Writing Challenge: Expand a short sentence into one longer sentence

[Rigor Mortis]

It is with some regret that I find myself repeating that old refrain of having read, understood and incorporated the rules attached to this exercise, I failed to put them into action, an omission for which I accept full responsibility depite my contrary inclination to deduce that, in all proper account, the fault lies not with me but with those that choose to impose upon an exercise designed to improve creativity the very restrictions that are antithetical of this same end, and upon those restrictions, the imposition of an obligation that inculcates an instinctive rebellion against such restrictions and, consequently, the failure produce an offering to allow the whole sorry business perpetuate itself.

Let's keep it going.

 

[Tallyfire]

Let's keep it going.

I'd like to add to this but I'm unsure if Rigor Mortis's post is actually part of the challenge or just an observation... help?

 

[Rigor Mortis]

I'd like to add to this but I'm unsure if Rigor Mortis's post is actually part of the challenge or just an observation... help?

Let's keep it going.

That’s meant as the new prompt.

 

[Tallyfire]

Let's keep it going.

“Let’s keep it going!” the announcer said with ardour, his voice spreading from the loudspeakers to break like a wave across the cruise ship’s cheering population, giddy from the evening’s festivities, before the ship’s power cut out for the first time in a century with the dying wail of the great engine, plunging all of the spectators into the darkness of a star-filled sky, and bringing an abrupt and chaotic end to the Endless Circumnavigation Centennial Bonanza.

Next prompt:
The plot thickens.

 

[GrahamLewis]

"The plot thickens," he said, "processing this new information is like adding corn starch to the gravy, so that all we must do is stir awhile, then, as my old friend Poirot used to say, 'we let the old gray cells get to work,' and before long, we'll have made this mess of data into a fine feast, with our wrong-doer as the piece-de-resistance, or my name isn't Hastings."

Next prompt? "And I'm done."

 

[Stuart Dren]

"And I'm done."

It wasn't the petty abuse from customers, or even middle management's everlasting, chagrin-inducing facade of self importance—Bob, everyone can tell you loathe yourself, stop faking it: you're not making it—rather it was the sacrificial runes in the restroom, fryer filled with virgins' blood, and skulls in the walk-in which finally made me to utter "And I'm done" before throwing down my apron and stomping out the front door without giving even one hour's notice let alone 336 of them.

Next prompt:

He never knew Julia

 

[Louanne Learning]

He never knew Julia

Johnny thought he knew Julia, with the way she combed her fingers through his hair, and whispered come-hithers when they were making love, and listened to him when he told her about his day, but he got the shock of his life when he found out she was making slide shows of Star Trek images set to the music of Black Sabbath, and he had to admit he didn’t know her at all.

Next:

The instructions weren't included.

 

[Rath Darkblade]

I swore, wiped the sweat off my brow, reached for another cold one, then hesitated and reached for the allen key instead, because of two simple factors: one, I was enough of an idiot to buy a make-it-yourself piece of furniture from a Swedish store that had a name beginning with "Ik" (as if saying "ick" wasn't enough of a warning); and two, the instructions weren't included.

Next:

The policeman sang.

 

[Tallyfire]

The policeman sang.

“Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do,” sang the policeman in his characteristic baritone voice as the standard-issue police bike rattled down the hill, while the woman perched behind him on the saddle clung in desperation to his torso and, between squeals of terror, shouted, “for fuck’s sake, John, this bicycle isn’t even built for two!”

(The earworm of my life)

Next prompt:
The teapot tipped over.

 

[Rigor Mortis]

The teapot, although not strictly a teapot but, rather, a regular pot of, granted, similar physical dimensions to a teapot, with means by which it meets the essential functions of a teapot, such as those of providing the physical integrity in which the tea and the water might be brought together and the resistance to heat which allows the tea to draw, despite the deficits that force it to be identified as other than teapot, such as the absence of tapered sides onto which a lid could be attached, not to mention the omission of a spout, which, therefore, must be called a simple pot, in which one might boil eggs or curdle gravy, or make tea for goodness' sakes, has fallen over and, be a dear, mop it up, please.

New prompt: The city sleeps.

 

[Selluwud]

The sun cracked the skyline, it's radiating glow of warm waves slowly replacing the cool night air of the city that sleeps with it's inhabitants unaware that the mundane life as they have long known it, would soon radically change forever, for them and their fellow countrymen scattered about the coastal plains of their mighty nation.

New prompt: I feel a pain.

