I find it extremely hard to draw hair. Esra Røise seems to manage this perfectly.
Sunday, 22 November 2009
Friday, 20 November 2009
Rotten- A short story.
This old man on the 3rd floor, was just like any other sulky old man though he himself would disagree.
He would make fresh coffee in the mornings and wait until it got cold while he solved the newspaper's crossword puzzle.
"Decomposed!" he read out loud. He had stopped smoking years ago but his fingers still had yellow nicotine stains.
After tapping his fingers on the table he grabbed his old Parker pen and started to write "R-o-t-t-e-n" horizontally. It sure explains my situation. Why can't we use it for people anyway? Isn't that what we're doing; rotting? Why use "aging" or "getting old". We look like a rotten apple and sure feel like one too!
He was thinking about the ducks in the park and wondering if Hilda would be there with her granddaughter. She was a nice piece. She was a widow of an ex German officer and had an elegancy and polite manner that would make a man want to straighten his hat and collar each time he saw her.
It was a gloomy day. If it hadn't been for the rheumatic twinges that grappled his knees, he could have been talking to her and make her laugh with his campus stories. He had many stories but somehow always ended up repeating the same ones, adding new details each time. Hilda would never interrupt him and would always nod with a smile. Today, he was stuck in the apartment.
Just as he was sipping from his ice cold coffee, he got startled by the phone ringing. He frowned as he was quite sure about the ringer since he had been regularly interrupted for the last couple of days. Despite his scepticism,he got up and reached for the phone. "Yeah?" He said and paused. There was a lot of muttering and undefinable noise. Eventually, somebody managed to get their nerves together and said, "Hello,do you have a small dick?" [laughter in the background followed by a click]
Those damn kids he thought. Had I been a little younger I would have showed them! Messing with me like that.
He hung up the phone and walked towards the window mumbling something like, "Hilda...the ducks...damn knees."
E.Y
He would make fresh coffee in the mornings and wait until it got cold while he solved the newspaper's crossword puzzle.
"Decomposed!" he read out loud. He had stopped smoking years ago but his fingers still had yellow nicotine stains.
After tapping his fingers on the table he grabbed his old Parker pen and started to write "R-o-t-t-e-n" horizontally. It sure explains my situation. Why can't we use it for people anyway? Isn't that what we're doing; rotting? Why use "aging" or "getting old". We look like a rotten apple and sure feel like one too!
He was thinking about the ducks in the park and wondering if Hilda would be there with her granddaughter. She was a nice piece. She was a widow of an ex German officer and had an elegancy and polite manner that would make a man want to straighten his hat and collar each time he saw her.
It was a gloomy day. If it hadn't been for the rheumatic twinges that grappled his knees, he could have been talking to her and make her laugh with his campus stories. He had many stories but somehow always ended up repeating the same ones, adding new details each time. Hilda would never interrupt him and would always nod with a smile. Today, he was stuck in the apartment.
Just as he was sipping from his ice cold coffee, he got startled by the phone ringing. He frowned as he was quite sure about the ringer since he had been regularly interrupted for the last couple of days. Despite his scepticism,he got up and reached for the phone. "Yeah?" He said and paused. There was a lot of muttering and undefinable noise. Eventually, somebody managed to get their nerves together and said, "Hello,do you have a small dick?" [laughter in the background followed by a click]
Those damn kids he thought. Had I been a little younger I would have showed them! Messing with me like that.
He hung up the phone and walked towards the window mumbling something like, "Hilda...the ducks...damn knees."
E.Y
Wednesday, 4 November 2009
Untitled.
That year, it was one dissappointment after the other and our patience was constantly put through the test. The weak ones fell quicker apart while the strong ones held on tight like a fly in a storm. The good news couldn't make up for the bad ones. The belief in the holyness of tomorrow were ruined by cluttered dreams and sad weddings. There was no difference in day and night and the worst part was when everyone would say, "It's all going to be allright".
E.Y
E.Y
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