It was a dark and stormy night…

I’ve been procrastinating over the last few days with blogging.
Nothing seemed blog-worthy and my fingers just didn’t want to work on my typers. Even now – the fingers are refusing to type on any of the typers…. But is okay typing on the ‘puter. I have no idea what’s up.

So here I am, with partially co-operative fingers with a story.

* * * * *

It was a dark and stormy night.
A machine sat on the middle of a nesting table, on a brand new sheet of stiff fabric. It was about time that a typing mat was bought. The machine was stared at, for a very long time. Paper was fed into the machine, and little button keys were shifted into place. The clickity-clicks of the rachet wheel turning was a good sign that the latest fix on the typewriter was a good one and the machines was taking it well.

Twenty minutes later, the paper remained blank.
The fingers were willing to type, but there was nothing to be typed.
The beautiful machine was placed on the mantle, and the fingers did nothing for the night.

Just about 11 o’clock that night, a dog barked like a warrior with a mighty war cry. Owners rushed out to see the offensive attacker. Slim as the attacker was, it was a mighty killing machine. Mouth agape, standing tall, the reptile stood its ground. The dogs were ushered aside and the two men – armed with broom and shovel – manoeuvred around. Oh, these two knights in their lackluster armor bobbed and weaved, prodded and poked the dragon. Then at the right time… the shovel was lifted high, and crunched into the ground with a mighty blow.
The dragon writhed and wrapped itself about the weapons and very soon later – it lay still on the ground.

It was a dark and stormy night.

* * * * *

I’ve run out of narrative-ness.
Well anyway, that was just half the night. Later on at about 4:30 am, everyone ran out of the house again. The dogs got into another big fight, and we didn’t get much sleep after.

So much for having nothing to type about, now I have 3 other posts lined up!

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