Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Timed writing: 12/11/2012

Time: 10 minutes
Source photo: Strawberries by { Sweet life }

The alien brought us pans of strawberries. The entire cargo hold of his flying saucer was stacked with blue-and-white-checked baking dishes, full of fresh, ripe strawberries. He didn't say anything. Perhaps he couldn't -- he had nothing on his long head that looked like a mouth. He might well have been a she, for that matter -- he had nothing on his long body resembling a penis. We referred to him as a he because when he first knocked on the door, Mamma called from the back room, Your father must have forgotten his keys again. Go let him in, would you? and I opened the door and it wasn't Papa, so I yelled back, He's not Papa! and she came to the kitchen and started to ask, Well, who is he, and then she stopped and said, Oh, and then I said, He's got strawberries, and she said, Well, I guess we'd better invite him in and offer him a chair, and so we called the alien him and he and we ate his strawberries, even though he might have been a she. Papa called from town to say that he was running late and did we need anything and Mama told him to pick up some whipping cream, and then she made shortcakes while I showed the alien the guest room and my legos and my books. He flipped through Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs. I couldn't tell for sure, because he didn't have a mouth, but I think he was smiling. And then he took me outside and showed me his flying saucer.

(about my timed writing exercises)

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