People usually launch contests, awards and other such things of their own on a special occasion- like their blog’s or their own birthday. But I, like Lewis Carroll, am going to do so on my unbirthday instead. After all, you have 364 unbirthdays and only one birthday, like he so insightfully said.
You don’t need to be Sherlock to know that it is the Raw Poetry Contest I’m launching today.
But what is this Raw Poetry Contest thingamajig?
“No, doc, she doesn’t have a diary
To padre, she won’t confess,
No clue as to why she’s so bleary,
I’m starting to fear she’s depressed.”
Click here to read the previous parts.
My thoughts were interrupted by Al’s harsh whispers from the inside.
“Spruce!” He sounded quite tense- like he’d messed up something.
Oh shit. Not again.
I hurried in. The Creator was still asleep, thank god, but Al looked like he’d seen a ghost. He was clutching his left arm, the syringe lying half-empty on the floor at his feet.
My hand automatically clapped over my mouth.
“Yes. Now hurry.”