A new thinking cap


'Now I want you all to put your thinking caps on...'

“Are you more afraid now?” she asked, cracking the whip within a hair’s breadth of my folded, wing-like arm.
“Ye-es?” I asked, unsure of precisely what she wanted me to answer. She looked like something which had sprung from the pages of a guide on how to become a wannabe dominatrix. Knowing her, I knew that she would use the whip in an instant if I became unruly in her opinion.
“Chicken,” she snorted. I glanced at her surreptitiously, continuing to scrabble in the dirt. I was after the mystical worm which would make all my self-doubt disappear and literally force me to sit down and finish a year old manuscript. The dreaded NaNoWriMo was also at hand and November the first lurked on my doorstep like a hungry beggar. At this stage I could only feed it scraps; perhaps a mangled sentence or two and it was turning ugly. Soon, I knew, it would eat me alive and spit out my heavy boned skeleton. I fervently hoped I would give it indigestion, failing that twist its innards to resemble a Picassoesque pretzel. Yes, I was out for revenge.
The dreaded whip cracked and I felt a feathery touch on the bald spot I had developed after massive amounts of cortisone was pumped through my system.
“Come on!” I squawked.


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