Here are two Entries I am sending into the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest: Give me your thoughts.
#1 - Captain Jack was helplessly pinned to the back of his pilot seat spiraling downward, like the tusk of a narwhal, or, like the flight path of an aircraft that had lost its wing while flying too close to the control tower in an attempt to haze the rookie controller with a "fly-by"… unfortunately an inadequate circle check was to blame for his predicament.
#2 - With the shade drawn Bruce reflected to when the sun was welcome, and the purpose of freon was to cool meat and perishables… jingling of keys at the door quickly redirected his focus… he hurriedly returned to the bathroom window and climbed out… the air conditioner he had uninstalled would not submit to the forceful pulling and would be left behind… he leaned inside and stole all the buttons and dials from the unit and forcefully removed the cord and walked away from the mortuary, satisfied that his former co-workers would be slightly uncomfortable; if not for the heat, then for the stench that rose from it.
IF anyone else would like to share some warped prose here, please indulge me!
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