Dreaming of Paris

Since getting back from Europe, I've been wanting to get back to normal, start planning for a new car, possibilities of moving out, becoming a responsible adult and all that jazz.

But the more time goes, the more all I'm thinking about it being back there. Yearning, wanting - desperate to be back there, Paris in particular. There was so much that I didn't get to do that I wanted to, so many situations I didn't get myself into, too many streets that I didn't get lost on.

I stupidly started crying the other day watching a stupid American movie when the main characters were in Paris and the Eiffel Tower started to sparkle, and none of them were even watching.

It didn't matter to me about the weather, or waiting in line for things, or the lack of the language - even though I would LOVE to be able to speak it - I was just so happy there.

What do you do when you fall in love with a place so far away? Do you go for it, start looking for work over there and a place to live etc, even though you're happy with your life at home?

I've already moved overseas and....it was an amazing experience for me. It showed me that I could take care of myself etc. But, I don't know whether I was ready for it at the time. I don't know whether I would be able to make a better go at it this time. I don't know how long I should leave it before it becomes 'too late'.

I don't know a lot of things.

All I do know is, I love Paris. And I hope it loves me too.

Outside of a dog, a book is a man's best friend. Inside of a dog it's too dark to read.

What do people do if they don't read for fun? What do people do if they don't like it, do they realise what they're missing out on?

There so much to learn, to find, to enjoy, to cry along with, to strive for. How can there be people out there who don't enjoy finding a good book and doing nothing else but sitting and reading?

Character is, for the most part, simply habit become fixed.

If I were a better person....If I were a better person I would;

Finish the things I started. I would actually do the things I said I was going to. I would work harder. I would've cared about high school. I would've done my homework and gotten my ass out of bed on time. I would've continued with uni.

I would care more about what I look like. I would take the dogs for a walk every day. I would get my hair done, get my nails done, wear nicer clothes. I wouldn't be so fat. I would try to fix the things I don't like about my body instead of complaining about them.

I wouldn't spend all my time contemplating what I should be doing. I wouldn't put things off and procrastinate.

If I were a better person I would tell people how I'm feeling and let people in. I wouldn't bottle things up and let them explode. I would be more accepting of stupid people who annoy me. I would forgive people instead of holding things against them.

I would have thought about money at a younger age. I would've thought about what I wanted to do with my life and gone after it. I would care about my life more than I do. I would care about life more than I do.

If I were a better person, people might care more about me.

But I'm not a better person. On a scale of the devil to perfection, I'm closer to hell than heaven. And actually...I'm almost alright with that. I know I'll never be beautiful, or smart or beloved by all, or powerful, or important. It's a good thing to know what you're not. Because then you can find out what you are.

And what am I?

I'm lazy. I love books. I'm addicted to sleep. And chocolate. I don't like people touching me until I'm ready. I'm a bitch. I don't like most children. I adore animals. I find myself funny. Sarcasm is my defence against compliments, rudeness, jokes - most things really. I love and hate being the centre of attention. I dance badly. I sing worse. I remember lyrics to horrible songs. I'm predictable. I'm unpredictable. I'm proud. I'm stand-offish. I'm cruel. I'm kind - to the right people, depending on the situation. I'm freckly and I like that. I'm fat and I don't like that. But I don't hate it enough to do anything about it. I have no willpower. I have low bladder control and low self confidence. I'm selfish. I care. I don't share things with people. I shut down when I don't like what I'm hearing.

I am me. I could be so much better than I am. I could also be worse.

I don't know whether I will grow towards perfection or the devil.

All I know is, I am me. For now, this is it. Most people don't like it. Don't get it.

But I hope that there are a few that do. That care. That love me. Even with all my faults and crap.

There's just more of me to love

Imagine watching Oprah, and she's got an episode on girls and women and low self-esteem. 

You see a fat lady holding a crumpled tissue, crying, puffy red face, her three chins wobbling. Wearing a pastel, baggy top. She croaks out in a small, under-confident voice "there's just more of me to love", trying to smile as her chin and bottom lip tremble. The crowd oooh's and auw's and sighs like she's been diagnosed with a terminal illness. (Well, it will eventually kill her, as life eventually kills us all)

Now, flick to The Jerry Springer Show. Any of the titles suffice. "I slept with my father", "I don't know who my babydaddy is", "back off...he's mine", "Back off my lover", "Before we marry, I must confess" - it doesn't matter, the episodes are all the same.  

