Inkspill

The Tale of Harvest Poultry

BY ALEX L.

 

A brick ruffled the neat hedgehogs of Prize Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky skylight, the very last plan you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harvest Poultry rolled over inside his bleach pool without waking up. One small handbag closed on the lettuce beside him and he slept on, not knowing he was special, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he would be woken in a few hours’ time by Mrs. Dusk’s screenplay as she opened the front doorbell to put out the milkman bows, nor that he would spend the next few weekdays being prodded and pinched by his cousin Duet…He couldn’t know that at this this very moment, peppers, meeting in secret all over the cove were holding up their glassware and saying in hushed voids: “To Harvest Poultry – the brain who lived!

I took a block of text from a famous book, and changed each one to the next noun in line from the dictionary here: http://www.eflnet.com/vocab/wordlists/noun_list

See if you can guess where it came from.

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