Friday, November 21

He picked up a stone - nothing special, just a small rock - and threw it at the corrugated iron shed, a satisfying "gong" reverberating off its walls. Pleased with the sound, he threw another and another, hitting closer to the corner each time, producing a different ring. Ready in hand for the next throw, he aimed for the exact centre of the shed, where the deepest sound should echo from.
"Richard!" his mother's voice soared violently out of the kitchen window, "you put that down right now!"
"But Ma!" he whined, distraught by the coarse interruption, "Just this last one! It should sound nicer, yeh?"
"They all just sound like rocks hitting ya Pa's shed, now stop it before 'e catches ya and does much worse than I" she replied, playing the 'fear your father' card. Which was a very valid card to play given the little pockmarks appearing in the iron after every throw and his father's love for his shed. He leveled his arm and his mother closed the window, left to wonder what it would have been like.

got bored of it... sorry.

Saturday, November 15

perhaps a duel of words shall calm our raging swords, and if not then let them taste the flesh of each other.
she said something the scared me and now all i can remember is the fear and not her words.
you're not beautiful, your soul is much too radiant for aesthetics to comprehend.

and just a tad neglectful, sorry. *bows for forgiveness* two weeks 'til cambodia so i can't repent right now.