I'd written what I thought was a pretty good 100 word story for this week's weekly challenge.
I recorded it, edited in a couple of sound effects (from here), and sent the email to Laurence. I had the text of my story, the ides for the next topic, the link to my blog. I had everything in there...
...but the recording.
Yea, I'm just smart like that.
I sent the recording to Laurence on Saturday after I got an email, a direct message on Twitter, and goodness knows what else from him about it.
Here's the text:
My wife always said that I sleepwalk, but I didn't believe her... until now.
While on vacation in Turkey recently, I pushed a woman over a bridge while sleepwalking.
My lawyer tried to get me out of it, unsuccessfully.
I was sentenced to thirty-five years in a prison on the outskirts of Istanbul for my crime.
I don't sleepwalk anymore. Hell, I barely sleep. I live my days in constant fear that my cellmate, Big Willy, will make me bend over for another "special moment." I wish I were dead.
Why couldn't I have just sleepwalked off of that bridge?
Crossposted to Through our eyes