whentoastatejam
Dreams are easy to achieve, if hope is all you're hoping to be. Well, yes, and hope is rather easy to come by, isn't it? But anything tangible... well that's another matter, isn't it. It's the sweat and the broken bones that count in the end. It's the effort, the sacrifice.
The existence of the marble was impossible. And yet it sat there, blue and swirly and shiny, defying existence. Daniel stared at it and breathed deeply. Okay, it was time to try again. Perhaps he'd done a calculation wrong (though he always triple-checked). He had to have made a mistake. Because if he didn't, the fact that the marble existed could mean the end of the world.
The ant was much bigger than an average ant, but the ant didn't know that. He had lived alone his whole life, always searching for ants, but they were so small that he only crushed them under his insect legs and never noticed. He noticed the people, though - they ran screaming, mostly, and some hurt him with sharp things, biting things. So he kept away, in his sand hill in the desert, searching for companions he could never have.
STATION ONE, boomed the obnoxious overvoice. Lark flinched away from the sound as he filled in his metal feedtray, trying to hustle along, eating as he walked. STATION TWO, shave. He always wondered what the women did during STATION TWO but never got up the nerve to ask Heidi.
The little Indian boy embraced his Genie before it flashed away in a puff of smoke and harmless green fire. It had been a magical ride, but it was over now. Every adventurer has to turn his hat in sometime - even Indiana Jones - and so, albeit dejectedly, the little Indian boy took his off and turned away, leaving it to dust.
Zafir stroked his beloved ring and pointed with his long, thin nose towards the doorway. "Let in the beast," he said haughtily. "He cannot harm me while I wear the ancient jewelry."
His wife, who knew better of such things, opened the door anyways, for she was sick of his nagging. It'd be nice to have some quiet for once.
Trilia was your average meat-eating dinosaur. Grateful to the humans for bringing her and he brethren back to life - but lunch was lunch, you couldn't just change that. Maybe after a billion years of evolution - maaaybe - but for now, that one human was scratching up something fierce on the chalkboard, and it made her ears ring. Her stomach growled.
The lettuce and carrot ducked into the limo, trying to turn their faces away from the camera flashes. "I hate tomatoes," the carrot said vehemently, settling his long orange body into the seat. "They make me fucking nuts."
"Don't swear," said the lettuce, soothingly. "I hate it when you do that."
America's parents thought she'd be big, which is why they named her America. Not big like she turned out - big like a star. A singer, an actress, maybe. Not a forty-pounds-overweight waitress whose whole wardrobe could fit in her backpack. And did. She carried it around everywhere she went, used it as a pillow in the cheap motels she slept in - she didn't trust that those pillows were clean.
The torch flickered out and died. Someone screamed. Alice was pushed from behind, a hard shove, panicked and wild. She fell to her knees and rolled down the slope, deeper into the mountain, down the cave that nobody could say for sure wasn't inhabited by some wild beast. She finally fetched up against a stone protuberance, bruising her left side.
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writing since 2011 · 45 entries · 44 days shown up
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