“The shaggy green carpet beneath the old worn coffee table held host to several small toys scattered in no particular order. The table itself was doing its best to keep all the junk from rolling off its back onto the worn carpet below. There was a long since abandoned newspaper from three weeks ago, chewed up pens missing their sidekick caps, old wrapping paper tubes that served a purpose days ago for little Tommy’s birthday and magazines that had been recently discarded in a state of reckless abandonment.
The pitter-patter of small feet could sometimes be heard, although barely audible, as small children would scamper through the room as if attempting to avoid a firing squad full of poor marksmen. They might run through the room in a hurricane filled with joyous fury as soft balls with the word “Nerf” written on the side were hurled through the air like hand grenades only to be avoided by the recipient who would surely enact strategic countermeasures to elude the violent onslaught.
As the storm from the epic battle vacates the room to fight on the enemy’s front in the kitchen, an old, weathered dog might casually saunter in the room seeking a place of refuge. His dirty, smelly blanket that he refused to let slip away would be secluded to the farthest corner of this room where it was least offensive to the senses. Settling in his resting place to escape from the worries of the violent attacks from a confused group of sadistic felines, the old dog can break into what seems like an area allowing him to become as comatose as he pleases.
Sometimes a lot more can be read into different settings such as this…and then I realize that it’s just my dining room, and nothing more.”
“What, do you just keep that unnecessarily descriptive scene of something plain and boring ready at all times?”
“Hey, you told me to describe something as if I were writing didn’t you?”
“Well, yeah but…”
“Okay, that settles it then. Clearly I’m the better writer.”
'nuff said.
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