You see three people sitting apart on stage. Two skinny men on either side of a largely obese woman in the middle. Wearing a mini skirt, a saggy-yet-tight singlet top with no bra, sweat stains peaking out from underneath sausage arms. Bleach blonde ends and jet black roots. Faded barbed wire tattoo looking like it's been stretched and slightly uncoiled. 

She yells over the crowd "there's just more of me to love" as she strokes her own nipple, licking her ruby-red lips. The crowd goes wild with disgust, screaming out at her obscenities. 

This one, inconsequential sentence can have such different reactions. Such different thoughts that run through people's minds. If this little, silly sentence can illicit such different reactions, how do important sentences come through? If the right person says the wrong thing, if the wrong person says the right thing, will the message still come through, or will people be stuck on the delivery?

Things To Do Before I Die

This is my list of things that I want to do before I die. Some I've already done already, and it makes me happy that I've started it. I've got a long way to go for the most part though.

Bold is what I did last year. Underlined is what I'll hopefully be doing this year :)

[X] Get a tattoo

[ ] Bungee Jump

[X] Sky Dive

[X] Scuba Dive

[X] See the Eiffel Tower

[X] See the Pyramids of Giza

[X] Go on a ghost tour

[ ] Visit Machu Picchu

[X] Go overseas

[ ] Go to the Mardi Gras in New Orleans

[ ] Learn to paint

[X] Go to Anzac Cove

[X] See Stonehenge

[ ] Send a message in a bottle

[ ] Plant a tree

[ ] Swim from one side of Lysterfield lake to the other

[ ] Whale-watch

[X] Pat a tiger

[X] Go to the Full Moon party

[X] Ride an elephant

[ ] By a stranger a bouquet of flowers

[ ] Swim with sharks

[X] Go on a hot-air balloon ride

[X] Ride a jet ski

[ ] Try abseiling

[X] Move overseas

[ ] See more than 100 concerts, musicals and plays

[ ] Visit all of Australia's states: 4 down 

[X] Eat an insect on purpose

[ ] See the Northern Lights

[ ] Be on TV

[X] Give blood

[ ] Read all of the books on my list

[ ] See an eclipse

[X] Be on the radio

[X] Find something I'm passionate about

[ ] Find a job that I love

[X] Ride a gondola in Venice

[ ] Swim with dolphins

[ ] Hold a snake

[X] Have sex

[ ] Fly in a helicopter

[X] Make a veggie patch

[ ] Set foot on all seven continents

[ ] Fall in love

[ ] Be in a relationship with someone who doesn't piss me off

[ ] Go to Sangkran

[ ] Go to La Tomatina

[ ] Go to Holi

[X] Go to Oktoberfest

[X] See the Dalai Lama

[ ] Buy a house

[ ] Fit into a size 12

[X] Go clubbing and not coming home till morning

[ ] Hold a lion club

[ ] Appreciate my life

[ ] Donate to charity

[ ] Name all my dogs & cats after book or movie characters

[X] Go to the 12 Apostles

[ ] Climbing the Sydney Harbour Bridge

[ ] Be nice for one whole day

[ ] Go without the internet for one week 

[ ] Learn a language

[ ] Stress less, and be happy

[ ] Get my whole leg tatooed

[ ] Be in two places at once

[ ] Enjoy the little things 

*Added*

[ ] See the Mona Lisa

[X] See the Sagrada Familia Church

[X] See Juliet's Balcony
[X] Visit the Valley of the Kings

[X] See the Pyramids of Giza & the Sphinx

[ ] Swim in every ocean

[X] Throw a coin in the Trevi Fountian

[X] See Mt Vesuvius

[X] Visit Abu Simbel

[X] Paraglide

[ ] Go Caving

[X] Try chocolate in Belguim

[X] Go to Troy

[X] Sing 'Climb every mountain' in the Austrian Tyrol

[ ] Go ice-skating

[X] Go to an ice-bar

[ ] Read every Stephen King book

[ ] Have Vodka in Russia

[X] Get a matching tattoo with someone

[ ] Do something stupid for stupid's sake

[ ] Spend a whole day eating junk food without feeling guilty

[ ] Try everything once

[X] Ride a camel in the desert

[ ] Say yes when I mean no at least once

[ ] Have kids?

