I love to freewrite - write down anything that comes to mind. A lot of it makes absolutely no sense, but I thought it would fun to publish them.
"We ship to space, you gotta believe me, we ship to space!"
The boy with the big hair and bright eyes pleaded. But the looks on the faces of the Creme Egg folk were hard, like the texture of rubber shavings, shaving the life from their pinpoint heads.
Shaving - or was it saving?
As the face of the blue-eyed boy fell, that of the gooey's melted, so the rubber shavings were thorns, rubbing out the pencil marks of sugary liquid. Pencil marks on chocolate, have you ever tried that? It adds a curious, familiar texture and an engrossing and truly gross flavour that one would love to try but hate to eat.