Animation by Snaily
Yes indeed, Build A Story #4 is still rolling along and now a dark magicians’ battle is brewing. Read what we’ve got so far and take us anywhere your startling sentence or two wants to go.
He said there’s nothing to be afraid of and soothed his bitten hand with our last stick of butter. He wasn’t thinking about how fond rats are of butter. Suddenly, there were scratching and squeaking sounds coming from under the floor boards. This was soon followed by a distinct shaking sound, which grew louder by the second.
“What is it?!?,” I screamed.
I’d never seen this man before in my life. A pleasant dinner with open windows and screen doors leads to this. Teacups vibrating off their hooks, shattering on the countertops. I pushed Bobby behind me and backed into the dining room. The house was coming apart.
Suddenly everything was still, and I could hear my own heart beating wildly.
Bobby lunged in front of me and shouted, “What is that?” As he pushed me under the dining room table I caught a glimpse of something I hadn’t seen in years. After all this time, I thought I’d successfully disappeared, but it found me again.
Yes, it was the magician, come back for the audience volunteer who had vanished from his Chinese box all those years ago, and this time he had a blunt instrument!
“I’ll be blunt,” he sneered menacingly.
Bobby erupted in menacing laughter as I leaped toward the gaping hole that had been my dining room wall just minutes before. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him pull out a gleaming blue magic wand and point it at the magician.
“You know what I’ve done, but not what I’m capable of doing, you nefarious fiend,” he snarled; I had no idea he was capable of sounding so menacing, so otherworldly.
I could scarcely believe what I saw next. I pinched myself to make sure I really was awake, and I was!
What was seen? What happens next? Only you know the answer…
Bobby morphed into a creature that can only be described in small bits: green scales here, smoke coming from his three nostrils there, leathery wings that shone with an inner light sprouting from … what were those things? “My son!” I thought, but … was he?
Three camels were making their way across my rather expensive antique Ashford couch. They moved in that manner particular to dromedaries where the body, head and neck each seem to belong to a different animal and make no attempt to move with any kind of unified rhythm.
It was enchanting to watch and my attention only broke when a wayword hoof pressed down on our butler, Hopps who had come to enquire if we would be require tea.
I’m not much for the working classes. Hopps was physically fit and no doubt practiced in the art of dodging responsibility and the fists of his fellow gutter dwellers. I stood him in good stead as he side-stepped the camel which was now teetering on the edge of my precious couch.