[ ] Be a crazy old cat lady

[ ] Be the favourite, cool aunty

[ ] Go out dancing all night then go to work without going home

[ ] See a lunar eclipse

[ ] Stay somewhere haunted

[ ] Write my will

[ ] Sleep under the stars

[ ] Go camping - not just backyard camping

[ ] Drive on the autobahn

[ ] Accept myself for who I am

[ ] Be happy with my life & what I've done

[ ] Have no regrets

[ ] Build a snowman

[ ] Visit Hobbiton

[ ] Bury a time capsule

[ ] Attend the Opera

[ ] Attend a Ballet performance

[ ] Build a fire

[ ] Ride a horse

[ ] Learn to throw a boomerang

[ ] Learn how to play pool - and not just online

[ ] Have my palm read

[X] Have my tarot cards read

[ ] Watch the sun rise & set with someone in the same day

[X] Fly a kite

[X] White-water raft

[ ] Visit a castle

[ ] Visit Dracula's Castle

[X] Be naughty in Amsterdam

[ ] Volunteer for a charity

[ ] Celebrate the daa of the dead in Mexico

[ ] Go to Carniva

[ ] See the Diwali Celebrations

[ ] Mud Festival in South Korea

[ ] Battle de Vino, Spain

[ ] See the Burning Man

[ ] Have a snowball fight

[X] Skinnydip

[ ] Go to the drive-in movies

[ ] Break a bone

[ ] Eat our national emblems

[ ] Try Sushi

[ ] Parasail

Shit, better get on it!

Possibilities of wall-love

Please go through these and tell me whether you like any of these, and then I'll go from there.

All these primary impulses, not easily described in words, are the springs of man's actions.

Albert Einstein 

We are masters of the unsaid words, but slaves of those we let slip out.

Winston Churchill

No one is ever who you want them to be. And the less you really know them, the more likely you are to confuse them with the girl or boy in your head = Dash & Lily’s book of dares

Accept who you are; and revel in it.

TUESDAYS WITH MORRIE, MITCH ALBOM

I haven’t the slightest idea how to change people, but still I keep a long list of prospective candidates just in case I should ever figure it out.

NAKED, DAVID SEDARIS

It’s lovely to know that the world can’t interfere with the inside of your head.

ANGELA’S ASHES, FRANK MCCOURT

Words, words, mere words, no matter from the heart.

William Shakespeare

In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on.

Robert Frost

A friend is one who knows you and loves you just the same.

Elbert Hubbard

A single rose can be my garden... a single friend, my world.

Leo Buscaglia

If a thing loves, it is infinite.

William Blake

Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art... It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival.

C. S. Lewis

Friendship needs no words - it is solitude delivered from the anguish of loneliness.

Dag Hammarskjold

Above, the stars shone hard and bright, sparks struck off the dark skin of the universe.

THE STAND, STEPHEN KING

So, this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I'm still trying to figure out how that could be – Stephen Chbosky

One is loved because one is loved. No reason is needed for loving.

THE ALCHEMIST, PAULO COELHO

Maybe it’s sad that these are now memories. And maybe it’s not sad – Stephen Chbosky

And in that moment, I swear we were infinite – Stephen Chbosky

Alcohol gives you infinite patience for stupidity.

Sammy Davis, Jr.

Beauty itself is but the sensible image of the Infinite.

Francis Bacon

Thank God for books and music and things I can think about.

FLOWERS FOR ALGERNON, DANIEL KEYES

It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Things change. And friends leave. And life doesn’t stop for anybody – Stephen Chbosky

All human beings search for either reasons to be good, or excuses to be bad.

TELL-ALL, CHUCK PALAHNIUK

If wishes were fishes, we’d all cast nets.

DUNE, FRANK HERBERT

I’d cut up my heart for you to wear if you wanted it.

GONE WITH THE WIND, MARGARET MITCHELL

And for a moment, I understand that I have friends on this lonely path; that sometimes your place is not something you find, but something you have when you need it.

REBEL ANGELS, LIBBA BRAY    

Maybe it’s not about being the best. Maybe it’s about finding the little things that get you through the day – Unknown

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

THE GREAT GATSBY, F. SCOTT FITZGERALD

To love would be an awfully big adventure.

PETER PAN, J.M. BARRIE

Say the love out loud – Ian Logan

No need to hurry. No need to sparkle. No need to be anybody but oneself.

A ROOM OF ONE’S OWN, VIRGINIA WOOLF

Sing your song. Dance your dance. Tell your tale.

