(Untitled)
You should've seen the one that got Away. Get it? Got AWAY?!
Perhaps this is more to your tastes.
http://www.scifi.com/battlestar/video/index.php?cat=features&vid=35344
Perhaps this is more to your tastes.
http://www.scifi.com/battlestar/video/index.php?cat=features&vid=35344
so among the very few survivors are these two young identical twin boys, who manage to float to safety clinging like baby leeches to their mother's floating bloated corpse. fine. they are found washed up on a beach that is popular with surfing convicts, and eventually, through various gubernatorial agencies, find themselves listed on a comonwealth-wide adoption broadsheet. So they are adopted eventually by a poor scottish fisherman and his wife, angus and mrs. mcdong. fine.
now the mcdongs always wanted kids, and could never have any of their own (and the reasons for that are frankly none of your business, thank you very much), so they were delighted in their dotage to have two fine young arabian lads to raise as their own. they didn't know the boys names, and since they boys were very young, they decided to re-name them, calling the one Amal, after his arabic heritage, and the other Juan, because mrs. mcdong had always wanted to see spain (but never got the chance).
Well, Amal and Juan grew up to be strong young men, working the lines with their father, eather lots of haggis, winning caber-toss competitions, and generally living a grand old life up there in merrie olde scotlande. When they were of age, though, they set out to see the world. Despite their mother's tearful protests, they packed up their meagre posessions, kissed their parents goodbye, and set out: Amal to the east, and Juan to the west.
Now though they missed their sons terribly, the mcdongs were actually pretty well off - the extra hands they'd had because of their sons allowed angus mcdong to build a nice little nest-egg, and they were very comfortable now, in their little scottish fishing shack. So they didn't need their sons, per se, but a parent loves their child and misses them no matter what, and every day mrs mcdong would walk the heather-covered hillsides looking out at the ocean, hoping for a word from her babies.
years passed.
the mcdongs grew old and old, and every day mrs mcdong, with her memory and eyesight starting to fail, began to think of her time with her sons as a dream, as something too wonderful for their otherwise drab and difficult life.
One day, though, angus burst into the shack, skipping a little scottish jig with glee. Mother! Mother! He yelled (and not because of any wierd incestuous relationship between them, but simply because that's what old timey men called their wives), we've got word from the boys!
with shaking hands, he tore open two envalopes, and out fell two letters, and two photographs. mrs mcdong's eyesight was too bad to read, now, and she cried, angus, tell me what they say. he scanned the letters and summed it up for her: they're healthy, mother, and they're safe; one has been working on a ship, the other got a job in a city. they're sorry for not writing sooner, and they miss us, and they love us.
with shaking hands and tear-stained cheeks, mrs. mcdong clasped her hands to her breast and said a silent prayer of thanks. afterward, she cried, and what about pictures? did they send pictures?
yes mother, said angus, and held one of the photographs up to her face, of a strapping young man, shirtless, standing at the prow of a mighty sailing ship, looking into a beautiful sunset. There's our Juan, he said, swelling with pride. He looks like a real sea-man.
Oh, my baby, she cried, clasping the photo to her busom. Angus, meanwhile, had wandered off to find some pipe tobacco. And what, said mrs mcdong when she finished crying, about our baby Amal?
Well, said angus mcdong, looking about guiltily, I mean... once you've seen Juan, you've seen Amal.
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