Let it flow
Hey everyone, I have a fun little venture I'm working on. I'm writing a story. Well, sort of; I'm writing a part of a story, and I want people to add on to it where the last person leaves off. Leave comments, and in a week or two I will compile the story into one post. Sound like a plan? Great. Here it goes...
There are few people in a small town such as this, I suppose, that have experienced as much as Tristan had in his twenty years on this planet. Had he not spent the majority of his time washing the dishes, mowing the lawn, or doing any other mundane task his traditional master, who insisted he call her "mother dearest" instead of just "mom", constantly assigned him, he might have experienced a lot more. And so would his mother have as well, had her husband not passed at such a ripe age. Yet despite his toiling in the yard, which often had to be completely redone to his "mother dearest's" impossible standards, he loved the woman just as she loved her son.
And so, barring mother dearest's approval and the guilt he felt, for he knew the ill effect it had on her constitution, he would finish his daily rituals and head, unaccompanied, to the park. At least, if I remember correctly, until his eleventh birthday, or the day that we all remember as The Day That Elizabeth Morex Came to Wellington.
There are few people in a small town such as this, I suppose, that have experienced as much as Tristan had in his twenty years on this planet. Had he not spent the majority of his time washing the dishes, mowing the lawn, or doing any other mundane task his traditional master, who insisted he call her "mother dearest" instead of just "mom", constantly assigned him, he might have experienced a lot more. And so would his mother have as well, had her husband not passed at such a ripe age. Yet despite his toiling in the yard, which often had to be completely redone to his "mother dearest's" impossible standards, he loved the woman just as she loved her son.
And so, barring mother dearest's approval and the guilt he felt, for he knew the ill effect it had on her constitution, he would finish his daily rituals and head, unaccompanied, to the park. At least, if I remember correctly, until his eleventh birthday, or the day that we all remember as The Day That Elizabeth Morex Came to Wellington.