Fish Sticks and Bamboo Bones
They sat, two sad lonely boys, without a care in the world for anything. They sat on that couch, one with his feet up, the other with his feet down. They sat on that couch, in that sombre living room, thinking. What they were thinking about is too complicated to explain at the moment. It takes a while for a person to give up on themselves; sometimes it comes quicker to one individual, rather than to another. But when it does come, it is rather vicious and fast to terminate its prey. Those two boys, both with feet up and feet down, had given up, thrown the ball away, shook their hands free of the dust and blood that had accumulated over the years. Giving up is a tragedy that most people try to avoid during their lives, but it always seems to find a way to penetrate the core of the human mind and pierce it’s way to the center, causing a system failure. Those boys sat, hour after hour, their minds working furiously, creating plans to bring their fantasies to life. They were sick of thinking about it, of dreaming about it, it was time to act, to finally become the demons from their story. Time was up. It was now up to them to mould the clay and breathe life into their creations.