In this land, are we the heroes?

Well! Christian was appalled.
"I must say," he said in his broad English accent, "I do not care for this at all."
"Oh, don't you?" Roger asked as he put a candy-cane to his lips and pretended to take a puff.
"Fuck, no cigs?"
Christian turned and saw Brenda striding into the living room.
"Brenda!" said Roger, "You're hair is rather blue."
Brenda nodded, her short electric-blue hair swinging in her face, "I'm afraid it is," and she said this so solemnly that Christian had to ask, "Whatever is making you so down?"
There was a crunching sound as Roger gave up and took a bite of his cigarette.
"I was at the store, you know, to buy the things we agreed on."
All three heads bobbed up and down in a creepily-performed nod, and Christian remembered the discussion they had around fluffy slippers and 'Blood Orange' tea that didn't taste like blood or oranges at all, but rather some hybrid cross of cough syrup and roast pumpkin.
"And I was in the hair isle- that hair isle devoted entirely to hair?- but my glasses were on and I couldn't see, and some child dropped jello on my shoe."
All three of them looked down in sync once again, as if they were puppets on string, and stared at the light green stain spread over Brenda's white high-tops.
"It's a catastrophe!" Roger declared around another candy-cane.
"It's rotten!" Christian agreed, aghast.
"So you see," Brenda went on in a weary way, with slumped shoulders and her mouth turned down at the corners, "I couldn't buy red."
"You couldn't buy red," Roger remarked with a note of confusion in his voice, "because some child dropped jello on your shoe?"
"The point is," Christian started as he walked past Brenda and opened the top kitchen drawer, "Is that bloody Molly."
"Oh! Don't start me!" Roger rolled his eyes.
Brenda sat herself down on the little round shag-rug and Christian said, "She couldn't buy red because of her glasses! I'm right? I'm right." Then he took out a little purple notebook and pen and wrote down Brenda's name, the date and what item she had missed in his small, jerky handwriting. He had to write this on the seventeenth line because there was a whole host of items Brenda mistakenly purchased all due to her enormously red-rimmed glasses.
"The pineapples do nothing for your scope of vision."
Brenda shouted: "They're decoration and they're delicious!" and Roger snapped a photo of her on his phone.
Roger asked, "Have you ever scratched yourself in the eye?"
Brenda sniffed. "Do you spell cranberry with two Ys?" and she stood up in a huff and stalked off in the direction of the bathroom.
"I bet she showers with a towel on," Roger said, looking rather amused and Christian had just finished dotting every I with a love-heart, so he joined in with the amusement too, opened the fridge and announced they would be having fried legumes and string cheese for dinner.
"What? What's this?" Roger asked, repulsed, and he slid gracefully out of the armchair to investigate.
"Oh have some faith in loud announcements, will you?"
"What volume was that in?"
Christian paused at the stove, confusion etched onto his forehead in the form of a wrinkled brow. "Which one?"
"The first one, the announcement."
"Eh?"
"Under ten or over one hundred?"
There was a moment of silence as they both suddenly stopped conversing to listen to Brenda sing gaily as she scrubbed herself.
"I don't think this is the time," said Roger and swiftly turned.
Christian waved an arm, "I concur," and he was pretty sure Roger would have said, "Hear ye, hear ye!" while shaking a bell if he had not just walked off outside to smoke a chocolate wafer stick in the shape of a cigarette.

>Where your wild things are

"Wait, what?"

Today, a smiling stranger helped me find a car park. It was all narrow alleys and bright trees. I ate long noodles and watched the sun, reminisced about people who hung out of windows muttering to themselves, watched sportsmen declare love for orange peanuts and wished I had hair long enough to swing from.
~What colour eyes are the most hypnotic?
Apart from crazy eyeballs and the odd burst of Disney song that gets stuck in my head, I have a habit of stepping on pink starfish sponges and falling into cake.
"Cake? Really?" they all say, rather surprised.
"Of course," I reply, in a grand gesture of reassurance, "What else is there?"
They all nod, of course, for it makes perfect sense.
"She really is onto something," one would say to the other, "Is cake not the softest?"
"Totally right, she is," the other would say to one, "if it's not the softest, I shall eat my right boot!"
"Not your left?" one would enquire, intrigued and slightly suspicious.
The other would laugh, "Oh, no, you see! I was wrong once before!"
And sure enough, they'll all look down and see first-hand just how hazardous a wrong proclamation can be.


~for the first time in forever...

Would you brush your teeth with bubblegum?

