Who likes short shorts? We like short shorts!
I went to Japan. It was beautiful. And wondrous. And brilliant. And any other number of exuberant adjectives you might care to choose. We also managed to arrive at the very perfect end of autumn, wherein the trees were resplendently ablaze with reds, yellows, oranges and other similarly fiery colours. Here is a picture of some trees. I don't know if it's the best one I have, as I have some three or four hundred to go through before such a title can be bestown. But it is quite nice. The building in the background is Kinkakuji, the golden pavilion, an absolutely beautiful wooden building, covered with lacquer, and standing on an island in the middle of a pond.
I shall endeavour to write more about my trip sometime, but I am completely drained at the moment. I did sleep for upwards of 15 hours last night, but before that I hadn't slept a proper night's sleep since tuesday, what with the various inputs from sickening snorers and cramped aeroplane seats. So, in the meantime, here is a short short story I wrote on the bus on the way back into Canberra.
It was very very loosely inspired by the look directed at me from a girl who was being lead away by the hand by her significant other from in front of the castle at Tokyo Disneyland, where fireworks were to have been held had they not been cancelled due to inclement weather. A look that lingered only momentarily, before being replaced by another, almost of resignation at what the rest of the night would entail. Of course, I am in no way claiming to be the other man in the story. But yes. It's pretty cliché, the characters are kind of caricatures, and the writing's pretty crummy. But considering it was all written on a 3 hour bus trip, I don't think it's too shabby. Anyway. I think I might go back to bed soon, seeing as I have to return to work tomorrow.
The fireworks were in town. The fireworks were in town! She’d had to hold on to the hand rail when first he’d told her, afraid she might have become overwhelmed by the news. Of course, she’d seen the first bulbs of spring fighting their way up through the still slightly wintery ground only a week previously. But she had somehow not dared allow herself to consciously start to think on the ramifications of the arrival of spring, as though scared her exuberant thoughts might somehow frighten the impending night of fireworks away. But, at last, they had arrived. And oh, but just think, she would be seeing them only tonight!
Once, back in the heady exuberance of youth, she had actually had the temerity to confess to him her fervent wish that the fireworks might come to town more than once a year. Why, maybe even four or five, she had proclaimed, almost breathless at her own audacity. He had merely smiled condescendingly at her, and remarked that, indeed, they already had fireworks every night, so what would be the point?
There was nothing she loathed in this life more, although she would have trouble admitting as such, even to herself, than his description of that as fireworks. For her, fireworks were things of beauty, full of warmth, which lit up the skies, filling them, and in turn herself, with wonder and splendour. She may not have known much in this world, but she was sure that, for a normal person at least, the idea of fireworks shouldn’t bring to mind that horrifying act. His single, rough, almost perfunctory squeeze of her breast, always the right breast, followed by the soft jingle of his belt which was the only warning bell she was to receive before, moments later, the intense agony as he physically forced himself inside of her. Then the sickening feel of him moving up and down on top of her, thrusting and groaning like some repulsive animal. Blessedly, though, soon followed by the single, guttural grunt he made as he held still momentarily, completely rigid; before he rolled away, leaving her feeling cold and empty as she waited for the pain to go numb. Fireworks were, in short, possibly as far removed from his own definition as might be possible.
But the spring had finally arrived, casting aside the shackles of the lethargic winter. And now with the possibility of fireworks to look forward to only that night, she could practically feel her heart begin to beat once more. All that day, she found she could settle to nothing, flitting from one room to the next, sitting down to write before an idea of something more exciting would explode in her mind. She could think of nothing more than the excitement that was to come.
Of course, he had elected to spend the night with the boys at the pub, as he always did. In secret, she was glad of this tradition. She loved to simply lose and absorb herself in the exuberant sights and sounds, and was not sure whether she’d be able to do so entirely were he to be there beside her. She took up her accustomed place, a park bench at the edge of town which overlooked the field from where the fireworks were set and lit, and sat back to enjoy.
Which was when it happened. A bell was rung, and a man with a carrying voice, it sounded like Mr. Porter, proclaimed that, due to unfortunately inclement weather, with the possibility of rain, the fireworks would not be able to be held this year. It took her a full minute to completely take in what he had just said, after which she sat there, shell shocked. She’d never much liked the look of that Mr. Porter. She gaped, unsure of what to do, barely daring to listen to the tugging at her heart lest she should start to cry, something she had long since learnt was unbecoming in her. She started to stare blankly around herself, despondent. Which was when she saw the man.
She had never seen any man who looked like that before in her life. Indeed, she found that for some reason she could not take her eyes of him. He looked almost, dare she say it, beautiful. No, that is folly, she said aloud to herself, shaking her head. Then the man glanced around absentmindedly, and their eyes met. He stopped abruptly, causing a woman behind him to exclaim in irritation. Neither noticed. She stared at him, completely rapt. He stared back at her. The shape of his face was utter perfection, she noticed, but it was the man’s eyes which held her entranced. They had an almost infinite depth to them, but at the same time they twinkled brilliantly with explosions of colour.
She found, for the second time that day, she almost had to physically ignore the promptings of the tugging of her heart. A feeling was welling up inside her. It was a feeling she was only ever graced by once a year. Her heart began to race faster as she began to lose herself in the exuberant depths of his eyes. She never wanted to leave. Which was why, when someone took her by the hand and began to lead her away, away from this overwhelming feeling of vivaciousness and beauty, she wanted to kick and scream, to punish this terrible person for trying to take her away. But then he spoke, and the sound of his voice cut straight through the rosy gauze surrounding her mind, making her instantly as docile as ever. Come on love, he said, his voice slightly slurred from drink. The fireworks are cancelled. But don’t worry, you want fireworks? I can give you fireworks.
