Bulwer Lytton Part Three

Posted in Library of Congress by chamblee54 on September 4, 2018

Ivory clouds parted above the approaching mahogany frigate to reveal not the cerulean skies of literary convention, but a utopian kaleidoscope of mulberry, periwinkle, taffy, juniper, chartreuse, bubblegum and mauve, and Captain Alexander Smollett silently exalted the poetic license of Robert Louis Stevenson for its vibrant insinuation that this nautical interloper indeed was sailing under false colors. Joe Wyatt, Amarillo, TX

She pursed her lips in disapproval as she considered the divisive and hateful words her lover used to describe the shredded broccoli she had prepared for their honeymoon feast, and woe, too late, she realized that perhaps Col. Sanders was not her destined soul-mate, but, oh God, that pointy little beard sure did tickle her fancy. George Coe, Broad Run, VA

This date is going horribly wrong she thought staring in vegan disgust at the charred remains sizzling in his fajita skillet — her large, luminous, sectoral heterochromic eyes that had a limbal ring of deepest grey flickering angrily in the flame of a beeswax candle filtering the air around them.
SJ Baldock, Quitman, TX

Terellian Shapeshifters often blew their cover by taking subtly inappropriate forms — a squirrel that swims perhaps, or a chair with five legs — but Officer Max Throckmorton spotted this one immediately; every Human knows that bidets are NOT purple, and they usually aren’t installed next to a McDonald’s drink dispenser. Mark Watson, Chapel Hill, NC

As Lakshmi bestrode her vanquished foe in the Dombivli garment store, she clutched the coveted outfit and with a smug, haughty voice demanded, “Whose sari now?” Brent Guernsey, Springfield, VA

Though she had just been laughed out of the forty-second delicatessen that week, Epicurean philosopher Florence Smoot was determined that she would find the answer to that age-old question of which came first – the chicken salad sandwich or the egg salad sandwich?
Joshua Long, Harrison, OH

Grace Delgado, pointedly of average attractiveness so as to be relatable to the masses of pitiful girls wasting their time reading erotic novels to make up for their lack of romantic lives, stared at herself in the mirror for a few minutes that morning, for no other reason than the author needed a chance to describe her physical appearance. Bridget Parmenter, Katy, TX

It wasn’t fair to call Michael a scum-sucking monster from the deep, the miserable, fetid descendant of some unnamed demon who, after centuries at the very depths of the ocean, had somehow surfaced and found his way to Wall Street—it was accurate, of course, but he preferred Michael.
Allison Bryski, Danville, CA

It didn’t sound like a particularly glamorous profession but to get the post of ‘senior equine theriogenologist specialising in artificial insemination’ in the Royal stables Edward had had to beat off some really stiff competition. Phillip Davies, Cardiff, Wales

Pictures are from The Library of Congress. Parts one and two are available.

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