Every time I write a fable here, I feel great. I can think about topics and subjects for them, I can write whatever I like. No one cares if I write a poem, story or fact file. I feel elated that I found 420fables, I can choose an idea and write about it freely. I have always enjoyed creating stories and freewrites. I've never realised how much fun it is to test the waters and be imaginative. I am free like a bird, I can fly wherever I want-in my dreams and fantasies. Paris, London, Washington DC, Bangkok...I can visit capital cities, countries that I've never seen before. Life surprises me every day but in the end, I choose my path.
How does he not see me? I'm driving so fast and at him, surely he knows I'm here. He doesn't recognise me. Of course he doesn't. Why would he? I was just a kid the last time he saw me. He just saw pain, blood, suffering. He saw my defenceless brother and he laughed. He had no qualms about telling me he was going to kill my brother. But he didn't. He hurt him but he didn't kill him. I'll kill him. Not my brother, no way. I'll kill him. I'm driving at him. It'd be so simple, just run him over and drive off. Sure, someone will spot my license plate and report me. There'll be some of the car on him and some of him on my car. But who cares? Maybe then he'll know who I am and he'll remember, that scared seven year old girl he intimidated and allowed to watched the pain he set upon her family. I should slow down. Is it worth it? Maybe for a few minutes but it won't make the pain go away. At least he'll be gone away, gone for good, like he should be. Why should he be able to walk around after what he did? He shouldn't and he won't. Not now. Sure I know where he lives, I'm sure I could find out where he works, though he's probably leaching off the state, who would hire him? No, I'll get him. Sooner or later I'll get him and I'll make him look into my eyes and let him know who I am and why I'm doing this. Or maybe he'll know in the afterlife. He'll be looking out at me from hell or purgatory, somewhere hot. And he'll know. Hell always know.
Ever feel weighed down by the prospect of a new dawn, the iridescent glow of a fresh morning trailing all the problems of yesterday and another batch just baked for you. Its a constant struggle to cast off the misgivings and dress to face the budding day but it's a well worth one. cause hidden within the folds of time lie the vital incentive to strike a stride and fabricate a reality that conforms to your every need. Its a struggle much like drafting obscure ideas into prose and slapping into a square box with a timer on it. But when that clock ends and you're done, a sensation of relief is far more addictive than any drug conceived by man or religion. So seek the horizon, live a little, dream abundantly and above all else dress equitably for the unforeseeable oncoming predicaments. Cause if you cant win atleast lets go out in style
A Day in the Life. In my (ideal) day, I'd wake up at a nice and natural time, say 9:00AM, perhaps get out of bed and make myself some food (breakfast)-toast with chocolate spread, preferably Nutella, with my daily vitamins and tea. I'd finish eating, have a nice relaxing shower and get dressed into some cute and comfy clothing. Then I'd catch public transport with some friends into the city and go shopping. Starbucks, Stationery and Style are usually the three categories I have when shopping-Food & Drink, Writing Materials and Fashion! After of course we'd get lunch-perhaps Asian cuisine and get the bus/train/tram back home...
The people shuffle in with apprehensive steps and restrained expressions. How does one even present one's face in such situations? But the great man was there, weak and faint, smiling as much as he could in his condition. He made eye contact with as many of them as he could. The most prominent woman of the bunch spoke fearlessly. "You've been a good husband, and I will cherish our memories." The old man nodded. Then a boy, now a man, rested a hand on the bed rail. "You once told me I can do what anyone else can do. If someone else can do it, so can I. Thank you." The old man's smile was firm and formal. Then the girl, now a woman, approached. She looked like she was about to speak, but she didn't. Couldn't. The old man lifted his head ever so faintly and she leaned to him. He whispered to her, "life waits for no man, and bows for no woman. But it slows slightly for beauty, especially the beauty of a generous deed."