[2nd Movement] Retrospective 60 Minutes.
Retrospective 60 Minutes.
“Don’t run. It’s leaving in a minute” She said calmly with a straight face.
“But we can get it!” I’m already halfway through the station.
“No. You won’t. You’ll just look like a pilock” I slow down and the train is pulling away.
“See. If you ran and it still went off. You’d be a double pilock. Besides, you can jump on either the main or the side line. Your stop is on both.” She yawned and stood by the timetable. Without even looking at it she recounted when the next train would leave. I checked it for safety sakes and she was correct. I was a little astounded as she placed her phone down after typing on it and leaving her dr pepper bottle. Like she had almost predicted my entire movements and sentences, like she just knew this was going to happen,
“I’m going to the loo. Don’t touch my stuff!” She declared bolting across the very draftee inside station to
[2nd Movement] Lunatic Runagate
She had wrote me a story. Based on a dream.
She never gave me the story.
But I found it.
And read it.
I was woken, in a hazy dream of colours. My chemistry teacher staring at me as he poked me awake, bright cheery in this hazy scene I find myself in. My sore eyes only just coming into focus where my contact lens falls into place.
“I just fell asleep.” I lamented out loud, it felt only seconds since I left the land of the awake. The sun had pierced through the grey skies and bright oranges burnt through the windows. I straight up and stare at him, trying to make out his facial expression. His…mouth isn’t moving. But I hear him laughing and pointed out the sun. The sun had set red.
“Do you know why the sun sets red? It’s because out of all the colours of light, Red travels the furthest.”
I snorted at this vague and almost false statement’ Trying to keep control of my loose and falling apart mind. I cannot help but to think
[2nd Movement] Swans in Pseudo Paradise.
“I’d always wanted to write a novel. “
He spoke in a very dream orientated tone. Aloof to anything but the scene they lived in. The sky had become a deep dark navy blanket over the world, pierced only by small little orange lights and the occasional flicker of an aeroplane. Snow lined the ground, but being the England we love so much, was just a sheet of ice. Sitting there with a smirk, waiting for an unaware foot to touch it. Waiting for a couple of to try an embrace only to be bitterly slipped apart. A poetic scene, by the lake, surrounded by the trees, but I am not as much of a poet as she was. The water half frozen with the ducks and swans trying to eat away the ice. He sat on the left side with the ice. Inline with a shopping trolley and beer can stuck protruding out. On the melted side, inline with the ducks hastily moving to the left was the girl. Writing notes in a purple book she yawned out loud.
“Is this the lake in your stories?” He asked out o
[ABCDE] Highly Responsive to Quotes
Highly Responsive to Quotes. (Perfect Autumn Leaves.)
Today I had met someone new. He was a scraggy haired asteroid that flew past my telescope. Only to send little green aliens at me and left away non chalontly without a trace.
The day was somewhere after noon. Lunch time. The world has been invaded by orange leaves that clang to clothes and stabbed your eyes. A violent falling of Autumn showers that spawn piles of leaves just waiting to be kicked. We all hid under the canopy from the sun that occupies the sky like a father spies on her daughters first date. Or maybe one of those want to be urban kids who get up in yoir face and smell strangely of cheap aftershave. They will say it’s “Lynx” but we all know it’s the local markets fake ammonia ridden products. We’d sat there in a semi circle around Jay as she droned on about her project. Droned wasn’t the right word. More of “I found something interesting!”. She was talking about a v
[2nd Movement] Encounter with a green asteroid
Encounter with a green asteroid.
I clutch my netbook as tightly as possible. It’s a sleek panther black and splattered in fractals of coffee stains. I look much more professional them I really am. I am lost and wandering these white empty halls. The eyes of older people stare down on me, trying to steal the youthful gleem that I must be radiating. All hoping that I may be a vistor for them. Some of the nurses see me and straighten up their uniforms. Maybe they have mistaken me for a inspector. Maybe that’s why the service has been very high quality. Then again, I do believe this is a private hospital. There is a sense of awkwardness and out of place in my tone because that was the tone. I had no idea why I had even came here. I had no idea why I even wanted to go out and see her. She, the girl, was rich and perfect classical girl of the cello. It reflected in the way she spoke to the press and in the way I had wrote about her. It’s no surprise that this re
[ABCDE] Conclusion of the Hopless Masqurader.
<The Title is comprehensible. It’s several scratched out titles. “Hopeless” isn all that can be made out.
Sorry for the vague pun of a title. For the weather has graced us with yet another soft lining of white and flickers of snow flake across my vision. The snow has arrived yet again. And like the holiest dream, has turned the college and lakeside into a picturesque scene. Straight from a post card, the trees elegantly lined. We have been graced with grit lining the floors. The birds nest chirping away and rimmed with little snowflakes, shuddering together for what little warmth they can hide from Jack Frost. Sure it may not have been a white Christmas but I lay this scene don for you because I want reader, to know that scene is vile.
I stand atop the building. My scarf wrapped tightly around me, covering my smirk to the world. My hoodie with an angel and demon motive off it covers the back of my head and protects my e