6words is retiring.
It pats itself on the back, complimenting itself on having been a nice idea.
You may all remove the cute links without fear of repercussion.
Kim wonders whether authors would like their pieces left up, in the hollowed out shell of what 6words was, left here on the net, or deleted?
As an afterthought, Kim adds that she just meant that to sound silly, not snotty or pouty. Just silly. :)
]]>I've been busy erasing spammer comments, I think we had more spam than real comments this past month.
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]]>He landed near a boiler
and looked about the room.
On top there was a broiler
brandishing a broom.
"You know, it is the principle,"
the broiler boldly said,
"and since I know the principal
it must be true you're dead."
The man, confused, closed his eyes
and shook his dazzled brain.
He opened them to seven pies
and waving fields of grain.
He then, with generosity
gave to a nearby cat
(one full of curiosity)
the pie ('twas made of rat).
This dream began, you may recall,
in quite a normal way,
a simple jump and then a fall -
it seemed like normal play
But when he stepped into the mill
and found him ground to flour
He woke up feeling very ill,
so went and took a shower.
“Here you are, Marian,” She called. “I have the cookies ready.”
Marian got off her bike and hurried to Mrs. Funcie.
“I am in a hurry, Mrs. Funcie,” She said. “I’m going to be late if I don’t hurry.”
Mrs. Funcie nodded. She handed the cookies to Marian silently.
“Thanks, Mrs. Funcie.” Marian smiled and rushed back to her bike.
“I recall your mother wanted to see me,” Mrs. Funcie mused. “I’ll be headin’ over there. See ya, Marian!”
“Bye, Mrs. Funcie!” Marian jumped on her bike and headed off. She had to hurry or she would be late. She glanced at her watch and peddled faster again. She passed the Grain Mill: A place where they made flour and bread and such. It’s a good thing school is nearly in again. I can work hard at school, get good grades, Mom will be proud and let me go back to this job! It’s a good thing I like school, too, I guess. She thought. Marian passed the principle’s house and waved to Mr. Hatman, the school principle. Marian ran her bell at Heidi Hatman, walking down the sidewalk slowly, looking at a paper in her hands. She looked up and smiled and moved off the walk so Marian could go past. Marian shouted thank you and turned the corner. Finally, she saw Mrs. Shinderlay’s house. She got off her bike and hurried to the door. As she rang the doorbell, she noticed a strange car parked in the driveway. But she did not think much of it because just then Mrs. Shinderlay opened the door.
“Hello, Marian. Kathy Lee has been waiting for you. I think she would like you to play with her. I have to make cookies, brownies and a couple cakes so I will be here a while. I am going to a party and you and Kathy Lee are invited! Oh, but be sure to tell your mom. It’s from 5-8—3 hours at the most— and at Apple Sauce Inn. We’ll have dinner there, too. Why, what do you have there, Marian?” Kathy Shinderlay said.
“Oh hi, Kathy! I’ll be there for sure! Mom wont mind but I’ll tell her anyway. Yes, and I can ride my bike to Apple Sauce Inn! Uh… Where’s Kathy Lee?”
Marian answered. “And who’s here?”
“Oh, Eric’s back. After two whole weeks, he’s back. But he cant come to the party, I am sad to say. It’s a girl’s party. But I can see why you did not recognize his car. He got a new one. But what in the world do you have on your bike, Marian? It smells like—"
“Um! A girl’s party? About what? A baby shower? A bridal shower? Just guesses. And what’s for dinner? I’m allergic to peas.”
“I think that chicken, salad, eggs, sausage are for dinner and maybe more. What do you have in the bag?”
“Oh look, Kathy Lee is looking out the window! Lets go see her.”
“Okay,” Kathy sighed and they went inside. Katy, as they called Kathy Lee, squealed and crawled over to Marian. Katy was 6 months old.
“Hey there, Katy! Hey, don’t eat dust. BLLLLECCHHKKK! Yuck. Don’t eat my dress, either. Yuck, yuck yuck.” Marian laughed.
