An imitation of style

Today for my creative writing course we were asked to write a story that imitated (and possibly exaggerated) our favorite author's style. Although I didn't choose my favorite author (I'm not even sure who it is), I did choose somebody that I thought would be extremely enjoyable to imitate. I had no idea what to write about, but then a memory of mine burst upon me, so I'm basing this little story on an experience I had, even though it's a little different. I don't think I could ever perfectly imitate any good author, but do you care to guess who I was thinking of as I wrote this?

I woke from my nap, frightfully refreshed, ready to flap through the day and take on any heavy-weight challenges Fate might be cooking up for me. As there were no heavy-weight challenges presenting themselves for getting knocked off in my bedroom, I decided to pop my head into the hallway in case I could spot any villains that needed to have their noses bottled. Seeing neither villains nor noses, the rest of me followed.

I was just determining that the house seemed to be like a freshly brushed mouth having spewed out all other inhabitants, when, hallo there, I spotted Megan. She seemed to be doing some spewing herself, and I thought it must be downright catching. I was just about to breeze away before she could notice me and accuse me of snooping when light dawned on marble head that a girl had just expect-a-somethinged in the hallway. Since the picture just wasn't clicking, I knew something must be wrong. Wheeling around, I decided to blast straight ahead and like a good chap see if I could offer any aid to a m.i.d. I pride myself on my vast chivalrous abilities. Why, all a poor girl needs to do is say, "I need your help, Archie," and my whole person will melt into buttery assistance. That's how I feel toward maidens in distress.

I sailed toward Megan, trying to be discreet and nonchalant. I'm pretty sure the qualities were oozing from my pores till I absolutely reeked of it. Megan's orbs were fixed over the edge of the balustrade--she obviously hadn't caught whiff of me yet.

"I say," I said. "Is everything all right?"

The m.i.d. jumped and the brown orbs were fixed upon me as if I had just stuck a cold fish to her neck. The thought flitted through the old cranium that perhaps she would have preferred a cold fish to her neck than to seeing me, but that of course was nonsense so I waved the idea away.

The frightened rabbit look in the m.i.d.'s eyes disappeared when she realized it was me, but instead of being replaced by the comforted look that I would have expected a real maiden in distress to put on when she caught sight of her noble hero, a look of mirth crept into those dark orbs. Then without a word she slid off, leaving behind an enigmatic laugh as the only vapor that betrayed the fact that she had been there. A moment later, she reappeared to my flummoxed self as she glided in with an air of mystery about her like a halo and a glass of water in her hand. Still smiling, she let the contents of her glass trickle over the railing.

Peering over the rail, I gaped. Yes, indeed, I gaped. I don't think I've gaped quite like that since I saw cousin Louis's pet hamster dash backwards and do the Virginia Reel.

What I saw Megan aiming at down below was a sink, and in that sink was some water (from the aforementioned glass that the supposed m.i.d. was pouring), and next to that water was something that looked frightfully like toothpaste and spittle. Yes, my maiden in distress had expect-a-somethinged on purpose just because she was brushing her teeth. It's a jolly good thing she was a good shot, too, or who knows what sort of tempests could have resulted if she had spewed on some hapless bystander?

I don't think it's a rotten thing to say that from now on old Archie is going to think twice before offering his benevolent services to maidens in distress.