ANGELA’S ASHES, FRANK MCCOURT

Some friends don’t understand this. They don’t understand how desperate I am to have someone say, I love you and I support you just the way you are because you’re wonderful just the way you are. They don’t understand that I can’t remember anyone ever saying that to me. I am so demanding and difficult for my friends because I want to crumble and fall apart before them so that they will love me even though I am no fun, lying in bed, crying all the time, not moving. Depression is all about If you loved me you would.

PROZAC NATION, ELIZABETH WURTZEL

I can't remember the last time I felt 'really, truly' happy. I'm...okay, alright, good. But happy? Or even at peace?

Happiness is overrated, but it would be nice to feel it more often.

You may not know

1 – I’m not overly fond of the word ‘slit’. I don’t know why, it irks me. I think it’s too close to other things.

2 –I have a slightly inverted nipple.

3 – I’m a step-aunty...it’s the only ‘aunty status’ I’m likely to get, cause James ain’t having kids any time soon.

4 – Whenever I have a pen in my hand, I always have to doodle. Stars and hearts come out the most.

5 – If I had been born a boy, I probably would’ve been called Julian.  

6 – Sometimes I envy people with babies. To have something that loves you and depends on you unconditionally.

7 – I have an account on oasis active. I use it now and then and I seem to always get the stupid people wanting to talk to me. I wrote on my profile ‘not here for just sex’ and that’s all the requests I get. I don’t know why I still use it, because I haven’t been interested in one person I’ve spoken to.

8 – I almost had another younger sibling.

9 – I know he’s old, but I fancy Billy Idol.

10 – I also like 90’s Val Kilmer...not so much 00’s Val Kilmer.

My wish isn't to mean everything to everyone but something to someone.

It’s hard to admit when you want something. Really want something. It’s easy with trivial things like “I want a drink” or “I want to go on holiday” and “I want to go to sleep”. Those sorts of wants are easy to express, easy to talk about, because those sorts of things don’t make you vulnerable. Everyone wants those things and everyone knows that you want them too.

How do you express feelings that you’ve never really had before? How do you say ‘I want this’ if you’ve never had it, never tried it, always pulled away from it or ignored it completely?

It’s easier to block it all out, keep it close to you, tight to your chest so that no one else can see it, so no one else could even think that those feelings and thoughts were there, buried deep inside of you.

Sticking to fairytales and books of what you secretly crave, secretly want and need just as much if not more than any other person. Sticking to make-believe is safe. It’s not easier, but you get used to it. You resign yourself to the fact that people are not like their novel counterparts, that there is no Mr Darcy’s out there, only lots of and Mr Wickham’s and the dreaded Mr Collins’s.

As a rule, I don’t open up about things. Not to my mum, not to my best friend, not even to myself most of the time. It’s not as hard as you might think, lying to yourself about what you’re really feeling, what you’re really wanting, needing. It’s a battle of wills and the stubborn bitch that refuses to let one chink of armour get damaged always wins.

I think I’m not...worthy. I don’t deserve to be happy like that. I don’t deserve to show myself like that to someone. I know people who’re such loving, caring, considerate people who should be happy and would make anyone they’re with happy. I don’t think I could be that to someone.

Sometimes I wonder whether I really will be that weird friend of the family who used to babysit your children, yet never had any of her own. The weird only lady who sits at home watching tv with her cats, dreaming of the days when she was younger and didn’t know that her life would turn out like this.

I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart: I am, I am, I am.

It happens when I try to go to sleep. I don’t know why, I would have thought that being more relaxed would make it less likely to happen but I’m wrong. I can feel it as soon as I try to lie down and shut out the world. I breathe in deeply and it’s as if my lungs are infinite, no matter how much I breathe in, it is never enough and my lungs keep wanting more, pushing me to inhale and inhale. I choke on the air, because I know that it’s too much, the rest of my body knows it’s too much – but my lungs don’t care, they crave more, always more. If I called the Name of the Wind to fill my lungs, they would never be satisfied, they would be forever filling, growing, expanding never happy with what they’ve got. But I have to stop myself, shut off what my lungs are screaming for because I’m choking on all of it.

My heart is beating like a drum on the inside of my chest; I can feel it beating faster than normal, which makes me panic, causing me to give in to my lungs once more and gulp at the air, drawing in more than my body can handle. With every breath in, I choke; I cough and splutter with the amount of it trying to feed down my throat. The more I choke, the more oxygen wants to get in. I panic, my heat racing, using up the oxygen that’s coming in. But I know I can’t go on breathing like this forever. Panic has taken over and it’s hard to stop.

