Wierd waffle (not blue)
Light flooded across the plains and meadows where cream and brown cows shuffled their noses through the wild flowers and long, green grass.
There was a barn plumped in the middle that looked like a giant had thrown it in a fit. Boards were broken and splintered, hay strewn about the place with low hanging beams and an array of farming equipment strung precariously on an old wooden rack.
All the while I stood thinking to myself, how the hell did I get here, I mean one minute I'm writing a story and the next I'm in hillbilly land!
See I'm a retired writer so I spend my time writing short stories all day long, I know what you thinking, how the hell am I retired if I'm still writing? Good question, and I would answer, stop picking holes in my story! Ok so I no longer get paid for writing stories because I'm sick of having to write what the bigwigs want me to.
My stories tend to have a general format, protagonist finds himself in precarious situation against some random foe and must use his insanely impeccable good looks and wit to find his way out.
One minute I'm writing a story and the next I'm in this place, curious.
I walked into the barn and looked around.
"Hello..?" I called, but there was no answer, "is there anyone home?" I shouted, but still no answer.
That was when I heard giggling coming from a hay stack, it was wierd because one minute the giggling was high pitched and the next it was low pitch. I picked up a rake from the rack, ooh alliteration! and went to the hay bale. With all my strength I gave it a mighty poke only to hear a very loud screeching. And the hay monster came out to get me. I wont deny it, I made a noise like a slightly frightened lion.