The Rhythm Of Clichés

My brother recently challenged me to write a story filled with clichés and hackneyed expressions. Far be it from me to resist fighting fire with fire, so I decided to put my nose to the grindstone and shoulder to the wheel, and write until the cows come home. I would go out on a limb and not give him the short end of the stick. I would leave no stone unturned and prove I have a way with words. I would hit the ground running, and hit the nail on the head at the same time. 

Back in the day, we cared about over- the-top writing, before the time when grammar rules went missing. I decided not to cry over spilt milk, and that every cloud has a silver lining, and what goes around comes around.

I didn’t want to feel old as the hills, but rather I wanted to be fit as a fiddle. To tell you the truth, at the end of the day, I realized this task was an uphill battle. If I played my cards right and read between the lines, I’d realize the grass is not greener on the other side, and if I think outside the box, I could show my brother that I could get my ducks in a row. My brother is a chip off the old block and a dead ringer for him as well. 

A little bird told me that my answer to this writing challenge was a stone’s throw away. I would give him a taste of his own medicine, be busy as a bee, cool as a cucumber, as I was no babe in the woods.

He was barking up the wrong tree, and he could bet his bottom dollar that I wasn’t between a rock and a hard place. He would realize that my writing was the cream of the crop and he would get his just desserts and give credit where credit is due. 

But mid way through this challenge, I did feel as if I’d bitten off more than I could chew, that maybe I shouldn’t rock the boat and drive myself up a wall. I didn’t want to eat humble pie and end up with egg on my face.

Truth be told, in the eleventh hour, the challenge ended up driving me to drink, and I became drunk as a skunk and will drop my brother a line when I sober up

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