My best friend at school is Tom. He’s taller than me and has brown hair that sticks up at funny angles out of his head, which looks cool.
Tom and me sit next to each other ‘cos his last name is Perkins and mine is Parkes and the teacher made us sit alflibeticly at the start of the year and there was no one with a last name between Parkes and Perkins.
This was very lucky coz we was best friends straight away because he likes Batman and he knows that Batman would beat Spiderman in a fight, even if Spiderman was fighting with a bear! Not that he would because Spiderman lives in a city, but if he lived in the country with bears, Batman would still win.
I like going to Tom’s house because he has the best video games and he has no brothers or sisters that he has to share with, so we can play all night until bedtime without a stop except for toilet and dinner. One time we had to stop playing because Tom’s mum was going to visit his Grandma Pam. Tom wanted to go too because the ice cream place near Grandma Pam does bubblegum flavoured ice cream.
We went in the big car with the DVD so we could watch Ice Age again, but that is OK cos I like that movie. His mum drove us to Grandma Pam’s. There was no houses which was funny. Tom explained that his Grandma Pam lives in a hole in the Cement Tree. There was a big stone that told us we were at the right hole. The hole was hidden in the ground, but if you talked loud enough Grandma Pam would hear you.
When I’m old I want to live in a hole in the Cement Tree too. I would have all my video games and I would play all day and not have to share. It would be warm and cosy. No girls would be allowed and I would eat lots of red skins and fantails.
When I got home I told mum about Grandma Pam. My Grandma Alice lives with lots of old people in a big house with green walls the colour of snot that smells of cabbage and is really really hot. Grandma Alice always cries when we visit because she doesn’t like it there.
I told mum that I thought Grandma Alice would be happier in a hole in the Cement Tree too. Mum started to cry so Dad got cross and I had to go to my room without any dinner but that was OK cos I was still full of bubblegum ice cream.
Showing posts with label story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label story. Show all posts
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Monday, June 08, 2009
The Princess & the Wolf
The sun scattered freckles of light through the arching canopy of trees. Lifting her face to embrace the rays, our Princess rides at full speed. Immersed in the pure sensation of movement: her hair dancing behind her; the sound of wind thundering past her ear drums; the gentle slap of the air on her cheeks; eyes shining brightly in her up-turned face as she watches the light play between the leaves & branches over-head. She feels the purest joy of movement, a sensation of complete oneness with her own universe. She is the princess, escaped from her castle to run free. Her faithful hound loping rhythmically by her side.
She doesn’t worry for her own safety as she urges her mount forward, peddling faster and faster down the natural tree formed cathedral. Nothing can touch her as she runs free to worship her own religion. She has flowered to be the magical creature she always believed herself to be. Here the rules of mathematics do not apply. Here the real world isn’t allowed in and she can create her very own mythology.
From behind the trees the Wolf watches her with hungry eyes; the eyes of a hunter mentally devouring his prey. Her happiness tortures him with the razor-sharp knifing pain of longing. Her youth casts a twisted spell over him, creating desires that bubble under the surface of his skin. He can feel his fingers tingling with the urge to reach out and touch her light-soaked cheeks. Just one touch would alleviate his pain and distract him, if only for a moment, from the disease eating him from the inside out.
The Princess slows, exhilarated and breathless as she nears the end of the path. She prepares to turn back, to go back to her castle home. Dusk has started to leave her velvety fingerprints across the air.
Turning to her dog sitting panting by her side she exclaims “I’ll race you back”, leaping forward with laughter frothing in her throat.
Hurtling forward through the cooling and darkening air she sees the Wolf step out of the trees ahead. She slows as she approaches him, stopping barely an arm’s reach from him.
“We were racing” she explains slightly breathlessly
“I can see that” the Wolf answers “but now it’s time to go home.”
Smiling the Princess dismounts to walk beside the Wolf, pushing her bicycle as he turns in the direction of their home. Walking along, he reaches out his fingers to touch the smooth skin of her arm.
