She Took – Dead Deer

She Took

She turned. She walked. She cried. She lied. She flew. She fled. She hurt. She knew. She knew

What does she know? Where is she heading? What does she want? When is she finished?

How could she? Why did she? Who is she?

She turned. She ran. She laughed. She screamed. She wrecked. She scrapped. She took. She took

How can she? Why does she? Who am I?

Today I wrote from 23:32 to 23:42. I was prompted by idea “And as she walked away, she took it all with My other writings here. All my prompted writing here, and my tweets here

Jan 14th – The storm raged on without any hope of being saved

January 14th – The storm raged on without any hope of being saved.


We give them names, now.

Despite their ephemerality, who they are matters. Alphabetical siblings: Ali, Bronagh, Callum, Dierdre, Eric. They’re like people now, with personalities, and we can track their approach, hope they’re not to unkind to us, ask them to be nice.

But they’re soon forgotten.

And we never ask the cost of giving them names, real names, and personalities to match. Because once you name something, you make it real.

Eric was raging.

He had a maximum pressure depth of 960hPa, and winds approaching 85 miles per hour. Eric was a force to be reckoned with. He was angry, and he was baring his teeth. Bringer of rain (and snow to higher ground), Eric was bringing widespread disruption across the north and west of England and Wales, and much the same to Ireland. Power lines were coming down, loose slates were in trouble, fence panels were under threat.

Trees groaned. Branches twisted themselves loose. Leaves curtained the street. Eric bared his teeth.

Power lines snaked sparks to the ground, dancing electricity under a purple sky. Eric snarled.

Windows smashed. Car alarms were a discordant street choir. Eric howled.

But, like a mayfly, Eric’s time was short. His life was a day, two days, three at most. And then Eric would be no more. And we would get on with our lives, and wait for Freya, Eric’s sister to throw her force at us. Eric would be gone. At the height of his power, Eric was dying.

The storm raged on, without a hope of being saved.


Inspired by a prompt from here.

And as she walked away, she took it all with her

The day had started rushed as she had overslept and was a full forty minutes behind her regular morning schedule. Something had to give, so she missed her morning shit. Electing to go when she got to work instead. By skipping her morning shit, she would gain an extra twenty minutes, rather than losing forty, giving her an extra ten minutes luxuriating in the bath and a spare ten minutes for anything else. She would have been wiser to have had a shit and a shower and rushed out of the door, rather than face the embarrassment of what would happen later.

Having accrued an extra ten minutes by not having her morning shit and having a longer bath, she arrived at work in good time. Made her way to her desk, logged on to her computer, checked her email, did some other bits and pieces before deciding she should probably have that shit now. So, off she went. To the toilet. On the 32nd floor. It was a work shit after all, so she figured she might as well make the most of it. She got up from her desk, located on the second floor, and made her way slowly to the stairs and started the long ascent to the 32nd floor. Fifteen minutes later she was nestled on her throne, catching up on world affairs on her phone, while having a shit. A particularly satisfying shit as it happened as it was during work time and she was getting paid to shit and use the firm’s toilet paper!

Twenty-five minutes later, she arose, pulled at the toilet paper, wiped her arse with a few neatly folded sheets, chucked them in the toilet, flushed it, turned around and left the cubicle all in one swift motion (no pun intended), washed her hands at the sink for a full five minutes, then went through the door to the stairs and began her descent.

Ten minutes later, as she walked through the door to her floor, one of her co-workers started to snigger, another co-worker looked up to see what the first one was sniggering about, and began to giggle, another looked up to see what the sniggering and giggling was about and let out a loud guffaw, because of the loud guffaw, everyone turned and looked, and it wasn’t long before the whole of the floor were either rolling around on the carpet tiles in merriment, or were doubled up in extreme laughter at the sight that was in front of them.

For, you see, when she had pulled at the toilet paper to wipe her arse, due to a slight flaw in manufacturing, the sheets hadn’t separated as there were no perforations. When she had chucked the neatly folded sheets into the toilet and turned swiftly to flush it, she hadn’t noticed that a piece of paper was wedged in her bottom, the speed of her turn causing the discarded poo paper not to land in the toilet bowl as she had intended, but to dangle behind her, out of sight, as she pulled up her knickers and realigned her skirt.

After she had washed her hands, she had exited the loo and as she walked away, she took it all with her, one long trail of industrial style toilet paper trailing from the 32nd floor all the way to the 2nd. And to make it more embarrassing, the folded sheets she had used to wipe herself with had become unfolded, leaving a long brown stain imprinted on them shaped just like an arrow pointing back the way she had come.

Prompted by this page