(You had to sing that to the tune of trapped in cabinets…)
I’m feeling ick, which is zero fun. You know those cartoons that show women coping with everything in the world while they’re sick, while men lie in bed and whine? And people talk about man-flu and that sort of thing? Well, it’s rubbish. Because I can out-whine any man when I’m sick. Look, look at me now. I am currently whining about whining about being sick. Also, I am wrapped in a blanket.
Despite my general tendency to collapse in a pathetic heap at the slightest indication of being unwell, I did manage to make some new words today, so that was cool. So, a snippet then, for those who like that sort of thing:
….Sarah unlocked the first of the manacles, and the chains fell dead and heavy into the rotted straw and bone chips. “Come on, and the other. Don’t you trust me?”
“Trust you?” He laugh-roared. “I could bite your head off if I wanted,” he said.
“But you won’t.” Sarah inserted the key and twisted. The manacle had to be forced open it was so rusted.
The beast stretched out his paws, shaking off the last of the chains. “How can you be sure?”
“Because.” Sarah got up from her knees and waited for the beast to squeeze through the tiny door. “You’re still a human,” she said, as he wriggled first one shoulder through, and then the other. “You talk, you think, you reason. You’re just beast-shaped, is all.”
“So trusting,” said the beast, when he had finally slithered free. Out of the cage, he seemed bigger, fiercer; his mane rippling and lamp-eyes flashing.
Sarah noticed that the tips of his horns were wicked-sharp, and his old yellow teeth were longer than she’d remembered. “Maybe.” She turned her back on the beast, and flung open the shack door. “And maybe that’s a good thing, you know?”
And now I’m off to go drown my wangst in X-Files marathons. Because I can.