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This is probably only funny if you're me.
“Bears?” “About time, too.”
The time for thought is over.
“I’ll walk.”
“Walk? Pick out some of the words on the page.”
Lost Things
“Right.”
LOST THINGS
IN BOXES
Next it was Lisa’s turn. Sophie blinked. Floppy discs and hard discs and compact discs, gold discs, clay discs, marble discs, disc jockeys, slipped discs. Sure enough, there was a brown paper label which read ‘Lost Ark’. “No joy,” called Tim from the door. “Ew,” Lisa said. Sophie asked. The label said ‘Lost City’. Sophie asked.
“Trippy,” said Lisa.
Tim was shaking her. ‘Lost Hopes’. “Well, I suppose that if they’re in your head now they’re not lost any more,” Lisa said, shrugging. Sophie sighed. Sophie’s fingers brushed a bundle of paper, odd-textured paper. The tag said ‘Lost Play’. Tim’s head snapped up. “Tim? Tim?” Sophie asked. “What the-?” cried Lisa.
Sophie spun around. Sophie ran empty-handed, and Lisa ran clutching her blue book, with Tim pulled along between them singing breathless fragments all the way, past Lost Uncertainties and Lost Virginities, and there Sophie left them to hurry into the W box (striped in navy and blue). She ignored Lost Words and Lost Worlds and Lost Weekends, plunging her arms into the large box of Lost Watches. Sophie walked out of the H box to find dawn breaking.
The seagulls rose but Crow flew higher, turning her heavy beaked head from side to side. Fool Crow. Not long feathered. Needed nest. Crow pulled harder. Machine! Crow staggered. Dump for gulls! Swivel of smooth white heads, spines of orange-rimmed eyes skewering. White pain behind eyes. Rip. A little space. A flat-white. Gulls not fear for long. Crow gathered herself. Swoop on flat-white. Gulls surged. Close beak on flat-white. Pull from Dump, hard. Wing-beat hard. Flat-white covered in blue lines and black curls. Crow flew on home.
“Patience!” There’s an edge of pain in his words. I mean, imagine if people took it seriously. “Oh, never mind.” Ping. Ping. My head pounds.
What if I’m needed? Mark isn’t working today. A work party. Meet people! “I’ve talked to lots of interesting people. Right?”
Cairine eyed him. It was raining pages.
Stolen from
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elvichar.
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I would want to read further.
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What intrigues me is what criteria it's using. How does it judge what sort of sentence is important? It's used whole paragraphs from some of the stories and not taken a single word from others.
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I have never come across this tool before. I summarised my last and current (work in progress)
But enough about me. "It was raining pages"... what a breathtaking line.