 

[GrahamLewis]

I feel a pain, not the sort of catch your breath and swear pain, nor the dull ache that simultaneously tempts one to grin and bear it and at the same time to call one's doc ASAP lest any delay prove irremediably fatal, but rather a sort of spiritual pain, reminding me of past sins and inspiring me to do better forthwith, lest the end come before I am ready, before I have taken real steps to make amends and thereby restore the future of my immortal soul, if soul I indeed have (my latest metaphysical meanderings having suggested that a soul is merely a psychological construct); that's the pain I feel and it hurts like Hell.

New prompt: I got this.

 

[Rath Darkblade]

The outfield catcher ran after the baseball, screaming "I got this! I got this! I got this!" ... but since the game was played on Mars, and obeying Martian physics, the ball was actually a heat-seeking missile that plowed him into the ground and brought up a bed of roses and a headstone with the epitaph reading: "HE GOT THIS."

New prompt:
I died and woke up.

 

[Tallyfire]

New prompt:
I died and woke up.

I had never been one to believe in an afterlife, at least not one with pearly gates or fire and brimstone (and I certainly never could have conceived of an afterlife consisting of my own imagination breathed into terrible existence - oh, had I only stopped at one book!); that is, until I died and woke up, and began my trek again through the stories I had written in life, one cosmic horror after the other.

Next prompt:
The flower shrank.

 

[GrahamLewis]

So the flower shrank, but what did you expect to happen, when it sat alone, untended, unwatered, unwanted, the same way you left me, left me to shrink into solitude as I waited in quiet desperation for you to return the affection I had showered on you in the vain hope of finding the acceptance that I now realize can come from only within me; but unlike the flower, confined to its glass-bound existence, I have discovered I have roots that reach deep into the secret springs of life itself.

Next prompt: Time takes time.

 

[GrahamLewis]

So the flower shrank, but what did you expect to happen, when it sat alone, untended, unwatered, unwanted, the same way you left me, left me to shrink into solitude as I waited in quiet desperation for you to return the affection I had showered on you in the vain hope of finding the acceptance that I now realize can come from only within me; but unlike the flower, confined to its glass-bound existence, I have discovered I have roots that reach deep into the secret springs of life itself.

Next prompt: Time takes time.

"Time takes time," she said, "and space takes space, and if you try to force time along, or to cram more space into an existing one, all that you succeed in doing is eliminating both; so go sit there and meditate, and eventually time will fill your space, and your space will be blessed with lots of time."

[I hadn't thought this through until now, but figured I had to do something to move this thread along.]

Next prompt: It's your fault.

 

[Rath Darkblade]

"I would never say it's your fault, minister," said the civil servant in tones that could freeze ice down to negative Kelvin degrees, "but before the next Question Time at the House of Commons, I would recommend that you consult with your officials and ascertain the verified and accurate state of affairs, so that at the end of the day -- in general terms -- you'll be in the position to understand the various implications and concoct an answer based on long-term considerations, rather than prematurely choose to make a statement that is, not to put too fine a point on it, unacceptably misguided and factually unsound, leading into overhasty and possibly irresponsible action which might well have unforeseen and unfortunate consequences."

(What? You did say you wanted a longer sentence).

Next prompt: Who's next?

 

[Louanne Learning]

Who's next?

The sirens blare in the night, and I draw the drapes, for you never know who may be peeking in, and who may come hammering on your door, so you try to stay low, go about your business as much as you can, but still people disappear, and you wonder, “Who’s next?”

Next sentence:

The ballerina faltered.

 

[Rath Darkblade]

The ballerina faltered when she noticed a familiar man in the audience --- a highly mustachioed man in a military uniform and medals --- and then, daring to execute a highly unconventional pas de deux, she leapt as high as she could, attempting to capture his eye, and landed unexpectedly in his lap, whereupon said man, caught betwixt surprise and happiness, expired in a chance heart attack.

(I remember reading somewhere of a story where this actually happened. IIRC, it was just before WW1, and the man in question was German, Russian or Romanian, but I can't recall).

Next prompt: "CHARGE!!!" The general yelled.

 

[GrahamLewis]

"Charge!," the general yelled, but no one responded, because most of his army had already marched on into the Great Beyond and out of his control, whilst the rest were beyond responding, either because they were physically or mentally incapable of doing so (or both) or because they had at long last realized the absolute futility of this man's obsession with asserting his authority -- and thereby bolstering his sense of supremacy -- by ordering so-called lesser beings into putting themselves at great risk to attain abstract goals that had nothing to do with humanity, or in fact, anything at all to do with rationality, as he stayed safely out of harm's way.