Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Timed Writing: 3/12/2012
Time: 10 minutes
Source photo: Wohlfühloase Wellnestempel by Michael Sander DU
The toilet offered to Jesse was only a little less inviting than the one featured in Trainspotting's famous submarine exploration scene. Jesse, however, sought relief of type the first. Had his body required a a receptacle for type the second, he would have held on a bit and sought solace elsewhere.
Through gauzy shreds of curtain that fluttered above the porcelaine appliance, Jesse contemplated the scene of children kicking the life -- or at least the stuffing -- out of a plush toy dog in the alley. The sight did little to assist him in expelling waste humors from his corporeal vehicle -- a body equipped, most unfortunately, with an aging and reticent prostate -- but he was in no particular hurry, so he stood and waited, allowing his mind to wander back to tortured toys of his own youth.
Pangs of guilt punctuated recollections of the barbarous machines -- racks, wheels, guillotines and voltaic thrones -- built for the express purpose of inflicting imagined suffering on one or another of his eldest sister's dolls -- as well as very real distress on said eldest sister. The pains of the dolls did not go unavenged, however. Several of his own toy soldiers and leaden figures of knights and horses met with horrible fates of their own -- long flights from high cliffs, watery graves, hell-fires of the blacksmith's forge. Then his sister had discovered that there was a market for the old books from their grandfather that Jesse kept in his room and considered his own. For each of her hand-painted porcelain dolls that went missing or was found dismembered, crushed, or burned, a subset of his library would be spirited away to the bookstalls in the market and a new doll would soon grace his sister's shelf.
(about my timed writing exercises)
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