Aaaaaand, here we go, for that idea.


[hider=Pens and Swords]


	Pens and Swords

	Short Story, Thriller

	Paul Sheldon. Age 38. Height: 6'2". Weight: 246 lbs. Occupation: Author. Genre: Horror/Thriller. Notable Works: [i]The Clock's Hands, Captain's Wafers, Sadism is a Virtue[/i]. 

	Paul's coffee had gone cold. Once it was a Caramel Macchiato, crafted in a five hundred dollar machine, steamed with so much milk, it was practically a latte. Now, it sat, forgotten, neglected, the smell less reminiscent of a high-end coffee shop, than it was of a cheap bar, reminding Paul's sensitive nose of cigarettes, shots of cheap whiskey, and cheaper beer. It smelled like oak countertops, with connecting names carved into it, like "Valerie loves Steve" and, on the opposite end of the spectrum, painstakingly engraved outlines of dicks. 

	Paul's twelve hundred page manuscript sat, single spaced, on the corner of his old pine desk. The desk was little more than a table, but what it lacked in drawer space, it made up for with its sheer majesty. Each time he sat in his swiveling brown leather armchair, he got the distinct impression that Castro may have felt the same way, the same sense of smugness, particularly after the Bay of Pigs debacle. 

	The story was simple, but carried complex overtones. It was the tale of a woman, obsessed with the idea of sexual bondage and torture. She pressed her husband further and further, until he finally agreed to bind her before they made love. But he suffered a fatal heart attack, leaving the woman tied to the bed, with nothing but a corpse and her thoughts to keep her company.

	He himself was close to cardiac arrest, his habits urging him to partake each morning in a breakfast of three eggs, whipped with whole milk, seasoned with salt and pepper, and fried in butter, in combination with fat English sausages, crispy strips of aromatic bacon, fried potatoes, less hashbrowns than stubby home fries, and several slices of toast, with copious amounts of butter and jam. Naturally, he always felt very good about breakfast. After all, why shouldn't the 'most important meal of the day' be comprised entirely of 'soul food'? 

	Despite his love for breakfast, his body disagreed heavily, and had packed on forty pounds in the last six months. Paul had seen his newfound authorship career a blessing, and had quit his old job as a diner cook, to pursue his passions. Unfortunately, one of his passions was bacon, and so, as the clock struck one o' clock P.M., he strolled into the kitchen of his New York studio apartment, and selected a tomato, smooth and flawless, for a BLT. 

	However, as he tugged at the handle of his refrigerator, he recalled a single, awful fact: he was out of lettuce. 

	[i]I mean, bacon is meat, right? [/i], he thought, [i]so, all I really need to add is a green veggie, and a carb, right?[/i]

	[i]Right.[/i] He assured himself.

	



[/hider]

Still a work in progress. If anyone has ideas for any of my stories, please, [i]HELP ME[/i].