“I hope dinner is ready, I’m starving” the young girl says innocently turning to smile at the old Wolf that she knows and loves so well.
“Me too” he answers, a glimmer of sadness in his eyes “me too”.
She doesn’t worry for her own safety as she urges her mount forward, peddling faster and faster down the natural tree formed cathedral. Nothing can touch her as she runs free to worship her own religion. She has flowered to be the magical creature she always believed herself to be. Here the rules of mathematics do not apply. Here the real world isn’t allowed in and she can create her very own mythology.
From behind the trees the Wolf watches her with hungry eyes; the eyes of a hunter mentally devouring his prey. Her happiness tortures him with the razor-sharp knifing pain of longing. Her youth casts a twisted spell over him, creating desires that bubble under the surface of his skin. He can feel his fingers tingling with the urge to reach out and touch her light-soaked cheeks. Just one touch would alleviate his pain and distract him, if only for a moment, from the disease eating him from the inside out.
The Princess slows, exhilarated and breathless as she nears the end of the path. She prepares to turn back, to go back to her castle home. Dusk has started to leave her velvety fingerprints across the air.
Turning to her dog sitting panting by her side she exclaims “I’ll race you back”, leaping forward with laughter frothing in her throat.
Hurtling forward through the cooling and darkening air she sees the Wolf step out of the trees ahead. She slows as she approaches him, stopping barely an arm’s reach from him.
“We were racing” she explains slightly breathlessly
“I can see that” the Wolf answers “but now it’s time to go home.”
Smiling the Princess dismounts to walk beside the Wolf, pushing her bicycle as he turns in the direction of their home. Walking along, he reaches out his fingers to touch the smooth skin of her arm.
“I hope dinner is ready, I’m starving” the young girl says innocently turning to smile at the old Wolf that she knows and loves so well.
“Me too” he answers, a glimmer of sadness in his eyes “me too”.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Shorty short story
The Mediterranean Sea plays a soothing sun drenched lullabye, rippling around the tattered collection of old wooden fishing boats that shelter haphazardly in the small cove, sending them bobbing gently like apples.
A woman lies basking on a miniature pier that stretches over the tranquil water. She lies on a towel that only partially protects her from the splinters that spike out of the weather-worn planks of the deck.
An apologetic phantom of a better time, the pier hints at a bygone era of prosperity. Now the cove possesses a reassuringly relaxing sense of neglect; the perfect spot to let the sun massage away any remnants of work day tension.
A battered paperback book lies un-touched next to her as she lets her mind drift to a place with no thoughts, no deadline and no worries. She finally achieves the complete absence of conscious thought that she has battled vainly to achieve in the weekly meditation classes she shoe-horns in between meetings.
Giggles, shrieks and splashes bring her thoughts crashing back to the cove. Tentatively opening her eyes she peers out at the sea through her over-sized sunglasses. A small group of children are playing in the water. Diving, squirming and dunking, they are finding joy in everything around them. A small boy with the dark colouring of a local is standing on one of the boats, sending it rocking from side to side with hoots of exultant laughter.
Idly the woman thinks about telling him to get off the boat, as it’s dangerous, but it’s a half hearted thought that quickly dissipates. Around the boat the other children dive as sleek and cheeky as sea lions, darting glances towards their leader balancing on the boat, eager for any crumbs of approval.
Feeling a bold sense of invisibility the woman watches the playful display. The blond and sun pinked children of tourists mix effortlessly with the dark haired local kids. The universal language of childhood banishing any need to understand each other’s spoken tongues.
A young voice causes the woman to visibly jump and she looks down to find one of the fair haired little sea lions hanging on the side of the pier. She feels slightly flustered, as if she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t.
“Hello, don’t I know you?” the girl repeats, looking at her as if she’s the slow kid in class.
“I don’t think so” she replies, trying to imbue as much adult authority as she can in to those 4 words.
