I’m working on another post ( you: What! Dulce stop blogging so much this week! me: Fuck off, I’m enjoying writing, so roll with it and stop being a whiny bitch.) but it’s proving to be a little long, so I thought I would “cheat” a little and pop in another typetrigger composition.
This time I tried a little story writing and I kind of like how it turned out. The phrase was “across the screet.”
His eyes were twinkling as he stared at it. It was sitting in the window of the store, the sun highlighting the clean lines of its construction and the perfection of the paint on its candy coated surface. Taunting and exhilarating him at the same time. This was the closest a seven year old could come to lust.
He imagined going into the store to buy it. He would place the box that it came in delicately on the counter and pull out all the one-dollar bills and quarters that he had collected over the past months doing odd jobs for the neighbors. The money that he had counted each night before he went to bed to make sure he had just the right amount to buy it.
At home, he would carefully open each corner of the box until he could safely remove it from the packaging. He imagined it sliding easily out of the box and into his hands. He would have to exercise restraint not to play with it immediately. First, he would admire it for a few minutes. Inspect it closely to get to know every inch of it. The, finally, he would allow himself the sweet release of hours of play.
He pictured all of this over and over, looking at it from the window of his parents’ ramshackle apartment across the street. He knew he would never own it, but he told himself that the thought of owning it was probably just as good as the real thing.