Purple Prose

In the second-to-last Creative Writing class, we received an assignment to write a short piece of purple prose. In other words, everyone had to do their best to write the worst possible piece of fiction in fifteen minutes. This is the result, though I can't say I failed as I was supposed to.

The lawyer sat haltingly with wondrous amazement at his client, some nouveau riche playboy coming out of the sun of silicon valley and up to the wide plains of Canada. This woman's man once lived the life of a nerd, compiling code in his mother's basement, but now he wined and dined with royalty. The lawyer met this pasty man at a party while hob-nobbing with Canada's greatest enjoying a bit o' bubbly, and the law professional offered to defend his honor, land, and property with every ounce of his soul or until the check bounced like a beach ball. The programmer's heart sunk, a bowling ball in a lake until he could no longer feel his face. This code monkey's wife wanted everything and the Sultan of Silicon hoped to burn his wife hard in divorce, leaving her with nothing even if it destroyed all he built in the process.