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Monday, 3 September 2007

Puddle

"Where am I? Wait, who am I? I feel...wet. In fact, I feel like I'm made of water. Then I'm made of water, I guess. So I'm...water. Where would water be? This place feels comfortable, like it's made just for me - water - to sit in. In fact, it feels like it's shaped just for me. The surface I'm sitting on is...black. Not that I can see, because I'm water, but I'm thinking that I'm sitting in this nice, black place. It makes perfect sense. Now that I know the place below me is black, I should be a puddle. A poodle sitting in a puddle-shaped depression on a black surface. So, I'm a puddle. Ah, I'm feeling smaller. What's this experience, then? It's like a puddly part of my puddle-like self is being uplifted to become something else. Oh look, I'm getting smaller again. The weather today is so hot, I'm sweating. Wait, I can't sweat. I'm a puddle. Then why do I feel...wet? Oh, right. Because I'm a puddle and puddles are made of water. Silly me. I can feel myself getting smaller. Is this the end for this puddle? Oh, well.

And the puddle evaporated off the road."

William put his pen down and started to check his work. Then he corrected the word "Poodle" into "Puddle". He knew it was silly of him to write a paragraph on what goes through a puddle's mind, but he could not help it. He was bored.

But everyone knows that only suicidally bored people write about young boys writing about the thoughts of a puddle and publishes it.


Your favourite beatboxing ambigrammist,
Az

Posted by Az at 6:36 PM

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