They needed to keep moving, but they were exhausted. Tiredness crept up through their bones, and although their minds fought to stay awake, they fell one by one to the ground, too exhausted to go further. Nobody knows why. Nobody knows where they were going, or who they were. They just appeared out of nowhere. They disappeared just as quickly. It made us all question why they were so exhausted, and where they went. They were dead when we found them, but nobody knew why. Nobody knew how they got into that condition.
Nobody knew anything, and nobody does now.
“Do you remember what a yellow gorilla is?” Asked my friend.
“A yellow gorilla statue?” I said vaguely. I had to finish my assignment on how bricks are made before tomorrow, and I was running out of time. I kept frantically hacking at the keyboard as my time left to finish slowly ran out.
“It’s a pretty rare kind of animal.” Said my friend. “They’re only found in selective habitats around the world.”
“That’s not very helpful.” I said, quickly finishing my report.
“Yes it is.” She said, looking surprised. “It’s the subject of our biology report. It’s due today.”
Sometimes, because I said so, I can disappear into my own world.
Because sometimes, the world isn’t a good place, and it’s better to escape to my own world, a world where everything can work.
If I close my eyes, sometimes I can imagine myself to wherever I like, however I like.
Inside my mind the world is a piece of paper, waiting for words to describe it or pictures to capture a scene on it forever.
When I say so to myself, the world can disappear from my mind and go wait.
When I say so, my world changes.
Everything was dark outside. It reminded me of a time when all the power ran out and I couldn’t see anything. Except back then I had a torch, a way to see through the darkness. But this time I didn’t.
Something snapped in the darkness. I spun around, searching for the source of the noise, but there was nothing there. My nerves were tingling, and it seemed as though everything in the dark was watching me.
I couldn’t move forward. The icy cold fear gripped me as more twigs snapped in the distance.
Something was coming closer. From the shadows.
Larger than you think
Running up straight out of the ground
Growing from the earth
Stone is strong and
Over the ground, used for building.
Never broken away.
Ever sitting where it started.
Are stronger than you think, and mysterious in all ways.
Never can one be sure what they are made for, and why.
Dead only when the rest dies, or when separated, otherwise immortal.
Straight up mysteries that can never be solved.
Rising from the ground
In the form of stone giants.
Stoned and left right there
Ever until the end of everything.
It was beautiful. But what colour should it be? Green, like the trees, grass, the plants? Or perhaps red, of the sky in dawn, the scarlet of freshly spilt blood. Or the blue of the sky and the depths of the ocean. Perhaps orange, bright and cheerful, the sun at the start and the end. Or maybe yellow, of flowers and the midday sun. Purple, maybe, dark yet calming to us in many situations. Or black, white, brown, or many many more, that we cannot even record.
We all see differently. What is it we can trust?
Can we trust?
Under the STAIRS to heaven, there is a RIVER with PINK salmon swimming around it. They taste very delicious when COOKED with spiced onions. However, I always get NERVOUS when dad offers to cook them, because they often end up burnt and not at all desirable to even the best salmon lovers.
However, this river is also a big tourist attraction. People from all over the world come to visit it, and touring companies make billions each month. Chefs also come to compete and see who can cook the best salmon. It’s a very nice place to visit, any time.
“Why would I do that?” Said my little sister. Her infuriating grin widened as she looked at the broken vase that lay on the floor. “I’m just a sweet little girl. I would never do anything like this!”
“Oh really?” I responded. She looked at the broken pieces. “Yep. This could only be done by you.”
I grabbed a broom, and quickly started to gather the broken pieces of the vase into a neat pile, which I swept under the fridge. I stared at my sister, wondering if she would wreck anything else.
Then the door opened. Dad was home.
My neighbour Ham Regularly eats Frog soup, with a dash of Lime. He says this improves the flavour, but I’m not that sure. Last week, when the Clock struck 2:30, he invited my family over to his house for dinner. We thought it was a bit early, but we came anyway, in case we offended him.
For dinner Ham served us roast beef, toasted over an open Flame, and for dessert we had apple pie, cooled by being sat on a block of Ice. Although he is weird. My neighbour Ham is generally a nice person. He’s quite weirdly fabulous.
So, as I looked over the edge, I saw a long, long drop down. My stomach lurched slightly, and I dug my hands into the railing, my gloves crunching against the small ice particles.
“It isn’t that bad, if you don’t look over the edge.” Said my dad, following my gaze. I thought it was easy for him to say. He wasn’t afraid of heights.
I sat down on a bench, the wet snow crackling as it slid away from me. I hadn’t exactly been excited when dad had announced we’d be going up to Mt. Bulla to go skiing.