Writing Exercise #8
(Line from Me) It was the biggest pile of flummery she'd ever seen. She stared at it, aghast. It filled the hallway in a great quivering mound of custard-yellows and raspberry-reds. It reached all the way to the ceiling - she could see the silhouette of a hanging lamp trapped within its peak. It was gargantuan. It was immense. It was delicious. The thought scurried across her mind. She'd have to move it in order to get to her room, and the only place she had to put it was her own stomach. So, she might as well chow down, no? At least until she could squeeze past without getting too much of it smothered across her body. But it was meant for the feast below. Of that, she had no doubt. She couldn't say what it was doing here on the floor instead of portioned out onto serving platters like it surely ought to have been, but nevertheless, it could only be a component of the count's feast. In which case, she dare not so much as touch it. As she stood in the hallway, contemplating her dilemma, she became aware of a curious slurping sound. Furthermore, the mound of frothy desserts seemed to be shrinking. Yes, definitely. It had covered the owls depicted on the wallpaper a moment ago, and now their heads were free. Suddenly, it jiggled and collapsed slightly inward. What was this, then? Where was it going? As she watched, it continued to sink into the ground - and then, through a glob of pale lime gelatin, she spotted the culprit: A huge pipe protruding from the floor. Obviously, the flummery was flowing into the pipe, or possibly being sucked in. But where did the pipe lead? Down to the banquet hall? It must, surely? She watched, fascinated, as the last of the mess went down the tube. There was still a sticky patch of floor between her and her chambers, but otherwise, the way was clear. She stepped forward, and just as her slipper squelched into the carpet, a hand came down on her shoulder. "Just what do you think you're playing at?" asked the royal guard, angrily. "I'm sorry?" she said. "The count's banquet is ruined. He's been made a laughingstock in front of his guests, and he nearly asphyxiated before we could pull him out. All because of you!" ---15 mins--- Writing Exercise Index: http://www.patreon.com/creation?hid=393711
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