Your words lay elegantly on my plate, dressed to perfection and seasoned with a fine understanding of the human condition that heightened my expectations.  I cut easily through the body of your text and as it bled with sincerity, I savoured its scent and salivated at tender possibilities.  But before my first swallow I tasted a sour edge and my teeth stuck in the grisly innards of your plot.  My belly revolted, dizzy at your inability to hold tense and I lost my appetite completely as I noticed the rotten side of your imagination.  These pages were weeks old in a warm room with no sign of an editor.   I cast my plate to the floor and bid you good day.



About Roy Smith

Roy Smith lives in the Medway Towns, where he works with young people and spends a lot of time writing nonsense and enjoying himself. Most of his writing happens at night and other inconvenient moments, when he is regularly interrupted by his dog and the desire to play old video games.

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