Gyarados
I've always been a big fan of stories, both writing and telling. I don't want to become rich off of it really. I just want to be able to get all of my imagined places and characters on paper. I want to tell their stories, their fantasies, their dreams, wishes... and their horrors, their fears, their nightmares, their peeves... What they love and hate the most.
One of my least favourite things about writing papers is pulling together a works cited. I don't know why, it doesn't take very long to do. But having to explore each of my resources and determining their credibility based on a plethora of different things, it's so time consuming and I just... I just hate it.
Sometimes I lay in bed at night, staring up at my ceiling and wondering about the people that cause harm. To myself, to my loved ones, or to the population in general. I know we all have our mistakes, our regrets, our losses. Are we all enemies of one another, then? Enemies of ourselves, even?
I remember walking through campus with my boyfriend. My campus has always been environmentally friendly: adding tables with solar powered outlets so you can be on your laptop and be outside. (Kinda funny, eh?) But I remember this one specific time, walking through the trees... And a crow flew up to one of the lowest branches as we walked by... It was pretty menacing but... I had never been so close to a crow in my entire life.
I remembered being electrocuted once; I had just gotten out of the shower. It was a long day; work was really taking its toll on me... There were too many stressful things going on, even in my romantic relationship. I just wanted to relax. As I flipped off the light switch, there it was. This burning pulse of energy shooting through me.
I sat in the hard, plastic seat, grumbling under my breath. Glaring up and down the lanes, watching people hurl their bowling balls down the lanes and striking the pins. I don't know why I even came, to be quite honest. I wish I hadn't. I probably seem like such a sourpuss... But nobody could ever estimate how much I loathe bowling.
Sitting in the hard plastic seat, arms folded, practically glaring at all of the people down the lanes rolling their bowling balls and knocking down the pins. With a disgruntled sigh, I reiterated over and over in my head... I hate bowling.
Smugly, I leaned back in my chair to observe the final move I had placed. It had been a long time since I had started practicing, preparing for this moment. Those long nights spent sparring with my grandpa at the living room coffee table seemed to finally pay off. Who would've thought, someone like me, could come this far?
Sitting in my favourite window seat, sipping a warm mug of chamomile tea. It always made me sleepy. A soft drizzle pattered on the sidewalk, and sometimes people scurried by, holding newspapers or their bags above their head. I wondered what else I would do today.
Where do these strange colours come from? I took an art class in high school, and learned about the primary, secondary, and even tertiary colours. Who comes up with them? How do we make them? How are colours really even made? I can only wonder what other colours we're missing out on... To think, there are infinitely more colours our brains can't even fathom.
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