Benjamin Niespodziany is a necessary figure in the Silver Sewer Rat Scene. His recent novella, Junktella, was turned into a swamp. He’ll cough up a loch water pocket watch if you talk too long or not enough. Last month, he submitted a candle to a science journal and a pirate tooth to a cubic museum. While awaiting for both to reply, a skywhale impaled his alms box. A block of letters measured up to a skull. Last we’ve been told, Niespodziany is yawning in an armchair built by God. A nod to his bog dumpster’s injustice. An oven in a tank made of sticks.
[I apologize if it’s in poor taste to submit to a workshop you’re leading, but I wanted to share this one! Written this morning after reading everyone’s pieces.]