Paul J Penton – Songwriter

Twister- Daily Object Writing – Nov 27

Blue dot, green dot, yellow dot, red dot. Splotches of colour, perfect circles on glossy white background. A dial spins, lands on a colour, now hands and arms and legs octopus toward the nearest blob. Laughter ripples through the room as limbs bend at impossible angles to accommodate. Muscles feel the strain – being tensioned and ratcheted to breaking point- to failure point. The selector spins again the pointing arrow propellers around the selections fixing on yellow. I need to reach behind to make this one.
My torso is twisted now into a strudel. The plastic matting is waxy and cool underhand. It crinkles as my palm rests the yellow slot. Somebodies leg shoots beneath the bridge my arm is making. More laughs float in the air, they seem to be coming from a subterranean chasm somewhere under my belly which carries a stream of tears to my eyes. We all start to shake and sob and collapse into a writhing heap. It’s that laughter that makes you shake so much it hurts, you know, that kind where if someone says another word – ANY word – you will just erupt into another round.