophie stood waggling her little golden braids and chewing on fruit. My poor stomach growled like the thunder.  
 "Mom!" Screamed Sophie, "Julius is trying to get inside!"
Mom came to the door with a towel in her hand, drying a human dog-bowl, all white and shiny.  "Julius, go lay down."  She pointed with her hand towards the leaky doghouse.  Oh, poor me! I couldn't go back!

"The rain continued to pour steadily, and I was getting sick of it."  Ruth-Ann put the page down. "What do you think of that?"
Dexter pushed his glasses back up on his nose and said with knowing air, "No, no, no. It needs more drama.  More thrust!"
A nub of pencil flew over the page with extreme rapidity.  Ruth-Ann adjusted her scarf, cleared her throat, and said, "The torrent continued to pour violently, and I was feeling ill."
"No, no, no!" Dexter sighed.  He snatched the paper with a superior flourish and took up his pen.  After a few moments of tense silence, he spoke clearly and loudly, "The cloudburst on the northern horizon persisted to gush from the heavens with staunch fervor, and as for myself, I was becoming weary of such torrential rain."
Ruth-Ann wrinkled her nose. "I don't think that it sounds quite right for a children's picture book."
"Of course it does," Dexter said with a pompous wave of his hand. "I know exactly what children want, and this is what they want!" 

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