I have to sit up, distract myself so I’m not thinking about it, because otherwise it will just continue. It eases after a few moments and I lie back down again, trying to fall into one of my many dream worlds where dragons are real and medieval times were a lot more hygienic.

Things can creep up on you slowly, so slowly you don’t even realise its happening until it’s too late. What you thought was never-ending and unbounded  has been cut in half, you’re suddenly struggling to pull in half a breath before your lungs give out, full to bursting point and unable to hold even a smidgen of what they once craved.  

You’re stuck between limited and limitless and all of the empty air in between.

Children show scars like medals. Lovers use them as secrets to reveal. A scar is what happens when the word is made flesh.

On the whole, I like scars. I like the idea of them, what they represent and the memories they invoke. I know that I don’t really have that many, or any that are disfiguring or that make life difficult, but I like them. I know people who hate the tiniest scar, that hate to have any imperfections on their bodies but I rather like the idea of having something on me, that becomes a part of me and that shows that I've lived, that I've had experiences whether they be good, bad or otherwise.  For me, scars are kind of like tattoos in the way that that I become proud of them, because they’re now me. They show the story of my life, what I've been through and what I love. It’s like having a story book of your life on your skin. I would never give up one of my scars, because they help e to remember experiences, people and what life was like when this or that happened.

I’ve got a backwards ‘c’ scar on the tip of my index finger. This is a present from my cousin Sam on Christmas morning when we were about twelve or thirteen. Her family had stayed at our house on Xmas eve and in the morning when we’d gotten up, we were the first ones down to the presents. Sam had gotten these Winnie the Pooh plushies that she wanted and they were all stuck down with those plastic tag things and she wanted to open it up right then and there. So we grabbed some scissors and proceeded to open it up. Sam held the scissors while I held the plastic thing so she could get them out. Now, Sam is really as blind as a bat without her glasses on, and in our haste to get to the presents, she hadn’t put them on. Instead of cutting the plastic, she cut my finger instead.

Everyone had a lovely xmas morning because of it, and it’s something I’ll never forget.

I’ve got a scar on my knee from when I was younger. We had a banana lounge out the back and I ran and jumped on it, landing on the metal bit that makes it bend. A couple of stitches later, I’ve got a cute little crescent moon-shaped scar.

I know I'm rambling, but all’s I want to say is...I like them. I would not object to having more of them. I’m clumsy so I know I will by the time I'm an old lady, and hopefully I like them just as much then and I do now.

Blood & Ink - Wise Man's Fear

"...Teccam explains there are two types of secrets. There are secrets of the mouth and secrets of the heart.

Most secrets are secrets of the mouth. Gossip shared and small scandals whispered. There secrets long to be let loose upon the world. A secret of the mouth is like a stone in your boot. At first you're barely aware of it. Then it grows irritating, then intolerable. Secrets of the mouth grow larger the longer you keep them, swelling until they press against your lips. They fight to be let free.

Secrets of the heart are different. They are private and painful, and we want nothing more than to hide them from the world. They do not swell and press against the mouth. They live in the heart, and the longer they are kept, the heavier they become.

Teccam claims it is better to have a mouthful of poison than a secret of the heart. Any fool will spit out poison, he says, but we hoard these painful treasures. We swallow hard against them every day, forcing them deep inside us. They they sit, growing heavier, festering. Given enough time, they cannot help but crush the heart that holds them..."

Untitled.

The nights were longer and darker up here, the wilderness more free and overgrown. But none of this mattered to the young girl. She actually preferred it this was because everything gave her more cover. Both she and her 'special friend' had been moved, this new institution more secluded and private. The land sloped downwards from the main house, the only source of light on the property. The girl watched her carers, moving slowly towards the small hole in one of the many doors in which she used to get out every night. No one had noticed, none of them moving as she suddenly rushed out of the door and into the frosty night. But her carers was used to this and they gave her a head start. This was a nightly ritual, something they all thought she would be over by now, but she was determined never to give up until she had him.

The soles of her bare feet padded along the cold, narrow footpath. The long and overgrown toenails clicking slightly with each step. She moved as silently as she could, stopping every now and then to look back at the main house, peering through the windows to see her carers still sitting and watching the big black box that made noise. Her small, yet oddly muscular body stayed close to the ground, her stomach almost touching the footpath. Crouching in the shadows of the line of trees, she tried to control the beating of her pumping heart. The warm breath distorted her view as she again set off, coming up to an abandoned building.