“Well, I had better go make my brownies and cake and cookies. What did you have in your—“ Kathy was interrupted my Marian—again.
“Um, no reason, but, could, would—uh, um—Well, what I mean to say is, please save the cookies for last? I might want to help, you know.”
“Yes, I will, Marian. Oh, you’d better go tell your mom what you’ll be doing tonight!”
“Okay, Kathy. I’ll be back in 15 minutes!”
Marian rode home. She passed the mill, the principle’s house and then paused at the park to watch men floating down in parachutes. After she got home and told her mom where she would be, she hurried back to Kathy’s house. She stopped when she saw a police car drive up to Heidi Hatman and talk to her. Heidi got in the car and they drove toward the Hatman’s house. Marian anxiously rode off, eager to ask Heidi about it tomorrow. Back at Kathy’s house, she helped Kathy work the boiler and then gave her the cookies. Kathy laughed and laughed and thanked Marian for her generosity. Marian told her to thank Wendy Funcie for them. Then they went to the party. It went great. Marian went to bed that night very very very tired. The next day was Saturday so Marian rode to Heidi’s house to find out what was it with the police and such.
“Hey Heidi! What was with the police car yesterday?” Marian asked.
“Oh,” Heidi answered. “Dad was going to the concert and I was late. Dad was worried so he sent the police out to find me. That’s all.”
Marian and Heidi played a long time and has a great time.
The End
He stood and walked around the walls, feeling carefully for anything
unusual. Sure enough, about halfway around, he found a crack in the wall
- a regular, door-like crack. He carefully searched for a hidden catch,
and finally was able to find it. The door came ajar, and he slipped
through it.
He found himself in a boiler room. The humidity in the room was
oppressive. He went down two or three steps and walked across the
cluttered room, threading his way between equipment and boxes and parts
and other things that were apparently being stored there.
It wasn't the changing reality, in particular, that bothered him. It was
the principle of the thing. If something *was*, it ought to *be*, he
thought. It only made sense!
He went up two or three steps on the opposite end of the room, and
paused at the door there. Bracing himself, he pushed the door open and
stepped through.
He looked down from the top of a windmill.
He shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment, but when he reopened
them, he was still in the same place. He briefly wished he had a
parachute, so he could just jump down, but realizing the futility of
that line of thought, he looked around for another way down.
At least, he thought, I have plenty of ammunition, thanks to
the "generosity" of my superior officers. He checked his weapon,
relieved to find that it hadn't changed in any way.
He spotted a rope off to the side. When he tossed one end over the edge
of the mill roof, he found that it was actually a rope ladder. He
started down.
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]]>He was astonished when the counter stayed the same, but the entire
scenery behind it changed. It was no longer an airport ticket counter,
but now it was a movie theater, with old posters on the walls and fluffy
plush toys in the case waiting for some child to beg to take them home.
He shook his head, blinking, and stood there for a moment trying to get
his bearings, when someone behind him gave him a shove. "Hey, buddy, you
gonna stand there all day?"
He stepped aside, allowing the man and his children - whose faces were
sticky with sugary snacks - to go ahead of him. He walked toward the far
corner, where someone was sitting with a sketch pad, drawing the area
around them. He maneuvered around behind and looked at the sketch, which
showed the airport he thought he'd entered.
Bewildered, he backed against the wall, which thankfully seemed real
enough. He eased to his left along it, feeling slightly green. This
whole situation was making him sick to his stomach.
He paused when he felt a gust of wind. He ran his hand along the
solid-appearing wall, but found that it ended after a foot or so.
Glancing around, he slipped a clip out of his belt and into his sidearm.
Feeling oddly glad for the exercise, he rolled around the corner, his
gun ready.
His shins painfully barked the coffee table that was there. Rubbing
them, he looked around at the mostly empty room. The walls were dark,
with phosphorescent paint speckled about, as if imitating a
conservatory. There seemed to be only the one way in. No windows, no
other doors, broke the monotony of the dark walls. He sank down on the
table, considering what to do next.
The End