1932 - Flying Solo

 

Image by ChatGPT

 The Sunday Whirl presented these twelve words for us to use in a creative writing piece. 

preys brews fly glow forest cave monster spin hidden filter head stick

Flying Solo

A faint glow through the curtain

Announces the sun has risen.

Above a bed, a fan spins slowly.

There is a large lump in the bed

Beneath the woollen blankets.

Inside this blanket cave is a man.

He stirs, slowly, reluctantly.

Eventually his head sticks out

From where it had been hidden,

Groans and retreats again,

Until the persistent drone

Of a lone circling blowfly,

As urgent and manic

As only a blowfly can be,

Becomes too annoying to filter out.

He pulls back the curtain

And surveys the rich forest

That was once his lawn,

Wonders idly if there be monsters

In those woods, a monster

That preys on blowflies, perhaps?

Probably not, he decides.

He sighs, pulls the curtain closed,

Brews a strong coffee, drinks it,

Puts in yellow foam earplugs

And returns to bed.

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