littlewonder2

Little wonder we stumble in life.


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One Lovely Blog Award – Nominee!

I’ve heard of this. Though I am shocked (but pleased) that I was nominated. So thank you, sphrbn!

Okay…

Here are the rules of this award:

1. I need to thank the person who nominated me.

2. Share 7 things about myself that you still may not know

3. Nominate 15 bloggers.

4. Notify the nominees that I have done so.

5. Put the logo of the award on my blog site.

And now here are 7 things that you probably don’t know about me;

1. I studied Japanese for three years in high school, and then another was tutored in it, but I don’t count that last year, because I don’t think it kept me up to the same speed.

2. I started writing fiction when I was fourteen, but I sucked back then. I just didn’t quit.

3. I have been moving houses since I was kid, as my family has never owned any of the places we lived. I never minded leaving people behind, unlike my polar-opposite sister.

4. I have attended around seven schools in my lifetime.

5. I always wanted to learn surfing in Australia, but my first surfing lesson was in Hawaii.

6. I’m half-American, but I often joke about America, preferring my Australian heritage.

7. I prefer having a fake tree on Christmas, because I think the tradition of cutting down real trees is damaging to the environment and I hate the smell of fresh pine.

My Nominees are:

Only Fragments

I Think In Comics

Kristen Lamb

Ambler Angel

Madison Woods

the news with nipples

Cadelle

Photo Lord

Classic Confusion

castelsarrasin

Mikalee Byerman

ccarothers

Sarcasm Society

jtinseoul

fossils and shit

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Write On Edge – Unwanted

It had been days since his last letter, and even that was too long.

He paced around his anxious, increasingly manic. He stopped with a final climax of frustration, and began sweeping quickly through his apartment, desperate to keep himself busy, to distract himself.

A few tense and awkward hours later, it wasn’t enough and he had to get outside. He tried to calm himself down long enough to put on a jacket and his Canadian-style toque to brave the cold winter’s day waiting for him outside.

He rubbed his hands together as soon as the shock of the air doused him, still feeling underdressed. He hyped himself up like an eskimo going for a dip in Alaska and pushed himself through the double doors that lead into the building, and charged down the street like a madman.

The numbing cold wasn’t helping. If anything, it made him more irrational. He rubbed his hands together harder and faster, as though he were trying to start a fire. At least if he did, he’d be warmer.

He directed himself towards the post office. At least if he checked his PO Box again, the letter back might be there. He chanted the idea back to himself inwardly, as though to spur him on. If he didn’t do that, he might not believe himself.

He felt so lonely. He just wanted an answer.

A few blocks later, he arrived, and located his number once again. He turned the key; he kept it in the pocket of jeans, just in case. Anticipation might be more accurate.

Nothing.

“No,” said a postie behind his desk across from the boxes. “No more post than there was five hours ago. What are you waiting on that’s so important, eh? Someone special?”

He turned to the old man. “Sorry,” was his only reply. He left the post office embarrassed. Why had he done that? Was he really that desperate?

He knew the simple answer to that.

He returned to his apartment, partly wishing he had work today. He felt just pathetic. He never would have done that on a weekday.

His buzzer rang. Still recovering from the cold, hands still numb, he moved over and pressed the button absently. “Yes?” he answered.

“Post,” was the answer.

“Who is this?”

“I live down below you, number 8. I think someone got the wrong address. You’re Miles Rochester, right?”

“Yeah. Come on up.”

His heart pumped with excitement, on a high, though he hid it from the kid watching him as he greedily opened the letter. A postcard. It was from Melbourne. Strange getting a postcard from your own city.

His face fell.

Stop writing. You know who this is. People are getting suspicious.

– T

He looked up at the kid, staring judgementally at him. “Okay. You delivered your letter, now get out.”

The teen left, mumbling angrily. I closed the door.

Taken from a prompt at Write On Edge.