(no subject)
i've started writing these short stories about a girl woman child called Sarah, she's growing on me like a pretty fungus.
And as Sarah gazed into the clouds one hundred and eleven, perfect, tiny, multicoloured fish*-shaped fireworks exploded before her in silvers and blues, like blossoming fireflies with violet wings.
Drunk with colour she turned towards a lake and in a dreamy haze strolled towards it. As she reached the edge she noticed a tree, in which was perched a rather large and somehow triangular rock, in what appeared to be rather deep meditation.
“Hello child. Why does your face melt so? Find yourself in the well for you must sink before you reach the ground. Within that ground you will find the answer.”
“The answer to what exactly?” she began to think this rock had no idea what he was talking about at all.
“We haven't decided yet. Get back to us in a few days.”
“We?”
“Yes. WE.”
*this is a direct quote from Neil Gaiman, just so you don’t think i’m unawaredly plagiarising. that would be poopy, no?
And as Sarah gazed into the clouds one hundred and eleven, perfect, tiny, multicoloured fish*-shaped fireworks exploded before her in silvers and blues, like blossoming fireflies with violet wings.
Drunk with colour she turned towards a lake and in a dreamy haze strolled towards it. As she reached the edge she noticed a tree, in which was perched a rather large and somehow triangular rock, in what appeared to be rather deep meditation.
“Hello child. Why does your face melt so? Find yourself in the well for you must sink before you reach the ground. Within that ground you will find the answer.”
“The answer to what exactly?” she began to think this rock had no idea what he was talking about at all.
“We haven't decided yet. Get back to us in a few days.”
“We?”
“Yes. WE.”
*this is a direct quote from Neil Gaiman, just so you don’t think i’m unawaredly plagiarising. that would be poopy, no?