It was a dark and stormy night.
Heather was snuggled up in bed with her laptop burning the top of her thighs after a full day of sending collaborating grant writers sundry documents and passing cells, reading first a few choice blogs and then the weather alert which said that winds of up to 130 km/h would blow through the Toulouse vicinity in the early hours of the morning, that along the coast waves of eight meters would sweep in from the ocean and that everyone should stay indoors the following day or suffer the risk of electrocution from downed electrical wires, when suddenly she turned off the computer and went to sleep.
Haha. Goodnight!
What eldritch scene greeted your waking eyes?
Oh, I’ve been meaning to enter that contest for years. Maybe one year.
I hope you win!
You know, I was going to congratulate you on a clever blog post, extending the boundaries of what is normally practiced here at NN, and teasing the reader with the serialized nature of what is certainly to come.
Then I realized it was a (most excellent) entry for the Bulwer-Lytton contest. Which makes me think I should steal your idea and do the same.
Also, the phrase burning the top of her thighs caught my attention slightly, but probably for the wrong reasons.
I wondered who would pick up on that. All in the spirit of Bulwer-Lytton, no? I wasn’t able to manage a heaving bosom but it was already a very long sentence as it was. ;-)
That was off the top of my head; I’d work harder if I actually wanted to enter.
I wasn’t able to manage a heaving bosom
No, no… must.not.comment.