As my procrastination is often a blessing as well as a burden, I decided to write a micro science fiction story, one that blows apart the boundaries of conventional literature by exploring the key tenants of existentialism, intrasolar meteorology, class and feminism. For you my friends, enjoy the fruits of my overwhelming creativity.
Lady Marian Threeblethwaite had found herself in a spot of bother. As a lady of uncommonly adventurous spirit she did not often find herself as perplexed as she was now. Allowing herself a moment of brief respite from her otherwise normally fortuitous personality she uttered a phrase often considered undignified to someone of her stature.
'Oh bother', she said.
Because, rather than awaking in a bedroom in the north-facing wing of Threeblethwaite Manor, as was her regular experience, she instead found herself being buffeted in the more-than-stormy winds of the great red spot of Jupiter, dressed in nothing more than her night gown and a pair of stout leather hiking boots.
'However did I get here?' she thought as she tumbled through the methane clouds.
'And however can I breathe?'
The answer was, she couldn't. As the compressed icy methane crushed the life from from her atrophying lungs her cellular structure collapsed, smearing her body into a dirty red paste across the crests of the ammonium hydrosulfide clouds. Jupiter didn't mind. Jupiter was used to this kind of thing.