Despite man's best endeavor, fiction blog has turned personal, with The Revenge PT 1

Previously on Despite

"During normal writing classes, this would essentially be what we earlier learned is the second stage of any story," said a man wearing a t-shirt, colorful pants, and an enormous beard, "the 'conflict'."

"Beard!" said one of the students, getting up onto the classroom desk and dancing.

Then he realized none of his fellow students had joined in. His moves were ok, looking a little bit like Ricky Gervais (but not *as* bad) in that one scene in the Office, yet he solemnly wished he had never done that.

"You have no conflict!" screamed the wizard, and he smote the child that had jumped onto the classroom desk after whatever influences (parents) forced him to keep watching episode after episode of a British sitcom.

As a burning toffee, a little battered, and dare I say--vinegar--the student revealed that he had done the homework, but was just testing the Master to push the little guy who sits in the corner into the washing machine.

"Beard!" tried the student again.

"F-fuh--err." He checked his book, and then nodded at the whole class. "Ah. Yes, see: Foool me onc--"

The headmistress entered the room and ordered the children to sit still, quiet. Suddenly the room was silent.

Then she looked at him, and then her body actually *shifted* slightly away. "Ridiculous," she said, waving her hand about in the midst of his beard. "Absolute rubbish. Get rid of it!"

He tried to grab her hand, but this gesture was summarily rescinded, and just as she had appeared, she was gone.

He turned his head, all all these babies sitting at their desks were laughing at him.

"Liar, liar," they kept saying, "your beard is fired!"

He reached for the tiniest one of them, in a kind of 'pitcher' or (if you prefer cricket) 'bowling' move, and threw it into the washing machine.
End of Part One of Part Two (Chick Is Living The Good Life, Without You)

Despite man's best endeavor, fiction blog has turned personal.

Sure you start off writing a few stories after this chick leaves you.

You say, "This is all just fiction."

But it isn't, is it?

.

"Who the fuck are you?"

An annoying [adjective] person, whose one parent had awarded the missing of a fourth toe, was asking this upon fairly a pleasant granite rock, drenched in good waterfall shimmer.

"I'm just here to write," said the Observer.

"Hah," said the little guy, dancing on his dancing rock, "hah!" He then pulled away from said rock, slid behind and then kicked a small piece away with his toe, as though it were a pebble. "You can't write about me, young man!" he said.

The Observer recorded video, audio and speech, and then cataloged the collection as a 'Note'. "I'm not writing about you," he said. "I am writing fiction."

.

End of Part One (Chick Leaves You)