This is a story I wrote with a friend of mine. The way we wrote it was one word at a time, they wrote one word, then I wrote the next word. And we did that until we felt like ending the story. It may be a little erratic and incomprehensible, but it was fun to write and see how the story changed with each word as we combined our ideas. Enjoy!

Along the long, narrow and slippery road herds a great pack of wolves. Their leader fashioned a piano scarfe from Beethoven’s eightieth blanket. But when Caventwitch saw Rockandhall they dissected gleefully flowers full of hope.

Hope came bursting through the window creating patterns, colourful, vibrant, intricate and volatile. Sunshine, mixed hues reacted to darkness unlike fire. Stars burnt light-years of time to disintegrate ashes. Soon water gushed from wells under flooring designed for water-resistance. Shattered glass fell upwards which impaled photographs of family holidays. Aromas drifted through the nostrils of orphans.

“Amazing!” exclaimed little Sam Baconson. “We need to call it Smagbamdogahop!” And then time froze…