I was sitting in the library today, trying so hard to conjure up an idea for a short story. I have a hand in on the 17th of March; I have nothing to write about!
Anyway so something inspired me to get on to google and type in ‘story idea’. A website called ‘Plot Generator‘ came up and I thought, holy moly, have I just stumbled upon a goldmine?!
Turns out I did. A hilarious gold mine. I filled in some boxes with keywords and names, and it generated a little story for me. It had me laughing so much I had to get up and take a breather.
Have a look, if you’re interested!
Two Cold Uncles Knitting to the Beat
Twig Blackadder was thinking about Emilia Blake again. Emilia was a kind angel with handsome hair and slim lips.
Twig walked over to the window and reflected on his pretty surroundings. He had always hated peaceful Lancing with its slobbering, strong seaside. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel sad.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the a kind figure of Emilia Blake.
Twig gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a stubborn, wilful, coffee drinker with built hair and brunette lips. His friends saw him as a modern, magnificent monster. Once, he had even made a cup of tea for a villainous grandma.
But not even a stubborn person who had once made a cup of tea for a villainous grandma, was prepared for what Emilia had in store today.
The rain hammered like thinking parrot, making Twig bittersweet. Twig grabbed an ethereal key that had been strewn nearby; he massaged it with his fingers.
As Twig stepped outside and Emilia came closer, he could see the slobbering glint in her eye.
Emilia gazed with the affection of 4480 selfish amused ant. She said, in hushed tones, “I love you and I want closure.”
Twig looked back, even more bittersweet and still fingering the ethereal key. “Emilia, I’ve always loved you,” he replied.
They looked at each other with nostalgic feelings, like two glorious, giant goldfish sobbing at a very considerate holiday, which had piano music playing in the background and two cold uncles knitting to the beat.
Twig studied Emilia’s handsome hair and slim lips. Eventually, he took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” began Twig in apologetic tones, “but I don’t feel the same way, and I never will. I just don’t love you Emilia.”
Emilia looked happy, her emotions raw like an old, open old shoes.
Twig could actually hear Emilia’s emotions shatter into 8876 pieces. Then the kind angel hurried away into the distance.
Not even a cup of coffee would calm Twig’s nerves tonight.