Just write the next line

It was falling with a hell of a racket, as if someone had pushed it downstairs.

His eyes felt bruised, egg-timer grains of the day clinging to his lashes.

His skin was marked by acne and a hundred different rashes.

The darkness brought the thunder and eyeball-frying flashes.

Too late to regret, his muse crept with the shadows and a certain nonchalance settled with the dust.

Suddenly the whole house shook to its foundations and John's modifier was left dangling. Helvigo Jenkins

Twisting in the risible wind, his pained gaze grazed against the now shattered panes of temperance.

"Bollocks to this" he thought. "I'm off down the pub for a swift half and a slice of pie."

julie There is this tall blonde and long legs with a wink in her eye!

Unfortunately, John fails to spot the bulldozer, and casts wildly through his imagination for a tried and tested pick-up line.

Inspired, he whipped out his harmonica and played a soul melting blues riff as his modifier swung to the beat.

The music was so sweet and melodic that even the birdsongs stopped singing to listen to it.

'An' I sez tuh him, I sez, you ain't talkin' to no Marilyn, mistuh - but he sez: "I kin see that, but don't the peroxide sting yore thighs?"' she said.

'Mersey me, are you ferry pleased to see me, or is your modifier just fed up with dangling?' she breathed.

'Are you talking to me?, she growled.

Maybe it was the sudden change in the tone of her voice that did it, or perhaps not; John could never be sure when he thought about it afterwards, but whatever it was, suddenly he had made up his mind; he knew what to do.

'Your eyes' he cried 'are like twin burnished hub caps, you hair, the smoke of burning tyres'

Luckily he stopped short of anything concerning lips and pedals.

He suddenly became aware of something pushing at his elbow, although he could see nothing, and he thought, 'I wonder if this is someone dressed in a prototype of the invisibility cloak I read about on the Guardian website this lunchtime.'

And yet this prototype must have been at an early stage of development or it may have been too tight as he could see the outline of her body.

And anyway - you couldn't always believe what you read in the newspaper - especially the Guardian - he was more of a Daily Mail man himself; he turned to face whatever it was

He started in horror, a shape changer; excruciating similes made manifest; no wonder he had difficulty identifying its form.

He could see the shapes altering and wondered if he had overdone his lunchtime drinking.

If he had just been able to get the next line, he wouldn't have drunk so much.

Geezee, finally you've shaken me out, now you must deal with my rath or at the least - buy me another drink.

He bought a double whiskey, two shots of rum and a milk stout; he gave her the milk stout.

He stared, transfixed by her milk mustache, as an old memory bubbled up from deep within him.

julie she remembered the kiss from the shaving cream.

John wondered just where the plot had been lost, he couldn't find it anywhere, at least not yet.

He thought that it might Google it and see where it had got to.

but just as he turned on the computer, his past caught up with him, and the thing he'd been dreading for years finally happened.

The thing the he'd been dreading, the certainty that the end was nigh. And there it was in black and white: THE END.

He decided to risk the maddness and so it was, that later, with an eerie sense of Deja Vu... John looked up from his desk just as darkness was beginning to fall.

'Why is that darkness always falling?' he sighed, as he picked it up and put it back on the shelf... http://www.ukauthors.com http://www.ukapress.com

It was her fate to be left on the shelf.

Poor old Eve - tomorrow was always going to be special... Christmas, a New Year, a wedding.

Could John finally be the one? Mr. Right at last! Well, thought Eve while smiling beguilingly, at least it's a stab at a plot.

Of course, that was what had happened to the plot: someone had murdered it!

You are forgetting literary license. Anything can happen in those first magic moments. John and Eve can both multitask.

´Moffat!´screamed the ghostly voice of the murdered plot. 'Where are yooouu...'and the final vowel turned into the whisltle of the wicked wind that blew away Eve's last hope of happiness!

but no!... wait...what was that scratching feebly at the door?

Could be a stray plot. But just in time Eve cranks the beguiling smile up a notch. One of her most beguiling (she hopes) but is John beguiled? Hard to tell. He’s been through a lot lately. There's the divorce of course but also the argument with next-door about the wheelie bin not to mention the altercation with the Albanian taxi-driver. He isn’t in the best of moods and may take a lot of beguiling. Oh-oh, thinks Eve, that's more than one line. I've overdone it again.

"But never mind!" She thinks, slightly hysterical by now; "divorce, Albanians, wheelie bins, taxi drivers - they are all woter under the bridge; what counts is love" and with that she turns to him and tries the smile again