Four days in a row. I’ve written four days in a row, each day over 500 words. It feels good, and I feel like keeping on going. Last night’s session was a breakthrough. I managed to convince my housemate Ash to write with me, join the fun of wordwarring and writing random crap for 15 minutes. She did, on the proviso the prompt was Tim Tams.
So into the chatroom we went, set up a wordwar, even got one other person to do it with us and bashed away for 15 minutes. She freaked and didn’t think she could just write, but then started writing, laughing at how stupid she thought her story was going to be. It infected me and I let myself on a tangent, a weird and wonderful tangent.
Through this I’ve felt a loosening of my writing muscles, I’ve gotten my muse drunk and he’s a new man. I feel much more comfortable and confident. Below is last night’s result. It’s pretty weird, a little morbid in places, but yeah, please read.
Devil’s Tim Tam
John looked guilty as he eyed off the Tim Tam. He wasn’t supposed to eat it. But it looked so good. So chocolaty. He was trying to lose weight, but he didn’t care anymore. He liked his fatness. Ten seconds passed and the guilt ate away at him.
If it ate away at him this much maybe he’d be thin enough to eat one. Enjoy it with no guilt. The angel on his shoulder was telling him he could do it, could go without. John grunted and wished the devil was here.
“Let me be bad, tell me to be bad?” John asked, to no one because he thought no one would listen.
Then he felt a pang of heat on his right shoulder. Like an orb of lava, something was fucking hot and on his shoulder.
“Do it, eat it, go on,” the source of heat told him, “Don’t feel bad, or do feel bad and feel good about feeling bad. Meh, you get my point, just eat the fucking Tim Tam.”
John finally turned his head and saw the devil on his shoulder, just like he requested, but never thought he’d get; kind of like buying a lottery ticket when you know you have no chance in fuck of winning even 2 bucks.
“Eat it, fatty, you’ll feel good.” John didn’t feel any better. “What’s your problem?”
“I’m not meant to. I don’t want to be fat. You’re not making me feeling any better. What about a Mint Slice?”
“Mint Slice? You a man or a mouse? Tim Tams are the real deal. You know that saying, You Are What You Eat?”
“Well get this, it’s actually true.”
“Yeah, bet you thought bullshit too when you requested a devil on your shoulder. Now eat the Tim Tam, then be a Tim Tam and then you will be happy because Tim Tams are great.”
“No, you’re nuts. I’m not the one talking to a devil on my shoulder, am I?”
John looked at the devil like it was his mother stating the obvious. “Very funny.” And he looked at the Tim Tam again. It looked so good. And he felt less guilty. Because when there’s a devil on your shoulder you kind of lose your idea of what reality is. So when that can happen, who says you can’t eat crap and stay thin, or even eat crap and turn into crap? Marvellous, marvellous crap.
John took the Tim Tam and held it close to his mouth. The Angel cried, knowing she’d lost the battle.
“But what about the rights of the Tim Tam?!” she pleaded, “Doesn’t the Tim Tam have to rights to-”
And the Devil put his fork in her face. “Eat it,” he repeated.
And finally he did take a bite, with the corpse of an angel bleeding on his left shoulder and a devil laughing manically on his right.
He felt the chocolate go down and it felt fucking good. Fucking liberating because he could do what he wanted. And after two minutes he had eaten the whole thing and he waited.
“Is this ‘You are what you eat’ thing gonna work?”
“You betcha,” said the devil.
And with that, he turned into a Tim Tam, chocolate fountained from his head and covered his body until he was swallowed.
Thanks to roboppy for the image.
writing, NaNoWriMo, flash fiction, prompts, Tim Tams, devil