"THERE'S NOTHING HERE!" she shouted. Then she plonked herself down ungracefully on the wooden floor, amongst stacks of books and odd trinkets, and she stared blandly at the circular walls.
"Yes there is," she heard a voice say quietly behind her.
"You're wrong. You will always be wrong, forever, because you are wrong."
She heard him move about but didn't look, not even when he came right up close and sat beside her.
"I cannot be wrong if I am right," he said, and she almost believed him.
"Did you know there used to be a stool in here? And a really big bowl that I had to eat out of, and a really big oversized spoon. I didn't know spoons could be that big. Did you know that about spoons?"
"Cerri-" he began, but she interrupted him.
"Did you know about spoon sizes when you were my age?" she turned to him and waited. His dark hair fell around his eyes as he stared at the floor, and for one quick second she imagined dropping handfuls of that hair into the really big bowl and eating it. Then she shook her head.
"You're not that old," he replied.
Cerri was, indeed, that old. She was almost nineteen, which was old, far too old for her to be thinking about spoons and stools.
"Jasper," she whispered, "can you tell me the time? Tell me it's twelve o'clock."
She knew that he was looking at her. "It's twelve o'clock," he said softly because he knew.
Wishing that she was clever and sane, Cerri leaned over and kissed him slowly on the mouth.
+
If time went sideways, Cerri imagined she would be ok. But time went forwards, always in a straight line and always on time. Never a second out of place.
When Jasper came back the next day, she gave him the book with a picture of a red horse on the cover and he smiled.
"I don't think I've ever received such a wonderful present."
Cerri tried to hide her pride, "One day you can ride on a red horse."
"They don't exist, Cerri."
"Yes," she nodded forcefully, so forcefully that her light brown hair fell in her face and made him laugh, "they do. There's a picture on the book."
Jasper looked down at the horse and said, "Not all books are real."
"Yes, they are."
She felt heat in her hands and she knew there was a reason for this. The warm tingly sensation running along her fingers wasn't supposed to be there and she knew there was a procedure that she was supposed to follow, but she couldn't remember what she had to do.
"Some are," said Jasper, "But horses like these are found only in fantasies."
Cerri didn't see him looking at the book wistfully. She felt her chest tighten and her brain buzz, as if a thousand little bees were swarming around her brain. "THEY'RE REAL!" She yelled.
Jasper looked up, "Cerr-"
"THEY'RE REAL! ALL OF THEM ARE!"
"I'm s-"
"LISTEN!" she threw a book at him. He ducked. She threw another, and another, until her arm ached and Jasper was crouched on the ground with his arms over his head and the book with the red horse still in his hand.
Then Cerri stopped and she couldn't understand why. She saw Jasper on the ground and the books lying haphazardly around him, their pages squashed and ripped. She felt her heartbeat slow, her brain quieten and her fingers cool.
"Jasper," she said through a sob, trying hard to calm the panic rising up in her stomach, "is it twelve o'clock yet?"
+
It wasn't always twelve o'clock, but Cerri waited for those hours. She liked that they came around twice every day.
The next time Jasper visited he bought a woollen hat. It was yellow and knitted crookedly, as if the maker had bad hands, but he still thought it looked wonderful.
"I don't want it," said Cerri.
"I bought it from the market place," Jasper said brightly as he held it out, "I thought of you when I saw it."
Cerri snatched the hat and strode over to the window that had bars on the outside.
"Wh-"
"I don't want it," and she slid open the small, square window pane and stuffed the hat through the rusting bars. She watched it fall out of sight. Then she turned to Jasper and pointed back out of the window to a bush of purple flowers, "I want one of them."
Jasper said, "Ok," in a tired voice, "I'll get one for you."
But Cerri said, "I want to go out and pick one myself," and she knew he wouldn't know what to say. She waited. He walked right up to her and she watched him warily, gasping when he put his arms around her and said quietly into her neck, "You can't go out."
She stared at the big iron locks on the door. Something felt wrong. "It's not time," she whispered, and the panic feeling was spreading again like a bad rumour. "Jasper," she said a bit louder and heard a sob.
+
Cerri sat on her pile of murder-mystery books.
"Have you ever seen a family of ducks wearing top hats?" she asked Jasper when he came in and closed the door behind him.
"Yes I have."
Cerri raised an eyebrow, "You haven't."
"I saw them yesterday," Jasper said with a smirk, "at the pond." He sat next to her on a pile of old romance novels and held out a flower. It was big and leafy and purple.
Cerri gazed at it. She had a funny feeling, as if she was supposed to remember something but she couldn't.
"It's pretty," she said in a distracted way and turned, almost automatically, to look at the window.
Jasper tucked it behind her ear, and even though he was quick and careful, she caught a glimpse of two long red cuts running down his hand before he tucked it up into his jumper sleeve.
"Jasper," she said, "is it twelve o'clock yet?"
+


I may or may not have watched Tangled yesterday.. ^_^

Where do you want to go?

If 'blegh' had a colour it would be red with a little golden wand and maybe a crown made out of paper- you know, those flimsy orange or yellow ones that always rip or fall off into your food.
Yes, that is what would be happening.
I am now obsessed with this TV show called Helix for some unknown reason. It's dark, serious, full of zombies and lab work based around the T-virus. It's delicious. I've been patiently waiting for more blood and gory scenes filled with people eating other people, but then I remind myself that this is a TV show, Cerri, a TV show, not a movie, and I must say, good zombie movies are hard to find.
So The Walking Dead sort of took a side trip to Albania while I latched onto this one.
;_; ~I will continue watching it. I will. (Said this girl who did everything else ever to avoid watching it, even taking up parasailing and candle-making , and died without knowing what the hell everyone was so crazy about).
I vote for words with N.
My guitars shout at me whenever I try to play them. I find this abusive yet sensible as I can't play very well but really believe they should tune themselves. Sometimes, really believing just doesn't work.
In the midst of 'nuclear families' and mountains of different-shaped bags and swearing guitars and food that shouldn't be coconut flavoured and bursting light-bulbs and teapots with one eye and heels that change how your toes look, life happened.




