[ WP ] Write a story where each sentence has one more word than the last .

No. 
 Please, no. 
 Oh god, no. 
 That ’ s our mantra now. 
 We ’ ve all been saying it. As if the saying helps. As if we could fix it. As if the repetition heals us. 
 It ’ s a nice thought, I suppose, for some. 
 Personally though, I think I ’ d prefer to be cured. 
 I ’ d prefer smooth skin to these bursting pustules and boils. 
 I ’ d much rather breathe clean air than this rotten cloying sweetness. 
 I ’ d just as soon avoid being stricken with all this wracking pain. 
 Then again, beggars can ’ t be choosers and I guess we ’ re all begging now. 
 
 I first spoke the mantra when mother started wheezing and coughing instead of speaking. 
 I spoke it when my brother went blind, and again after that when Sarah passed. 
 The fourth time I spoke the mantra alone, for myself, because I was scared to death. I think you were scared to death too, but I guess I don ’ t know that for sure. 
 When tomorrow comes, and god knows it will surely come, I guess I ’ ll say it again for you. I ’ ll moan it from under these sweat-stained blankets, and maybe this time it will work and you ’ ll be healed. I ’ ll holler and scream and hope to god that maybe when I ’ m gone you ’ ll say the mantra for somebody else. 
 
 Because I know this mantra don ’ t do any good but I ’ m real Sick now and I know nothing else does either. Mightn ’ t the words offer some kind of divine comfort for some other miserable soul when they wake up real Sick and realize? 
 
 It might help. 
 So come on- say it with me. 
 Oh god, no. 
 Please, no. 
 No.