“Aren’t you Hannah’s mum?” the girl insists undeterred
“No” the woman replies wishing the girl would go back to playing with the other kids. The intensity of her questioning is making her uncomfortable
“Take off your sunglasses” the girl orders in a tone that hints at Christmas trees sheltering her entire Santa wish-list. The woman obliges without a second thought. “Oh you’re right you’re not Hannah’s mum. Where are your children?”
The woman feels inexplicable guilt, as if she has somehow let this strange child down by not being able to supply additional playmates.
“I don’t have any children”
“Oh” the girl responds, releasing the deck and splashing back into the water. Without a “good-bye” or backward glance she is quickly back, another set of thrashing limbs in the spontaneously created marine playground.
The woman watches for a few more seconds, absently slipping the sun glasses back on her nose. She lies back down on the towel, determined to regain her meditative calm. But try as she might she continues to feel unsettled. She wants the strange emotions to go away. She wants to ignore the strange aching sensation in her womb.
Lying on the pier she turns her mind to her deadlines, her obligations and the to-do list that will inevitably be waiting for her when she gets back to the office. Slowly the reassuring knot of stress returns, burying any unwelcome emotions emanating from her lonely womb.
A woman lies basking on a miniature pier that stretches over the tranquil water. She lies on a towel that only partially protects her from the splinters that spike out of the weather-worn planks of the deck.
An apologetic phantom of a better time, the pier hints at a bygone era of prosperity. Now the cove possesses a reassuringly relaxing sense of neglect; the perfect spot to let the sun massage away any remnants of work day tension.
A battered paperback book lies un-touched next to her as she lets her mind drift to a place with no thoughts, no deadline and no worries. She finally achieves the complete absence of conscious thought that she has battled vainly to achieve in the weekly meditation classes she shoe-horns in between meetings.
Giggles, shrieks and splashes bring her thoughts crashing back to the cove. Tentatively opening her eyes she peers out at the sea through her over-sized sunglasses. A small group of children are playing in the water. Diving, squirming and dunking, they are finding joy in everything around them. A small boy with the dark colouring of a local is standing on one of the boats, sending it rocking from side to side with hoots of exultant laughter.
Idly the woman thinks about telling him to get off the boat, as it’s dangerous, but it’s a half hearted thought that quickly dissipates. Around the boat the other children dive as sleek and cheeky as sea lions, darting glances towards their leader balancing on the boat, eager for any crumbs of approval.
Feeling a bold sense of invisibility the woman watches the playful display. The blond and sun pinked children of tourists mix effortlessly with the dark haired local kids. The universal language of childhood banishing any need to understand each other’s spoken tongues.
A young voice causes the woman to visibly jump and she looks down to find one of the fair haired little sea lions hanging on the side of the pier. She feels slightly flustered, as if she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t.
“Hello, don’t I know you?” the girl repeats, looking at her as if she’s the slow kid in class.
“I don’t think so” she replies, trying to imbue as much adult authority as she can in to those 4 words.
“Aren’t you Hannah’s mum?” the girl insists undeterred
“No” the woman replies wishing the girl would go back to playing with the other kids. The intensity of her questioning is making her uncomfortable
“Take off your sunglasses” the girl orders in a tone that hints at Christmas trees sheltering her entire Santa wish-list. The woman obliges without a second thought. “Oh you’re right you’re not Hannah’s mum. Where are your children?”
The woman feels inexplicable guilt, as if she has somehow let this strange child down by not being able to supply additional playmates.
“I don’t have any children”
“Oh” the girl responds, releasing the deck and splashing back into the water. Without a “good-bye” or backward glance she is quickly back, another set of thrashing limbs in the spontaneously created marine playground.
The woman watches for a few more seconds, absently slipping the sun glasses back on her nose. She lies back down on the towel, determined to regain her meditative calm. But try as she might she continues to feel unsettled. She wants the strange emotions to go away. She wants to ignore the strange aching sensation in her womb.
Lying on the pier she turns her mind to her deadlines, her obligations and the to-do list that will inevitably be waiting for her when she gets back to the office. Slowly the reassuring knot of stress returns, burying any unwelcome emotions emanating from her lonely womb.
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