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Can you change the lightbulb?"Honey!"
"Can you change the lightbulb for me please?"
"Agh, I have homework to do!"
"Well, I have ironing to do! Stepladder is under the stairs"
"Where are the lightblubs?"
"Under the Sink, where they always are"
Trudge down the stairs. So much effort. Into the kitchen. Light's too bright. One stepladder and one light bulb. Back up the stairs to the bathroom. Stepladder down.
"Can you open the front door please"
"But I'm changing the lightbulb"
"Yes and I'm ironing your uniform"
Oh. For. God's. Sake. Back down the stairs. To the front door. Open door. Help Dad carry the shopping. Put back down. Go back for another.
"Can you put the dinner on?"
"erm, I'm helping Dad"
"yes and I'm ironing your football kit."
"Why do you need to iron my football kit?"
Into the kitchen. Light too bright. Put potatoes in the oven. Turn the oven on. Open can of beans. Pour into bowl.
"Have you changed the lightbulb yet!"
The Darkness of the NightIt's the middle of the night
And you stumble towards the light,
Completely drunk and yet
The voice in your head makes a bet
That it is nowhere near drunk
Enough to stop the thunk
And thud pounding in your head.
You make it to the light and now it is time for bed.
You sleep and you dream
But you seem
to be being invaded by a noise
so you wake and step over the toys
that litter the floor,
which your niece left by your door.
You carefully undergo
An operation to avoid the lego
Which is scattered about the room
And you know your feet are doomed
And you feel the pain as the brick
Enters your feet and so you pick
It out and hop in silent agony,
Across the floor to safety.
It's pitch black and you edge towards
The stairs, care full not to tread on the board
Too late! The squeak that seems
Louder than is deemed
To be humanly possible
But yet it does the impossible
And wakes the cat from its slumber
So it scratches your leg in a number
Of places and you sigh a little
As the blood begins
The tale of a TheatreThe door closed with a satisfying click behind me, and the dust swirled into the air, settling on the tattered sheets that hung over old pieces of sets, like skin on a corpse. Red velvet chairs stood sombrely to attention, looking almost like gravestones, a reminder of the audience that once was. A mouse scurries out of one of the many cracks in the wall, and runs under the pile of old clothes, costumes from long ago.
A thin beam of light streams down from a gap in the roof. A spotlight, waiting for a star to shine onto. This place used to home to the music halls, Ol' Crazy Tom says, when it re-opened, before that it was an old theatre, home to the Duke's company.
"been here since 1660ish and that be a long time. At night, as I sit here, you can see the ghost of old actors and actresses on the stage, you can hear the organ play, you can hear the words of the past. It's like they never left. "
I have always been told to ignore the words of strangers, and equally of urban myth and folklo
dA village entryShe walked around the empty town of the unknown, portfolio case tightly tucked under her left arm. She pulled her thin, multicoloured coat around her, partly because of the cold, and partly because she was frightened. Down town dA is a scary place to be. A tile fell off the building below and a scurry of small children ran over to it with deposable cameras. Blinding flashes lit the dark ally way which she walked down. She lifted her grey eyes up to the black, imposing clouds above and let the watercolour rain splash on her face.
"Are you alright darlin'? Wanna see my profile?" screeched a high pitched voice. She turned around and came face to face with a Pageview whore. She backed a way from the whore who had now returned to feeding her fursona, and something which the whore referred to as an "Ego". The girl ran to the end of the ally way her heart beating her chest like a drum major beats his drum. The young girl was beginning to regret telling the servers back at google city to let h
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