Writing Pilates

The writing Assignment this week: Have Your Character Perpetuate a Foolish Scheme During a Moment of Desperation.

So without further ado

Have Your Character Perpetuate a Foolish Scheme During a Moment of Desperation

Bosomella sat in a small alcove in the interior of Miss Borka’s sturdiest carriage shivering. The road to the walls of the floating monks was long and winding. And the trees along that rocky pavement crouched above them, their great twisting branches seeming to speak of unthinkable things in the approaching twilight. But Miss Borka was ecstatic.

“Finally a plan with audacity and promise.” She murmured to her driver for the 37th time, shifting in her seat and dipping to poke her head out the window. She was just beginning to tap her fingernails in an uneven staccato upon the sides of the coach when they stopped before the walls of the floating monks of Scatchenliklieve.

The driver held the stamping horses to a nervous stand still while Bosomella led her mistress toward the knobby trunk of an ancient oak. The leafy giant stretched its thick branches out over the monks formidable walls and offered them the protection of a bird’s eye view of the monastery. A view that would not require sending in a servant whose life would only be worth seconds once the monks reply was given.

It was no easy task getting a girl with a twisted leg up into the great oak. But Miss Borka was madly determined and Bosomella was desperate, and the driver just wanted to get them up the tree and down and home before his wife discovered where they were and launched into him with her most formidable piece of cast iron cookery.

Once seated on the longest branch Bosomella and Miss Borka scoot scoot scooted until they were mere inches from the dark gray stone of the monks infamous wall. Monks tromped back and forth in slow precision within, their deep red cowls almost the precise color of the giant vultures that circled slowly overhead. But luck was smiling for Bosomella had brought her mistress to the very tree that overlooked the monks mysterious machine shop. Where all manor of mechanical wonders whirred and clicked and chugged about with oil slick movements to boggle the mind.

Then just before dusk fell the monks began to move their most marvelous machine yet. At least it was large, so it must be marvelous. The thing took 12 red robbed figures to heave it from the workshop and their straining bodies blocked the view of the device itself. And so before Bosomella knew quite what her mistress was about, Miss Borka slipped from her tree branch, dropped down dangling for a moment, and landed crouching upon the wide gray top the the floating monk’s wall.