Tiny Worlds: The Rolling Pin
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Random drabbles, heartfelt rambles, and the occasional splash of chaos from a teen with too many thoughts and not enough time.
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Earth
“Gross’’I looked up in mild annoyance. “You can’t just say that’’.“But it’s gross’’He had a point.The alien; indeed, this was first contact, stumbled out of its ship in a horrifyingly ungainly shuffle
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Fear, passion; joy, jealousyteeth gnashing, jaws snapping ''Please tie your hair properly'' Feet stomping, hearts shriekingwild dreams and untold legacies ''Sit like a lady'' Ambitions drawn,
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A week ago, stumbling about forlornly within the deepest abysses of summer-vacation-induced monotony, I found my battered old copy of Ian Shaw's 'The Oxford History of Ancient Egypt'. Thus was born
The Storm
Glinting slashes of white bone,Velvet dark of the unknown. An agile pounce, a booming roar,Blood seeps into the undergrowth. Blood-soaked earththe ichor of life Apollo’s wrath, muffled by storm.A shadow dispersed,A silence born.
The Perfume Bottle
The many divots and indents upon its body of glass twinkle like the stained windows of a cathedral at night, devoid of colour. Stains that smell like the twinkling of an old piano in a dusty library. A smell that coats the hollows of your bones, like...