Recombination

The prompt is to "do an erasure or, if you like, recombination. In this case using a paragraph from Annie Dillard’s book, The Writing Life."


Recombination

“I pulled down the curtains. When I leaned over the typewriter, sparks burnt round holes in my shirt, and fire singed a sleeve. I dragged the rug away from the sparks. In the kitchen I filled a bucket with water and returned to the erupting typewriter. The typewriter did not seem to be flying apart, only erupting. On my face and hands I felt the heat from the caldera. The yellow fire made a fast, roaring noise. The typewriter itself made rumbling, grinding noise; the table pitched. Nothing seemed to require my bucket of water. The table surface was ruined, of course, but not aflame. After twenty minutes or so, the eruption subsided.”

I took the concept and changed fire for ice, developing further the idea from yesterday’s prompt.


“I pulled down the curtains. When I leaned over the typewriter, icicles emerged from my armpits, cascading down my sleeves, my fingers dripping onto the keys. I dragged the cat away from the flood. In the bathroom I found gauze and to wrap around my blisters and fend off the frostbite. I returned to the frozen typewriter. The typewriter did not seem to be flying apart, only erupting in splinters and shards of ice. On my face and hands I felt the chill from the iceberg, so intense, as if to burn. It made a fast, roaring noise. The typewriter itself made rumbling, grinding noises; the table pitched. Nothing seemed to require the gauze; no blisters appeared, my skin remained the color of normal flesh. The table surface was ruined, of course, but the water on the floor subsided and completely disappeared. The cat slept. After twenty minutes or so, the eruption subsided.”

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