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Prompt response for Inspiration Monday ~
The prompt ~ THE SNARK AGES
The prompt ~ THE SNARK AGES
THE SNARK AGES
by John Yeo
Today I am going to steal something from you my patient readers on a timescale of microseconds this will feel painful. Each microsecond will be as valuable as each of the preceding microsecond, an infinity of time to the little known elusive impossible snark.
Our story begins with a puzzle, when a For Sale sign was removed from a suburban house.
A little later, the dustmen started to remove the rubbish from the side of the house.
Rumour had it that the house was sold to a mysterious couple, who the estate agent never actually met, the house was purchased by an agent acting on their behalf, who professed never to have met his clients. The owners moved in, in the dead of night, and no one saw them arrive.
The only clue they were there, was when the dustmen collected the trash.
The couple settled into the neighbourhood very well, or so they thought, but strangely they had no contact with the people on either side of their house. The people on the block never saw a sign of them, not even a hide or hair of them, not a whisker. The full dustbins were always removed and re-filled again by the unseen mysterious occupants.
The curtains were always firmly closed but no-one ever saw any of the occupants. One day Bronson Williams and his wife Louise tapped nervously on the door to introduce themselves and make them feel welcome. No response, Louse left the flowers she was carrying on the doorstep and they gave up and went home. Three days later the flowers were still there and the dustmen came and emptied the bin, with no response from within.
Charlie and Cherise on the other side of the mysterious house, then tried to get a response from the back door, Charlie banged loudly without success, there was no response. The blinds were tightly drawn and Cherise tried to peep inside without success, the place seemed to be quite deserted, they left the flowers they had brought on the back doorstep and returned home. There was a bouquet of rotting blooms on the front doorstep. Three days later the flowers were still there when the dustmen came and emptied the trash.
Four days later a For Sale sign went up and several people were shown around the house by an agent. The owners were nowhere to be seen, eventually the house was sold and a young couple moved in, the neighbourhood breathed a sigh of relief as a sense of normality returned.
The refuse began to be collected again. There was no forwarding address for the occupants as there was nothing to forward.
The culmination of this mysterious tale lies in the microseconds it needed to read it. Each microsecond added to another microsecond eventually becomes infinity. This is known as the elusive mysterious, snark ages.
At the beginning of this tale of decaying refuse, I mentioned I would be stealing something from you my greatly esteemed reader. I have stolen at least five minutes of your precious time.
To the average well read snark, this will feel like ages.
I am sure the refuse will eventually be collected when the dustmen return to work from their strike.
Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved
by John Yeo
Today I am going to steal something from you my patient readers on a timescale of microseconds this will feel painful. Each microsecond will be as valuable as each of the preceding microsecond, an infinity of time to the little known elusive impossible snark.
Our story begins with a puzzle, when a For Sale sign was removed from a suburban house.
A little later, the dustmen started to remove the rubbish from the side of the house.
Rumour had it that the house was sold to a mysterious couple, who the estate agent never actually met, the house was purchased by an agent acting on their behalf, who professed never to have met his clients. The owners moved in, in the dead of night, and no one saw them arrive.
The only clue they were there, was when the dustmen collected the trash.
The couple settled into the neighbourhood very well, or so they thought, but strangely they had no contact with the people on either side of their house. The people on the block never saw a sign of them, not even a hide or hair of them, not a whisker. The full dustbins were always removed and re-filled again by the unseen mysterious occupants.
The curtains were always firmly closed but no-one ever saw any of the occupants. One day Bronson Williams and his wife Louise tapped nervously on the door to introduce themselves and make them feel welcome. No response, Louse left the flowers she was carrying on the doorstep and they gave up and went home. Three days later the flowers were still there and the dustmen came and emptied the bin, with no response from within.
Charlie and Cherise on the other side of the mysterious house, then tried to get a response from the back door, Charlie banged loudly without success, there was no response. The blinds were tightly drawn and Cherise tried to peep inside without success, the place seemed to be quite deserted, they left the flowers they had brought on the back doorstep and returned home. There was a bouquet of rotting blooms on the front doorstep. Three days later the flowers were still there when the dustmen came and emptied the trash.
Four days later a For Sale sign went up and several people were shown around the house by an agent. The owners were nowhere to be seen, eventually the house was sold and a young couple moved in, the neighbourhood breathed a sigh of relief as a sense of normality returned.
The refuse began to be collected again. There was no forwarding address for the occupants as there was nothing to forward.
The culmination of this mysterious tale lies in the microseconds it needed to read it. Each microsecond added to another microsecond eventually becomes infinity. This is known as the elusive mysterious, snark ages.
At the beginning of this tale of decaying refuse, I mentioned I would be stealing something from you my greatly esteemed reader. I have stolen at least five minutes of your precious time.
To the average well read snark, this will feel like ages.
I am sure the refuse will eventually be collected when the dustmen return to work from their strike.
Copyright © Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved
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