AT THE SHED

When in the times of reconstruction and reformation, there lived a little troll like man. His abode was a hovel that was underground. At least under the railing, bronzed and blackened where paint had been rubbed away by grimy hands. It's where he has made his home for the last 9 years.

Nine years is a long time to be hoveled up and make a life for oneself.

Gerard was his name, but he couldn't really remember whether it was his first name or last. But he would rise and groundhog like assess the weather before ascending to the world that he felt so apart from.

But, of course, that was before he found the shed. Where his reality...

Well, you get the picture. It was written total stream -of-conscience as I sat down at the computer. It's my latent or perhaps inane Stephen King.

It was similar to an assignment I gave my students. A warm up exercise before computer labs when writing was a physical as well as mental process.

Go ahead: try it. Remember--plan nothing ahead. Just type like crazy for a very short time and see where it takes you. You know you want to. Go ahead. Nobody's looking. And you don't even have to share it with anyone. Or better yet, receive a grade for.