Brandon 2
KitaPineapples.
August 27th 2007 09:47
I wake, with a sore head, and vague memories of falling tins of pineapple juice. I remember crawling under a shelf to avoid the light, which hurt my brain.
Groggily I crawl out. My eyes adapt to the darkness. I frown. Why darkness? Where did daytime go?
To my left, rows of tinned food and cereals stare emptily back at me. To my right, icecream lies in a huge fridge, shrouded in the gentle hum of a generator. I slowly pull myself up, using a tin of parsnip, and limp towards the counter, whose dimly lit exit looks more inviting then ever.
I pass the cardboard eyes of King Oat. I shouldn’t be here. Why didn’t anyone notice me? Why was the pineapple juice so high? My head throbs like a hyperactive glowworm as I reach the counter, and then the sound of every rock concert is primarily surpassed a screeching noises explode my head. Figures run towards me, yelling gibberish. Lights spatter the night with insanity. I make a mental note to grow my own pineapples...
Prompt. Write a short story about waking up somewhere you should not be.
Groggily I crawl out. My eyes adapt to the darkness. I frown. Why darkness? Where did daytime go?
To my left, rows of tinned food and cereals stare emptily back at me. To my right, icecream lies in a huge fridge, shrouded in the gentle hum of a generator. I slowly pull myself up, using a tin of parsnip, and limp towards the counter, whose dimly lit exit looks more inviting then ever.
I pass the cardboard eyes of King Oat. I shouldn’t be here. Why didn’t anyone notice me? Why was the pineapple juice so high? My head throbs like a hyperactive glowworm as I reach the counter, and then the sound of every rock concert is primarily surpassed a screeching noises explode my head. Figures run towards me, yelling gibberish. Lights spatter the night with insanity. I make a mental note to grow my own pineapples...
Prompt. Write a short story about waking up somewhere you should not be.
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