2 March, 2011

Jag ska skriva ett första kapitel för en roman i vår fiction class. Här kommer lite ord:

It was a sad day. They said it was a normal child. I doubted it. They said it was an all-limbs one, a real cracker, a sweet smelling, and toothy smiling baby. OK, the teeth might not be normal but you cannot ask for everything these days. All pinups, prostitutes, pimps and peacocks came running down the stairs. I could swear that the steps became as smooth as the baby’s ass. It was a flood of people. They made their way on carts, busses, cats and whatever they could scrape together. Our little theatre was London’s pilgrimage of the week. They came through the doors, the windows and down the chimney. Through the floorboards I could see twisted fingers of people desperate to get through. They would have pressed their flesh through the stone if it hadn’t been illegalized a few years earlier. Even ravens, half frogs and crack foxes tried to push their way into the small room. The whole house was as packed as Christmas Day shopping. It was a corpse covered in ants, worms and beetles. Everyone laughed and admired the baby who smiled back to them like he was Jesus himself. If he would have farted they took it as a symphony. If he would have burped it would have been classified as an opera.

     I sighed and tried people to move out of the way. I and my little wheel board needed floor space pronto. I couldn’t breathe. As I was pressing my way through the crowd Dave the accordion was pressing his knees together and played a little waltz in pure excitement for the boy. When Dave saw me he stopped and grinned.


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