For Lindsay

29 09 2008

The wasted scrap of a human girl gently puts down her bowl of crude paint made from bird droppings mashed with three (three!) kinds of colorful berries, wipes the blonde dirty hair from her eyes and sits down on a rock, sighing. The sighing soon leads to some gnashing of teeth, and a few half-hearted grunts topped off with an exasperated wail for good measure. As she sits the girl surveys the blag-wall of her dingy cave, on which she has up until recently been scrawling all manner of desperate incantations. The girl thinks maybe she should just get up and walk out of the cave. There are so many things out there to be doing! There are rivers to be crossed, rabbits to skin! There are whole wild minutes just waiting to be lived out in the wide world.

But no. The girl has a duty. The others may have forgotten but she cannot. Though she has forgotten the original purpose of her role here (was there something about goggles and red capes?), the acts of wall-blagging are so ingrained that she could no more stop smearing the walls with bird-shit-berries than she could cease breathing, or scratching fleas. Besides, the only things truly waiting outside the cave are heat, blindness, and burning at the hands of the wretched star of day.

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One response

30 09 2008
Lindsay

Thanks Dan. This makes me feel a lot better.
And that was sans sarcasm.

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