Hello fellow story-builders! Hope the week is treating you well so far, but not too well that you can’t still raise your spirits with a rhyming line or two. As you can see our story’s grown since the last post, but this tale is still in its infancy. Give it a read and then add your own verses, let’s collectively rear this thing into a fine upstanding literary citizen.  Okay? Okay. Thanks for reading, thanks for playing.

Here’s what we have so far:

The old man who smelled of memory loss leaned in

He said “Pull my finger” then grinned.

It felt cold and omniscient as a skeleton key

And once tugged a door did fall open before me. 

The past lay before me, all musty and grim

My hope for some cheer grew depressingly slim.

I first saw my teacher, from elementary school

Who said I was foolish, as well as a fool.

No fool I am, said I, proudly

It is you, I proclaimed loudly

Oh really? he mused with his dogcatcher’s sneer

Wasn’t me who sunk the spelling bee in a puddle of fear.

The old man at my side flicked his tongue, then his finger

And the teacher quickly vanished, not a trace of him lingered.

Replaced by another, a familiar face less unfriendly

A girl whose smile and whose spine were quite plastic and bendy.