Singed Synapses and Deranged Dendrites

Penalty (#penalty)

Julia sat swinging her legs off the edge of an oversize mahogany chair. It was an old and battered chair with a high back upholstered in a dark color, worn and dingy, but familiar. It sat in the middle of the recesses of her mind–a gothic looking place with dark cathedral arches and dirty stained glass windows. Bells tolled in the distance, marking the imagined sentence of other souls. No matter her age, in this place, Julia was forever a child.

Enormous men wearing robes and long white beards that reached nearly to the floor scowled down at Julia from a great height above her. They discussed her misdeed, and Julia quietly awaited her penalty. 

"And why does the girl not wish to write," asked one of the giants.

"She says she does want to write, but cannot think of a story fit for the prompt this week," said another.

"She says she is busy," said a third, "but in truth she is lazy."

They all nodded in agreement at this statement. 

Julia shrunk in her chair. I'm so lazy, she thought. 

"She has plenty of time to socialize with the neighbors, yet she can't take a half hour of her week to write 500 words," said the first giant.

"And she drank too much beer this weekend," said another, a new voice to this conversation, but not an unfamiliar voice to Julia.

I drink too much beer and don't write enough, thought Julia.

"What is the penalty if I don't do the weekend write-in?" asked Julia outloud. 

Her voice sounded high and squeaky compared to the tall men around her. It barely registered in the cavernous space where they stood.

The men stared down at her, apparently shocked that she could speak at all. They looked at each other quizzically searching one another's faces to see if one might know the answer. Several shrugged.

"Is there a penalty for not doing the write-in?" one of the giants finally asked.

"John Nedwill has never missed a week," said one of the robed men who stood towards the edge near the door.

"But is that a penalty?" asked the one who had asked the question to begin with.

The giants began murmuring and debating amongst each other. While they usually had some question or another knocking about between them the current topic at hand began to create an awful din. 

Julia clamped her hands over her ears trying to block them out. It certainly wasn't helping her think of a story for this week's prompt. She needed to get out of her head. But alas, it wasn't in the cards.

"There is no penalty for not doing the weekend write-in," spoke the largest giant, the apparent leader of the rest. The others visibly relaxed, thankful he had finally taken charge and made a decision on the matter at hand. 

Even Julia relaxed a bit too. She even considered slipping out of her chair. Glancing down she contemplated the jump. It seemed a rather long way down. She stretched her leg out trying to judge the distance to the ground.

"But..." said the giant.

Julia immediately ceased her attempt to get off the chair and timidly looked up.

"You are stuck in here forever with us."