My Thoughts From Last Night Would Make For A Great Few Paragraphs Of A Novel, I Think

Zach turned the last page. He had finished reading the book he had been working on for a month. He looked longingly at the number on that final page: 617. "Gee, that's a lot," he thought to himself. "I wonder if I could ever muster enough writing to reach that many pages -- particularly in a font as medium-small as the one in this book." Skimming through the book again, it became apparent to him that to make a book last long, a lot of things need to happen to a lot of people, and those things and people need to be described in great detail. He thought...

_

The next morning, there was a knock at the door. Zach still lay in bed an hour after his roommate, Gillian, left for work. He opened his eyes to a bright cloudy morning, typical of a Seattle autumn. His blanket and comforter with the sea green duvet, askew from another night of tossing and kicking, were almost too heavy for him to lift in his state of sleepiness. Upon more knocking, he finally got up, left his room, admired Wendy the Cat who was once again looking cute, and answered the front door.

_

It was none other than Archie Mandrake, the local sports newscaster in his usual pirate outfit, complete with a live parrot perched upon his shoulder. His long nose and wide ears seemed to grow bigger when he gestured to the donation can he held in his hand, the one which he motioned towards with his hook. His hook made Zach wish he had put on a pair of pants.

_

"Good morning, young chap," Mr. Mandrake said delightfully. "I'm making my rounds, collecting for the Voluntary Orphange of Washington State -- children with parents too awful to bear who may or may not have actually died. Would you feel comfortable making a donation today to help these unfortunate children?"

_

Before Zach could answer him, he lost his voice which crept out of his mouth, across his shoulder, down his right leg and onto the floor, where it melted and left a mustard-yellow stain on the carpet. He motioned to Mr. Mandrake that he could not speak, and Mr. Mandrake gave him an empathetic nod.

_

"Poor boy," he said with a noticably more melancholy tone. "I never should have asked anything of you."

_

He turned around and moped down the stairs. Zach closed the door behind him, and went into the kitchen to get some paper towels.