Continued...dozy_wondererFebruary 4 2008, 08:43:36 UTC
Here were two children though, just playing, and being so good. Not a single nasty word, just two friends probably doing something a little naughty, and enjoying the thrill. I leaned against Peter blowing out the smoke and not taking my eyes off them. I’m glad Peter didn’t say anything, it would have ruined this. This was beautiful. Suddenly there was a roar, a roar that only mothers can hold claim to using, and from behind a brick wall, through an open wire gate, a lioness strode with purpose towards the children. I clung to Peter, would she see us? Would she think we were going to hurt her cubs? Would she attack? I watched, not wanting to antagonise her, but not wanting to run. This was a mother, a powerful creature who would protect her babies against druggy’s lurking to close. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing??’ She roared, and the children jumped yelping a startled, ‘Nothing!’ I remembered all the times I had heard that roar in my childhood and how many times I must have left my skin lying limp and useless on the ground as my mind raced in desperation, already trying to construct the right thing to say.
I was fixated. The mother walked to the children and looked at what was being written on the footpath. What was it? Something they heard on T.V? As she looked the children stood with their hands by their sides, knowing far better than to run, and the mothers face, relaxed. Warped, the muzzle, the snarl, gone; replaced by a smile and a shake of the head. ‘That’s sweet baby, but that’s not our property, you can’t just do that.’ What? What’s this? What’s sweet? I don’t understand. The mother took each of the boys by their hands and led them inside the courtyard where I could see flashes of them riding their motorbikes with cardboard in the spokes. Wow. Some things don’t change. I shoved Peter and walked towards the wet concrete to investigate. I can only assume Peter followed because the next minute we were crouching next to each other and scratching our tags into this piece of canvas donated generously by that same government sheltering the small family we just saw. Suddenly my name was there, and so was Peters. ‘Shorty, look’ He said, and pointed to the other side. There was a deeper scrawl. That one is going to be there for ever. We stood and walked around, carefully not getting stuck in the concrete.
We looked down and there something was written that was so much better looking than our tags.
Re: Continued...lady_aduialFebruary 4 2008, 17:42:24 UTC
That's great. However you don't have to show me what you would like to post to join the community. Anyone can join. However, no one can post. The way the community works is that I post a prompt and everyone replies to it with their work through comments. It is explained in All_Unwritten's profile. So please feel free to join and comment on any of the prompts you enjoy.
Suddenly there was a roar, a roar that only mothers can hold claim to using, and from behind a brick wall, through an open wire gate, a lioness strode with purpose towards the children. I clung to Peter, would she see us? Would she think we were going to hurt her cubs? Would she attack? I watched, not wanting to antagonise her, but not wanting to run. This was a mother, a powerful creature who would protect her babies against druggy’s lurking to close.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing??’ She roared, and the children jumped yelping a startled, ‘Nothing!’ I remembered all the times I had heard that roar in my childhood and how many times I must have left my skin lying limp and useless on the ground as my mind raced in desperation, already trying to construct the right thing to say.
I was fixated. The mother walked to the children and looked at what was being written on the footpath. What was it? Something they heard on T.V? As she looked the children stood with their hands by their sides, knowing far better than to run, and the mothers face, relaxed. Warped, the muzzle, the snarl, gone; replaced by a smile and a shake of the head. ‘That’s sweet baby, but that’s not our property, you can’t just do that.’ What? What’s this? What’s sweet? I don’t understand. The mother took each of the boys by their hands and led them inside the courtyard where I could see flashes of them riding their motorbikes with cardboard in the spokes. Wow. Some things don’t change.
I shoved Peter and walked towards the wet concrete to investigate. I can only assume Peter followed because the next minute we were crouching next to each other and scratching our tags into this piece of canvas donated generously by that same government sheltering the small family we just saw. Suddenly my name was there, and so was Peters. ‘Shorty, look’ He said, and pointed to the other side. There was a deeper scrawl. That one is going to be there for ever. We stood and walked around, carefully not getting stuck in the concrete.
We looked down and there something was written that was so much better looking than our tags.
“I love my Mum.”
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