Ravings of a Textual Deviant

The whirlwind didn’t move from side to side at all; it just kept getting bigger and louder. My brain refused to accept the reality of it and wouldn’t let me move, no matter how badly I wanted to.

Which, for the record, was very badly indeed.

After a great deal of buffeting, bone rattling, and barfing, the twister set me down as gently as you please on a sere, gray plain. An old farmhouse, untouched, was visible in the distance. I could see a speck that had to be the barn behind it.

It matched Granny Dot’s tall tales perfectly.

This entry was posted on Sunday, December 16th, 2007 at 12:28 pm and is filed under 100 Words. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.