"What a pretty and elegant idea", he said bitterly, "to soar, to fly, to converse with the clouds and romp with the rain. Throw yourself at the ground, he says, throw yourself at the ground...and miss!"
"Codswallop." He threw the book to the ground in fury. The dirt on the ground mixed with his tears of rage to make a salty stew of regret seasoned with the bitter, yet slightly smokey, but with a hint of lime, taste of unfulfilled dreams.
He raised his bruised and bloodied face to the sky "I will have my vengence, Adams, I WILL HAVE MY REVENGE!"
He drew his sword from its (beat up) scabbard. The bent and pitted blade glistened red as he ran the ednge along the soft undersides of his forearms. He raised the bloody appendages to the unforgiving sky and screamed his defiance. The day would be his.
His long stride ate up the miles, like a starving wolf stalking its prey. The sky turned, the stars wheeled overhead as he travelled to his goal. nothing stood in his way - neither hunger, nor thirst, nor bathroom breaks slowed him.
Finally....finally. His goal was in sight. A gravestone - Douglas Adams - 42. he raised his blade high in anticipation. Adams would pay for the humiliation and pain.
He sprinted forward with a final burst of speed.
And he tripped over a tiny gravestone half buried in the grass.
He fell forward, rushing towards the ground.
And he missed.
The End
"Codswallop." He threw the book to the ground in fury. The dirt on the ground mixed with his tears of rage to make a salty stew of regret seasoned with the bitter, yet slightly smokey, but with a hint of lime, taste of unfulfilled dreams.
He raised his bruised and bloodied face to the sky "I will have my vengence, Adams, I WILL HAVE MY REVENGE!"
He drew his sword from its (beat up) scabbard. The bent and pitted blade glistened red as he ran the ednge along the soft undersides of his forearms. He raised the bloody appendages to the unforgiving sky and screamed his defiance. The day would be his.
His long stride ate up the miles, like a starving wolf stalking its prey. The sky turned, the stars wheeled overhead as he travelled to his goal. nothing stood in his way - neither hunger, nor thirst, nor bathroom breaks slowed him.
Finally....finally. His goal was in sight. A gravestone - Douglas Adams - 42. he raised his blade high in anticipation. Adams would pay for the humiliation and pain.
He sprinted forward with a final burst of speed.
And he tripped over a tiny gravestone half buried in the grass.
He fell forward, rushing towards the ground.
And he missed.
The End
VIEW 10 of 10 COMMENTS
and written on that tiny gravestone was...
how ya been nimmers, i need to give you a ring, i miss our little talks
i still have that vm of your friends calling me that night.. haha