(no subject)
I was supposed to memorize four poems and recite them to my class. So weeks flew by, and I never lifted a finger on beginning my memorization. The day before the presentation came by and I was still weary. The day of the presentation, I am sitting in the class room wondering why I did not begin sooner and I completely fail at reciting it.
Things flew by, and the scene had a medieval feel to it. I was captured by someone, thrown into a carriage and driven somewhere far away and thrown into a store. This store had cloth or clothing of sorts, maybe cloaks. I remember standing by the window of the shop waiting for a chance to escape. I clearly recall knowing this word that was the name of a town or something, a word that if a friend saw through the window pane, they would understand. This word looked a bit like Russian, ‘KONECKA’, something of the likes of that. I would breathe my hot air onto the icy glass and watch it fog up, then I would write this words backwards for the outside world to see. Then I would take this blue lipstick and write over it, then a napkin to wipe most of the color off but leave the oils there so the imprint of the word remained a little visible. Then someone saw my words, this person was Pansy Parkinson for some reason. She helped me in some way that I don’t remember. But I remember the person who had stolen me came in a few times. Later I escaped somehow and I was sneaking through a dark tunnel under a bridge. And everything fades to darkness before I awaken to the conscious world.
Things flew by, and the scene had a medieval feel to it. I was captured by someone, thrown into a carriage and driven somewhere far away and thrown into a store. This store had cloth or clothing of sorts, maybe cloaks. I remember standing by the window of the shop waiting for a chance to escape. I clearly recall knowing this word that was the name of a town or something, a word that if a friend saw through the window pane, they would understand. This word looked a bit like Russian, ‘KONECKA’, something of the likes of that. I would breathe my hot air onto the icy glass and watch it fog up, then I would write this words backwards for the outside world to see. Then I would take this blue lipstick and write over it, then a napkin to wipe most of the color off but leave the oils there so the imprint of the word remained a little visible. Then someone saw my words, this person was Pansy Parkinson for some reason. She helped me in some way that I don’t remember. But I remember the person who had stolen me came in a few times. Later I escaped somehow and I was sneaking through a dark tunnel under a bridge. And everything fades to darkness before I awaken to the conscious world.