It is this drivel that is my life, that I don't get. Yes, from the opening sentence, you can tell that the interview that I held dearly to didn't end in congratulatory champagne. Figures. But fret not, while I did mope for a while, I still managed to pull through with more inspiration for this new story I'm working on. It's a fun story and hopefully will be done by theend of the week. So anywaes, thinking of other inane things to talk about but failing. Havent been doing much by myself. Need sleep... and need frens. Sigh... i miss frens.

Anywaes, here's an excerpt from my new story:

The dustbins had been emptied again. Not just the large one underneath the kitchen sink, but all seven of them. The four small dustbins in both bedrooms and bathrooms, the metal one in the study and even the recycle bin. They had all been emptied once again. Of course, that itself was not at all frightening, emptying dustbins was simply another chore to be done, like the idle sport of dishwashing. But what really disturbed Mrs. Blumer was the fact that she wasn’t the one that did it! She used to do it every Thursday night – taking out the trash without another thought, piling them all together and depositing everything outside on the sidewalk. She had been routinely doing that every week, never skipping a shift for the consequences would be awfully smelly.

Until two weeks ago, when she discovered all the dustbins were empty…on a Tuesday!

It must be explained that Mrs. Blumer was not one for easy hysterics. A stern teacher teaching English to the schoolchildren in Beallyoucanbe Elementary (pronounced beal-lyouc-anbe), she had unflappable sensibility and very little patience for outlandish prepositions. She held very strongly to the rigors of ‘routine’, and tried her very best not to stray. So when she first discovered the empty dustbins on a Tuesday morning, She didn’t immediately run out of the house screaming ‘Ghost! Ghost!’ as how her mother used to do before. Rather, she frowned a little at the missing rubbish and checked the lawn to see if they were in fact there. Failing to spot any plastic-wrapped piles, she then quietly sat down and with a blue pen, drew up a list of rational explanations for such an occurrence. Twenty minutes later, and settling with ‘mistaken rubbish day’ and ‘perhaps it’s my imagination’, she went off to school and thought no more of it.

However, on the second time it happened, a Tuesday, Mrs. Blumer realized she couldn’t rely on the ‘mistaken rubbish day’ reason anymore. Nor was the ‘perhaps it’s my imagination’ idea faring well either. Something was wrong and frowning longer at empty dustbins would not make it any better.