For this writing exercise, I couldn’t, for the life of me, remember what the past tense of smite was. When our five minutes were up, I had to ask so I could fix it. “Smote” is a good word!
Looking at my reflection in the puddle it was easy to see that I had been smote. My face was severely bruised where I had been punched. He was a burly man who seemed to take offense at my mere presence in the tavern. I nearly had him when his two friends, that were inexplicably larger than him, grabbed me from behind making me an easy target. Stepping in the puddle to obscure the image, I made my way onto the porch and sat down. Looking up at the heavens, I felt a rush of anger that the gods somehow felt that I needed to be punished. Imagine my shock when one appeared before me in a sparkly shimmer.
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