A Self-Defeating Story — #87
He opened the door slowly. (Seriously? That’s how you want to start the story?)
He peered inside. (Peered inside what? A room? A box? Noah’s ark?)
What he saw startled him. (Ok, fine. Get to the point.)
A book lay open on the desk and an old man was slumped over it, lifeless. (Hm. A dead old guy. That’s original.)
Dead. (Yes, I got that he was dead thanks.)
His arm was outstretched and pointing to something. (Or maybe it was just outstretched because he was dead. In the real world, I don’t think he’d be pointing to anything, ok?)
He looked towards the edge of the room where the dead man was pointing. (See previous comment.)
A grandfather clock stood imposingly and its willowy hands had stopped. (Oh, I see you have discovered adverbs and adjectives. Congratulations.)
He suddenly felt overwhelmingly tired due to a nagging voice inside his head and he decided to retreat from the room and shut the door so that someone else could discover this mess and deal with the consequences themselves. (Ha! I knew you were weak. Well, mission accomplished then.)