There were many of these buildings on the property but most were so ancient and decrepit that they began to crumble and break as soon as you stepped foot in it. Most of the buildings were like that, but one. And that was the girl's destination. That is where she went every night, where she was found every night.

Holes and ditches which could be seen clearly by day became deathtraps by night. So she ran hastily, with a sense of caution but never really knowing if she was going to suddenly fall. The black shadow loomed up to the front of the minuscule building which looked more like a chicken pen than anything else. The young girl's body shivered with the cold air and excitement of what was to come. Here eyes gleaming like two floating orbs in the darkness. Yet again she had made it, to the building, or more importantly, what was inside.

Looking consciously over her shoulder, the girl made sure her carers were nowhere in sight before turning around towards her target.. Her heart was racing, fluttering around in her chest like a trapped butterfly. Moving with great speed she rushed towards the vulnerable side of the building where he was waiting for her, watching out of the corner of his eye. Both parties froze as if time had stopped and simply stared at each other. They knew this 'game' well, the girl tired to play it every day, every time she got loose.

The strange building was like a holding cell on show, with three of the four walls made of old, rotting timber that looked as id a slight wind would knock the planks from their resting place. The last, forth wall was open to the public. Made of some sort of wire which seemed tough to manoeuvre was soft and bendy; good thing for her, bad for him. The boy never tried to escape though. It was his home and he liked not having to be near the crazed girl every hour of the day. He knew she couldn't get to him and he always taunted her with the fact. Moving slowly around his little house he watched smugly as the girls tried to think of a way in. She was failing dismally.

But she couldn't accept that, wouldn't accept that. She wanted to get in there, needed t get in there with him. her emotions ran rampant as she began working herself up into a frenzy; becoming more and more agitated that no matter what she tried, the wire did not give. There was nothing around to help so bare hands and teeth were used with vigour.

A low rumbling sound emanated from deep within her throat as she puffed and panted. All he did was sit there smugly, enjoying the show. The girl's dilated eyes concentrated themselves solely on his tiny form crouched in the corner. Nothing else mattered now but getting into his cage. Everything else was drowned out. No longer could she feel the cold gusts of winter air blowing against her white, speckled coat. No longer could she hear anything; like a door at the main building sliding open, voices shouting to one another and the trudging footsteps on the decking. All of her energy and attention was directed to the one boy right in front of her and the challenge of getting to him, getting at him and finishing it once and for all.

A light, bright and illuminating shone from a distance. It spotted her with one flick of a button. Not like it was hard to guess where she was. The girl had become hysterical and she didn't even realise. She was screaming at the top of her lungs as she stretched and clawed her way at the wire. A small hole was beginning to form, a small bud. This made her even more frantic than before, revving her up as the light came closer to her. She could feel the light burning her skin as it got stronger, her carers closing in. She didn't know which one it would be, but she was in trouble no matter what. Promising not to get at him ever again had been a bad idea. The voice yelling at her sounded fuzzy and distant, as did the rushed footsteps, but even she knew at a time like this, it would only be a matter of seconds before the cold, harsh hands would grip around her shivering torso and drag her back inside.

The girl was screaming and squealing like a piglet as the tiny hole got bigger and bigger in front of her glowing eyes.

 She tried to squish her face through the ever growing holes, trying to push herself through. The boy began to pay more attention now. He saw the carer coming, but he also saw that the young girl was dangerously close to breaking through. His heart began to pick up the pace, making him slightly nervous.

Finally, after many tries, her head fit through the hole she had made, the rest of her was scrambling to push through. But it was too late. She was suddenly pulled back, her head moving out of the hole and her whole body being lifted off the ground, pushing and kicking and howling. She'd been caught.

                                     _____________________

"Millie, what do you think you're doing?!" Carol said to the dog as she picked her squirming body off the ground.
"Leave the damn rabbit alone already" she continued as Millie tried to get free of her owner's firm grip.
"Don't even think about it Mill" Carol warned as they began to move back towards the house, Millie watching the cage and more importantly the rabbit over Carol's shoulder.
"You're a nut Mill" she mumbled to the dog as she walked through the door, sliding it closed behind the both of them.

                                    ______________________

The young girl stood at the door, peaking out behind the curtains, staring out into the darkness.
'You're mine'




This was something silly I wrote for an English sac in year 12.