Post by AshVersion2 on Nov 30, 2006 14:31:44 GMT -5
My English lesson today. Descriptive writing on a person we admire.
Username: ash
Password: ********
I plug myself into the world of chaos that I call my second home. Overhead, the great eye watches me from its black and grey throne - a storm has just passed.
Ahead of me, the smell of freshly-cooked chilli sneaks into my awaiting nostrils, wrapping its steaming arms around my head, tilting it back. When I escape its grip, I look across the field of manholes to see what I know will always be there.
Angie.
I know her so well. It was she who stopped the storm here. It explains why she's alone - the other warriors must have unplugged in her rage. No matter - I prefer it this way.
I excitedly - at least, as excitedly as my obvious Britishness will allow - make my way towards my American comrade. I avoid the manholes - this time.
Angie's blond-ish hair shines as she stumbles dizzily into a brick wall in her half-successful attempt to give me some chilli. Duke Ducky Duck and Duchess The Quack look on from their thrones of the finest bread, quacking their firey beaks off at my friends almost-deliberate stupidity. That lass does anything to make me laugh.
Her latest graphics attempt is pinned on the nearest board - a Potter paradise, her usual magic masterpiece, though her modesty will never let her admit it. I try to comfort her but, alas, I can only do it with words.
"Ash, dinner!"
I unplug. The ducks, our inventions, fade away. Angie is one of my best friends. All I know of her are pixels.
_____________________________________________________
Username: ash
Password: ********
I plug myself into the world of chaos that I call my second home. Overhead, the great eye watches me from its black and grey throne - a storm has just passed.
Ahead of me, the smell of freshly-cooked chilli sneaks into my awaiting nostrils, wrapping its steaming arms around my head, tilting it back. When I escape its grip, I look across the field of manholes to see what I know will always be there.
Angie.
I know her so well. It was she who stopped the storm here. It explains why she's alone - the other warriors must have unplugged in her rage. No matter - I prefer it this way.
I excitedly - at least, as excitedly as my obvious Britishness will allow - make my way towards my American comrade. I avoid the manholes - this time.
Angie's blond-ish hair shines as she stumbles dizzily into a brick wall in her half-successful attempt to give me some chilli. Duke Ducky Duck and Duchess The Quack look on from their thrones of the finest bread, quacking their firey beaks off at my friends almost-deliberate stupidity. That lass does anything to make me laugh.
Her latest graphics attempt is pinned on the nearest board - a Potter paradise, her usual magic masterpiece, though her modesty will never let her admit it. I try to comfort her but, alas, I can only do it with words.
"Ash, dinner!"
I unplug. The ducks, our inventions, fade away. Angie is one of my best friends. All I know of her are pixels.
