Smaller
There was nothing much the boy could do with the boat. Its hull was smashed, and the sail was torn fully. Water poured in through the gaping hole the rocks had left. All there was left to do now was to wade to shore and patch it up.
On the other side of the beach a lonely girl watched the blonde boy and his boat, wondering what on earth he was doing.She shook her head, and continued playing with her toy car.The sun dipped itself into the salty sea water, cooling the place down. The waves washed the lower beach, drenching sandcastles and sea shells.
The sun reflected off the glass shell of the ball. The man shook up the ball, and made the water from the blue 'sea' to make the sand on the painted beach swirl around. The red sun bobbed up and down in the ball. The little boy and his boat bobbed up and down against the rocks. The man was apparently sad- the little boat was cracked down the middle, it had been only a week since he had bought it. The room was dimly lit and the last few rays of sun light tried to empty themselves inside before it got dark....
The visitor in the art gallery stood in front of the oil painting of the sad man holding the glass ball. The artist had skilfully painted the lines into the man's face. Every stroke of the artists brush had carefully embedded painful detail in his frown. A group pulled up from the back. The tour guide related to the tour group how the artist had lost his son at sea. The boy drowned when his boat capsized after it smashed against the rocks...
Their voices were drowned out by the sound of the downpour. The man rolled up his car windows, and continued staring at the postcard. It had been two years since his only love had left him, in pursuit of the better things of life. She was a flourishing artist in Paris, and the postcard was a photograph of a famous art gallery in there. He dropped the postcard into the glove compartment, and continued moving through his mundane life. He drove upto the beach- it looked beautiful in the rain. The wind tried so hard to blow the palm trees down, but it succeeded only in causing the clouds in the sky to blow around like the little girls hair..
The little girl was fed up with her day at the beach. She picked up her car. She didn't notice a miniature postcard falling out onto the sand...
The man finished keying in the story about the little boy, girl and artist into his computer in his little room, and sent it to the world.
We are just a really small part of something bigger. Maybe we should get out of our little glass ball, or our painting and look- there is really a bigger picture.. Or maybe we are really a part of a picture, hanging on a wall in someone's living room?
On the other side of the beach a lonely girl watched the blonde boy and his boat, wondering what on earth he was doing.She shook her head, and continued playing with her toy car.The sun dipped itself into the salty sea water, cooling the place down. The waves washed the lower beach, drenching sandcastles and sea shells.
The sun reflected off the glass shell of the ball. The man shook up the ball, and made the water from the blue 'sea' to make the sand on the painted beach swirl around. The red sun bobbed up and down in the ball. The little boy and his boat bobbed up and down against the rocks. The man was apparently sad- the little boat was cracked down the middle, it had been only a week since he had bought it. The room was dimly lit and the last few rays of sun light tried to empty themselves inside before it got dark....
The visitor in the art gallery stood in front of the oil painting of the sad man holding the glass ball. The artist had skilfully painted the lines into the man's face. Every stroke of the artists brush had carefully embedded painful detail in his frown. A group pulled up from the back. The tour guide related to the tour group how the artist had lost his son at sea. The boy drowned when his boat capsized after it smashed against the rocks...
Their voices were drowned out by the sound of the downpour. The man rolled up his car windows, and continued staring at the postcard. It had been two years since his only love had left him, in pursuit of the better things of life. She was a flourishing artist in Paris, and the postcard was a photograph of a famous art gallery in there. He dropped the postcard into the glove compartment, and continued moving through his mundane life. He drove upto the beach- it looked beautiful in the rain. The wind tried so hard to blow the palm trees down, but it succeeded only in causing the clouds in the sky to blow around like the little girls hair..
The little girl was fed up with her day at the beach. She picked up her car. She didn't notice a miniature postcard falling out onto the sand...
The man finished keying in the story about the little boy, girl and artist into his computer in his little room, and sent it to the world.
We are just a really small part of something bigger. Maybe we should get out of our little glass ball, or our painting and look- there is really a bigger picture.. Or maybe we are really a part of a picture, hanging on a wall in someone's living room?
posted by David at 3:00 PM
2 Comments:
Simply amazing!!!!!!!!!!!
Please keep coming up with stuff like this........
brilliant!!!
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