via Daily Prompt: Stylish
I don’t think I am stylish. I have a certain style that I tend to write in, but the “ish” at the end of “style”, makes my only relation irrelevant.
That style, by the way, is realistic fiction (which can also be known as Gorilla Stick Fiction when misheard).
You read that out loud, didn’t you? Just to see.
Ha. Ha. Ha.
I bet you sounded so stupid. I hope there was someone around to hear that.
via Daily Prompt: Fragile
The woman was very old. She moved slowly, she spoke slowly, she even blinked slowly. Her wrinkles danced around her face like ballerinas in the setting sun. She smiled. She was so precious. She would shatter to dust at touch, like a butterfly wing. She was a piece of china that no one was allowed to use.
She was fragile.
via Daily Prompt: Slog
I don’t really know what “Slog” is, but I found this when I google-searched it.
To “slog” is to “work hard over a period of time.”
Side note: I was unable to find the source for this definition, but no copyright infringement was intended. Contact me through my profile if you have a problem with my using of this definition.
Anyhow, here is a short poem.
I slog alot.
I am entirely quite sloggish (no pun intended).
Okay… So maybe that wasn’t exactly a poem. But it did make a nice lead up for that ingenious pun.
Here is a little fake news article that makes slog seem like a dangerous disease, spread only through children at school.
Children are dropping like flies from the mysterious disease, “Slog”, which can only be spread through children at school. One middle school teacher said “I don’t know what to do. I warn every parent out there. Don’t let your child or your school get Slog!” To spot Slog early on, look for these common symptoms. They are; staying extremely attentive in class; craving vegetables; and hating television. We will be praying for you and your children.
LEL. That was fun.
Why are you still reading this.
I told you to leave!
I raced through the happy skies in my motor tumbler, P18 close behind. She laughed at me and said “A71, I am gonna get you!” She put on her power boosters and zoomed ahead of me. I sighed, remembering that I had used all of my power booster fuel early off in the race. Unless I got a hidden pickup she didn’t know about, the race was hers. I banged my head against the glass and said to myself “How did she get past me so easily?” I thought about the obsticals we went through. There was no obstical she had an advantage on! We had the same motor tumblers. Unless… She got a hidden pickup I didn’t know about! That must be it! I would bug her till she told me. That was my plan, until the big, black, ominous ship arrived, parking itself right infront of my motor tumbler. My motor tumbler strangly switched itself into reverse, and went on autopilot flying quickly back to Meetle City. Thoughts flooded my mind. This ship didn’t look like one of the Meetle ships that was parked in the harbor. And this ship was 10 times the size of one of those ships. And then, I remembered P18. Where was she? Did they take her? Was she flying back to the harbor too?
To anyone who might remotely care, (which I assume no one does and no one will read this) I am sorry that I haven’t been on this site in a few months. I was enjoying my summer (:P), and I don’t really write at much out of the school year. I tried and failed to keep this blog up during the summer, despite wordpress.com’s various emails reminding me about it. I will try this fall and winter to keep this blog up with more regular posts, maybe one to two a day.
This (^) is a photo which I took just outside of my house the other day, with my iPhone 4S. It has the chrome filter, and other then that, has not been edited at all.
Fresh out of the oven, a delicious aroma in the air.
Mum is there in the kitchen, apron on, tall and fair.
With pretty perfect shapes, of stars, circles, and squares.
Wrapping them up in tin foil, all ready to share.