This piece was written for the Six Sentence Challenge, with the prompt word of ‘structure’. What the hell it means I have no idea. 😉
To describe what Jerry had built as a ‘structure’ strained the definition to breaking point and made Escher’s multi-dimensional fantasies seem like a housing project blueprint in comparison.
The foundations, to the extent that they existed at all, consisted of a tissue of lies laid haphazardly on top of the quicksand of his adolescent fantasies of transcending his mundane suburban origins.
The walls seemed like Japanese-style internal sliders but were made of little more than recycled pizza boxes covered in a decoupage of graduation certificates, attendance records, little athletics participation ribbons and degrees purchased from the Oxbridge Online University.
The floors (or, more correctly, flaws) comprised remaindered books rescued from a rubbish skip, including ‘The Wit and Wisdom of Donald Trump’, ‘1001 Ways With Tripe’ and ‘Brain Surgery For Dummies’.
The doors had been salvaged from building site toilets that had reached their use-by date, complete with graffiti of historical significance on the insides, such as ‘Call Samantha for a good time’, ‘Quinoa causes cancer’ and ‘Gravity sucks’.
Immediately after its completion, with a roof consisting of knitted strands of titanium barbed wire designed to both deter pigeons and block the mind controllers, Jerry invited architectural prophets to review his edifice and their words are written on the Subway walls.