I shall endeavour to write more about my trip sometime, but I am completely drained at the moment. I did sleep for upwards of 15 hours last night, but before that I hadn't slept a proper night's sleep since tuesday, what with the various inputs from sickening snorers and cramped aeroplane seats. So, in the meantime, here is a short short story I wrote on the bus on the way back into Canberra.
It was very very loosely inspired by the look directed at me from a girl who was being lead away by the hand by her significant other from in front of the castle at Tokyo Disneyland, where fireworks were to have been held had they not been cancelled due to inclement weather. A look that lingered only momentarily, before being replaced by another, almost of resignation at what the rest of the night would entail. Of course, I am in no way claiming to be the other man in the story. But yes. It's pretty cliché, the characters are kind of caricatures, and the writing's pretty crummy. But considering it was all written on a 3 hour bus trip, I don't think it's too shabby. Anyway. I think I might go back to bed soon, seeing as I have to return to work tomorrow.
The fireworks were in town. The fireworks were in town! She’d had to hold on to the hand rail when first he’d told her, afraid she might have become overwhelmed by the news. Of course, she’d seen the first bulbs of spring fighting their way up through the still slightly wintery ground only a week previously. But she had somehow not dared allow herself to consciously start to think on the ramifications of the arrival of spring, as though scared her exuberant thoughts might somehow frighten the impending night of fireworks away. But, at last, they had arrived. And oh, but just think, she would be seeing them only tonight!
Once, back in the heady exuberance of youth, she had actually had the temerity to confess to him her fervent wish that the fireworks might come to town more than once a year. Why, maybe even four or five, she had proclaimed, almost breathless at her own audacity. He had merely smiled condescendingly at her, and remarked that, indeed, they already had fireworks every night, so what would be the point?
There was nothing she loathed in this life more, although she would have trouble admitting as such, even to herself, than his description of that as fireworks. For her, fireworks were things of beauty, full of warmth, which lit up the skies, filling them, and in turn herself, with wonder and splendour. She may not have known much in this world, but she was sure that, for a normal person at least, the idea of fireworks shouldn’t bring to mind that horrifying act. His single, rough, almost perfunctory squeeze of her breast, always the right breast, followed by the soft jingle of his belt which was the only warning bell she was to receive before, moments later, the intense agony as he physically forced himself inside of her. Then the sickening feel of him moving up and down on top of her, thrusting and groaning like some repulsive animal. Blessedly, though, soon followed by the single, guttural grunt he made as he held still momentarily, completely rigid; before he rolled away, leaving her feeling cold and empty as she waited for the pain to go numb. Fireworks were, in short, possibly as far removed from his own definition as might be possible.
But the spring had finally arrived, casting aside the shackles of the lethargic winter. And now with the possibility of fireworks to look forward to only that night, she could practically feel her heart begin to beat once more. All that day, she found she could settle to nothing, flitting from one room to the next, sitting down to write before an idea of something more exciting would explode in her mind. She could think of nothing more than the excitement that was to come.
Of course, he had elected to spend the night with the boys at the pub, as he always did. In secret, she was glad of this tradition. She loved to simply lose and absorb herself in the exuberant sights and sounds, and was not sure whether she’d be able to do so entirely were he to be there beside her. She took up her accustomed place, a park bench at the edge of town which overlooked the field from where the fireworks were set and lit, and sat back to enjoy.
Which was when it happened. A bell was rung, and a man with a carrying voice, it sounded like Mr. Porter, proclaimed that, due to unfortunately inclement weather, with the possibility of rain, the fireworks would not be able to be held this year. It took her a full minute to completely take in what he had just said, after which she sat there, shell shocked. She’d never much liked the look of that Mr. Porter. She gaped, unsure of what to do, barely daring to listen to the tugging at her heart lest she should start to cry, something she had long since learnt was unbecoming in her. She started to stare blankly around herself, despondent. Which was when she saw the man.
She had never seen any man who looked like that before in her life. Indeed, she found that for some reason she could not take her eyes of him. He looked almost, dare she say it, beautiful. No, that is folly, she said aloud to herself, shaking her head. Then the man glanced around absentmindedly, and their eyes met. He stopped abruptly, causing a woman behind him to exclaim in irritation. Neither noticed. She stared at him, completely rapt. He stared back at her. The shape of his face was utter perfection, she noticed, but it was the man’s eyes which held her entranced. They had an almost infinite depth to them, but at the same time they twinkled brilliantly with explosions of colour.
She found, for the second time that day, she almost had to physically ignore the promptings of the tugging of her heart. A feeling was welling up inside her. It was a feeling she was only ever graced by once a year. Her heart began to race faster as she began to lose herself in the exuberant depths of his eyes. She never wanted to leave. Which was why, when someone took her by the hand and began to lead her away, away from this overwhelming feeling of vivaciousness and beauty, she wanted to kick and scream, to punish this terrible person for trying to take her away. But then he spoke, and the sound of his voice cut straight through the rosy gauze surrounding her mind, making her instantly as docile as ever. Come on love, he said, his voice slightly slurred from drink. The fireworks are cancelled. But don’t worry, you want fireworks? I can give you fireworks.