July 7--NaNoWriMo's 100-word challenge, The Traveling Shovel of Death. Plodding from house to house Sam lugged his suitcases in the blazing sun. "Damned humans are so picky," he groused, "wanting things all neat and logical. There's nothing logical about Death. Nothing." Clods of clay pattered behind him like a trail of bread crumbs. His cases rattled as she swung them, back and forth, right then left with the rhythm of his steps. His hickory wood shaft and handle were smooth and dark from use by so many hands. He squared his shoulders and turned into the next driveway. "Time to pay a visit. She'll be happy to see me come up the steps and I can add her finger bone to my set." He rattled the case in his right hand and cocked his head to listen. "Yep, needs another knuckle bone." He reached the top step, opened the door, and called out, "Honey, I'm home." Another day, another door, another death.
Go onto Facebook and "like" NaNoWriMo to see the cartoon that was my inspiration. It felt good to just hare off on a tangent. Later, dudes and dudettes.