Honestly? It’s practically Halloween and the picture for this week has tentacles and sunken stone remnants in it. Of course I’m going Lovecraftian!
Title: Prometheus of the Depths
Word Count: 100
Tip your hat to the man on the dock
Lest horrid fog find you on the loch…
Supposedly he’s been there, smelling of fish and death, since Herbert’s founding. It would be a beautiful town if not for him; he scares visitors away with his profane rambling and glassy, hateful eyes.
From my boat, I curse his eyes and toss his ratty hat overboard— tipping it, in a way.
A fellow fisherman shouts. He’s pointing at the abysmal tentacles rising from the depths. They smell of fish and death. And the fog rolling in will keep our deaths a secret…
Maybe I should go as an overzealous editor for Halloween this year and write disparaging comments on everything, particularly things that people are fond of.
But we must not stare into that abyss for too long, lest we become
monsters editors ourselves…
I actually love editors. I’ve had nothing but good experiences with them thus far. But I must fulfill my societal contract of daily mental/emotional stonings and antagonism by editors. Its in the fine print of a writer’s life contract.
Good luck, you brave writer folk!