UnTruth in Advertising.

Well. I have to say that I was disappointed in the cheesey bites pizza. Definitely not as good as they'd have you believe from the commerical. It was just okay. Though Harley did seem to like the sausage.

Freewriting exercise...

There was a room in a house. A very quiet room. A lonely room. It held a desk, pushed up against a drab green wall and a chair, threadbare, pushed up against the desk. There was nothing else in the room except for dust motes floating carelessly in the small rays of sunshine coming through a window.

The door was kept locked at all times, which made it that much more mysterious when letters began appearing, nicely folded and smelling vaguely of lavendar, on the desk. A new letter every week.

You might call them love letters; the room certainly did. And it waited for days and weeks and months and years for someone to come read them.

That was the thing about the room. It was very lonely, but it was infinitely patient. It did not note the passing of time in anything except the slow dance of sunlight back and forth across the room and the occassional patter of rain drops against the window. Once, a mouse ventured in, but soon retreated, leaving behind only a small gap between the baseboard and the floor to show it had ever been.

The house around the room was lively, though, and thick with laughter and tears and all of the things that go with people. Three children, grown and raised, had moved through the halls, passing every day by the room and never once giving it a thought. And the room never thought about them. They were nice enough people, surely, but not the right kind of people. They were just your every day soccer mom car pooling cookie sales family over for the holidays send the kids off to school and always remember to leave milk for Santa kind of people. Not at all the kind of people the room was waiting for.