|
| Surely everyone one at one time at least, believes Death has come knocking so often that with every visit its easier to give someone up. It seems logical, but I don't think it ever is the least bit true. Maybe a continuous circle of death would make it easier to understand, but stop mourning? never i think.
I hear weeping and the rhythmic beating of a shovel against the ground, tearing part of the earth away as the young onlooker cries her tears. There's no need to ask in a gentle whisper what's wrong; the brown box beside her makes it obvious enough.
A raging sob rips though the air as the white body is laid carefully into the hole, wrapped with soft gentleness in green towel because so late into the night, the family standing by hadn't the time to find something better. The girl squeezes the puppy's ball one last time, in silent hope that those brown eyes would open and a yap would escape those pale lips. To prove that it was all a dream. But nothing happens, a stillness takes hold of those around, only the blinking of the stars proving that time is indeed moving on.
No one speaks, but their hearts shout at the unfairness of it all; can ignorance be the blame and cause of death?
Just as the last pebble is laid onto the grave it rains, but still the youngest of the boys picks up the statue and sets in the centre.
"It looks just like her," he says, and she knows it true. But statue or not her best friend is gone, taken by a sickness that her adoptive family could never cure. Who knew? who knew? screams the beating heart of the girl, the tears that dripped from her puffy cheeks mixing with the rain. Who knew, before that young pup was brought into their care that that fluffy angel of joyous barks and warm cuddles was already cursed with sickness long before? Who knew?
The rain grows heavier, pellets of rain beating against their skin--but it matters not. It was but physical pain, let it befall her, she cried to the heavens, her hair already soaking wet. Emotionally she was already broken--twice in two years; physical pain was nothing compared to jolt that had her scars bleeding inside.
Finally she goes in, realization dawning upon her. She writes it all, but it takes a while for it took sink it that it all happened to me.
Rest in Peace, PrettyNovember 2006--28th January 2008
May God forever watch over your soul my dear, and I pray, everyday you fully
know that though in the land where mortal sin abides, there was a family who loved
you, and will continue to, forever more. And you have Skippy with you; for a better protector you could never ask.
| | |
| For Death is the meaning of Night
an eternal shadow
Into which all lives must fall
And Hope expire
--by Micheal Cox, from his book, The Meaning of Night
That, and the premise at the back, were one of the reasons I bought his book, the third being the very first line:
After killing the red-haired man, I took myself off to Quinn's for an oyster supper.
Which thus has lead me to the conclusion that I am either truly macabre as I seem or Insanity is my cousin.
| | |
|    
One of my best paintings, and I dont have it, sadly. It was of a doll, whom's sex no one could guess, with dimples, a bow, curly hair and all. I gave it our foreign misionary teacher a couple months back, before she left and unfortunetly at that time my scanner wasnt working. Which really is a pity. Oh well, I suppose I should find condolence that my little painting has travelled further than I have. If I'm not mistaken, it's now in America. The drawings above are copyrighted by me, Avey, no worries. I thought it was time to update my sketches. The last one was a map Elsy asked me about. As you can see, or might not, the Seas are named after Barat, Selatan, & Terenggara, and as far as I know, they are temmporary until I can come up with more random names. The Straits, are named after Sarra, thus Sarrain. And girl, you gave me permission to use your name alright? see those stains on the still life drawing for the flowers? I blame them on my brother. And a warning for all of you, never draw on the dining table while your brother is annoyed with his soup. | | |
| One cant but read an Elsy post and not be tosss into a spiral of thought. Though, if you expecting an ancedote from boring old me, your sadly mistaken. Rather, me being me, I'm still intrigued by the whole left-hander right-hander post of hers. Go figure. In a nutshell, handedness can be separated into four groups, the most common being right-handers, which I'm sure most of you already know unless you have been hiding under a rock for all this while. Then there's the left-handers, cross-dominance (also known as mixed-handedness) , and those that are ambidextrous. The latter however, are a rare bred. But instead of discussing all of that, seeing as this is my blog, I would rather post about something that intest me: the theories.  One of them that caught my attention was that the whole left-handedness originates from worriors shielding themselves with thier left hand, but fighting with their right. Thus, being able to protect himself better. Though, the theroy has been dismissed for numerous reasons. Another, quoted off from Wikipedia: The advantage to players in one-on-one sports such as tennis or boxing is that in a population containing perhaps 10% left handers and 90% right handers, the left hander plays 90% of his or her games against right handed opponents and is well practiced at dealing with this asymmetry. The right hander plays 90% of their games against other right handers - and when confronted with a left hander is less practiced. When a left hander plays another left hander, they are both likely to be at the same level of practice as each other - as when right handers play other right handers. This explains why a disproportionately high number of left handers are found in sports where one-on-one action predominates - in other sports such as golf, this advantage is not present and the difficulty of obtaining left-handed golf clubs puts the left handers at an early disadvantage. These's also a few eviromental theories, biological ones, as well as some related to gentics. But I'm pretty sure that if I did add those in, you wouldn't bother reading my blog anymore, so I'll leave it at here. On other news, did you know philo, means love in Greek? Ha, just leant that a few days ago when I was studying about one of the seven churches John set up, whose name I forgot how to spell. (Philadelphia?) Philein= to love, wherelse Philos= loving. And that the root word for Fabulous is suppose to be Fable? How they wo of them are connected, I have no idea. I could go on, but seing as it's late, I'm going to go nappy-bye. ?la prochaine, mes amis. | | |
| I can't recall if I mentioned this before, though I'm pretty sure I did mention that I had read a poem In Springtime by Rudyard Kippling, a few months back for my schools Open Day. Didn't I? Anyway, I'm to read it again, this time infront of a large group of people. I still laugh when i recall the few audience members who said I read it with a Old British accent. Hilarious no? I mean, me sounding Brit, me with my think Malaysian accent? Pff. Though my mom says it's probably because I tired to imitate my Headmistresses intonation as she was the one who gave me reading leassons after all. | | |
|
