It all started this morning. I was resting on the heater, letting the warmth soak into my fur and flesh. I had been well fed had just finished grooming myself, and was thoroughly enjoying not doing anything at all. One of my humans, the girl, was moving about the room, seeming to be almost floating. She picked up something here, put it down there, came by for quick scritchie, moved along to move something else. This human seemed obsessed with placing things in other spots.. Silly humans, but what can one do?

This is not autobiographical, mostly. I wrote this to see if I could write a story with no dialog and have it be good. It's a story, it has no dialog but I leave it to you to tell me if it is good or not.

Maid Joy

It felt like hearing nails on a chalkboard all the time. There was something fundamentally wrong with the whole world and I didn’t know how to fix it.

Tragedy Of The Spirit- The Letter  © 2008 prairie_girl_64

I felt under a state of siege, and began to batten down the hatches, well pull the curtains at any rate. The only problem being that it means they can’t see in but neither can you see out, and therefore, what they are up to.

The phone rang and Tom answered it. “Certainly not, goodbye.” He put the phone down and turned puce. “The impudence of it, would we like to come out and talk to them?”

I stepped out of the ruin left by the thing's death, letting my aura and sword dissipate as I did.

“Agent Ripley, did you ever pick your feet in Poughkeepsie?” an occupant of Firecracker Four called out over a loud speaker. “Agent Ripley......”

Chuck then took a moment to speak again. “Who is Agent Ripley, and what’s this Poughkeepsie shit?”

Synopsis- The Swan Song committee tries to reel in Agent Ripley with a plan called Operation Firecracker.

Just a little exercise, to see who all is in the neighborhood.