The Selfish Guinea Pig

Writing:
Reading:
Personal Life:




Writing:
I managed to get a little over 1k words yesterday for PIG: The Haunted Brothel. Hopefully I will get another k done this evening. My critique reader also sent me the ninth chapter of Plague so if I get really crazy I might go through the edits on that…if I just get really crazy.

Shaylee: Druid’s Staff
The second novella in the Shaylee series.

PIG: The Haunted Brothel (Working Title)
A Scooby Do style novella for adults.

Plague
Sword and sorcery fantasy novel. Completed but in final edits.




Reading:
Last night I read some more of Monsters by Paul Melniczek. I finished three more short stories in the collection. There’s just one more story left so I should have that one done by this evening.




Personal Life:
My twins turned seventeen today. It’s hard to believe and it makes me feel old. I will be forty-three on Sunday, but the number forty-three doesn’t make me feel any different than thirty-three, or twenty-three did. What does make me feel old is that just seventeen years ago my teenagers were rug rats in diapers. Yeah, that makes me feel old.

Guinea Pig
Mallorie’s guinea pig decided to celebrate her birthday by dying. Sounds odd doesn’t it. This is how I imagine it happened…

It woke up this morning looking forward to a day of staring out between bars at a dark and cluttered bedroom. The guinea pig tried to smooth the cowlick out of its hair as guinea pigs tend to do then peaked its head out of the little plastic igloo it calls home. It stared at my daughter who sat in front of a mirror putting on war paint. It rolled its eyes and sighed. Poor girl. The Guinea pig thought. Its internal voice sounding a great deal like Winnie the Pooh™ It wouldn’t have to paint its face if it grew hair where it was suppose to like normal creatures.

The little fellow stretched and yawned then stepped out for some breakfast. The guinea pig had to zig-zag through its cage, around tiny footballs of poo and urine soggy pine shavings. Moments later it stood before its feeding bowl and saw the same food from the day before.

It cringed. The little nose twitched in aggravation. The food should have smelled appetizing, wholesome. Instead it smelled like whole wheat bread on the floor of a truck stop bathroom. The guinea pig glared at my daughter and squealed. She took no notice.

I’ll show her. said the guinea pig.

Using skills that are known to all guinea pigs, but only the most learned of Buddhist monks, the little fellow slowed his heartbeat down until it stopped.

His last thought was, Happy birthday, you selfish teenager!

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~ by bretjordan on September 2, 2010.

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