I took a trip on the S.S. Essess to the Heart of Cliché. My heart was pounding as the waves crashed against the ship. It was a stormy day and my soul ached to uncover the truth. I felt a longing deep down inside and suddenly realised I was looking at the world as if for the first time.
My guide for the Heart of Cliché was a tall, pock-marked man with wild eyes. He lead me down a dark, airless alley. My heart beat fast in my chest. I hoped at last I would shake this curse of cliché. Time was running out. This was my last chance. At the end of the day, when all was said and done, I needed a change in my life, and yearned for freedom.
I entered the Heart of Cliché. He spoke:
“Visitor! You have travelled far and wide to be with me. You heart aches to be free from this slavery. There is a fire burning inside you. We all know that a stitch in time saves nine and that many hands make light work and that too many cooks spoil the broth and that we can’t see the wood for the trees and that beauty is only skin deep and that . . . ”
“Stop!” I shouted.
“ . . . we shouldn’t beat about the bush or let the cat out of the bag and you should keep your nose to the grindstone and it isn’t over until the fat lady sings and we can kill two birds with one stone and there are plenty more fish in the sea . . . ”
“I can’t take it!” I said, and ran off.
I ran and ran until my legs ached. Then I thought better of it, and I ran until the tendons in my calf region experienced a pulsating throb. Tomorrow would be a better day. Or, at least, tomorrow would be day of marked luminescent improvement over today. This would need some work.