>_<

Is that the time?

THINGS I WILL DO THIS YEAR:


+ Ace my Uni course ^_^.


+ Make one piece of jewellery a week.


+ Make one monster a month (because last year's goal was absurdity of the Cerri kind)


+ Watch all of Walking Dead.


+ Watch all of Once Upon a Time.


+ Learn to play a tune on the guitar (just a tune!)


+ Start cooking healthy, veggie-loaded meals.


+ Watch all Disney movies again, also including Brave, Tangled and Frozen.


+ Grow a small veggie plant like tomatoes, cucumbers, or even parsley.


+ Attempt at writing a fanfic! >_<.




I feel that I will be too busy watching things to have a life, so I should probably go out right this minute and purchase an array of snack food, multiple pillows offering supreme neck and back support, a hat with ears and a house-friendly robot who I will call Claptrap and who will fetch me anything and everything I ever need or want because he will be the most loyal yet bizarre robot in all existence.
This is what dreams are made of.
On a completely related topic, I've never appreciated just how hungry zombies are. They seem to have insatiable appetites and will eat and eat and eat until they die, and I wonder if there is a way we can use this.
>On board to beat this syndrome but will gladly surrender for the right price.


My day in songs:


~Still Alive - Lisa Miskovsky


~The Birthday Massacre - Lover's End


~The Birthday Massacre - Happy Birthday


~Everclear - Santa Monica


~Delerium - Silence


welcome to my only world... it is full of space junk...

When will I get my superpower?

I thought to myself: 'It seems like I spent the entire day inside a bubble, and even though I drove around and made myself food and held conversations like a normal human being, I still had the feeling that I was a blurry version of this girl called Cerri'.
"Sorry," I said, as I bumped into an elderly man sitting on the bus. "It's this bubble."
He looked at the transparent but slightly shiny orb encasing my body and replied with some concern: "Clearly," and he eased himself up out of the isle seat and limped over to the window seat.
I felt horrible, of course, for forcing this man to sit by the window, but not as much as one would expect because this bubble dulls my emotional response factor.
"Is it painful?" the man enquired while I tried to squeeze myself in between the seat and drivers wall.
"Not really. But sometimes my elbows bang into the sides." I managed to stick myself in place quite nicely and turned my attention to the elderly man, who was wearing a grey suit and two dark green ties.
The man saw me looking and pulled a grumbly face, "You can ask me about them," he muttered, "and I would only tell you that my wife didn't agree with me on the colour."
I nodded to show appreciation of this rare fact, "What colour did you want?"
He glared up at me, but not in a mean, threatening way; in a way that only grumpy elderly men can, and he said, "Lime green!" very loudly.
I blinked. "That's a perfectly reasonable colour for a tie."
"It is, see? It is. But not for that old bat. Sleeps in a cave half her time, living on soaked beans and soap operas!"
Sensing that this could turn ugly, or alarmingly boring, I quickly made some soothing noises and changed the topic to sports. "I hear the Tennis is quite a game this year."
The man focused his softening eyes on me, "Men wearing those shorts that ride into their crotch, eh? Not on my watch."
"Mmm," I agreed, although who could deny a fine man in tight attire? "I've oft-"
"How do you get anything done, in that bubble of yours?" The elderly man interrupted without a hint of apology. He studied the shiny outer layer, his face lit up with curiosity and his fingers drumming his knee as if he wanted to touch it.
I smiled at him, "I'll let you touch it if you tell my why you're wearing two ties at once."
"Girly, I believe we have a deal," and he stuck his hand out for a moment, forgetting that I couldn't possibly shake it.
"Ok," I said, and I moved my shoulders a little so I could look this delightful man in the eye. He tilted his chin upwards and waited. "I roll."
"Eh?" the  man scrunched his face up, and I couldn't blame him for his reaction to such a disappointing answer.
"Yes," I replied kindly, "It is a debacle-"
"But you can't do everything by just rolling!" the man exclaimed and then belched.
I turned away at this preposterous accusation and tried to find an interesting sign to read. Unfortunately public transport is limited, so I was staring at a poster exclaiming that a red fingernail will help drivers focus when the elderly man said: "Can you?!" in a rather harsh tone, as if I'd just declared that I would be transporting him to Mars.
"Hmm?"
"Go on then," he leaned closer to me, "Tell me."
"I'm sorry, that is the only way I do anything."
The elderly man glared at me, in the mean way this time, and I wondered how the truth could invite such enmity so I said: "Now onwards with your answer," and I smiled with all my teeth, which probably wasn't the best idea considering how white and blinding they are.
"Not a chance!" the elderly man all but shouted.
"Oh," I said, "I thought we had a deal."
"Oh we had a deal, alright," and I noticed he was moving about.
I turned to watch out the front of the bus, knocking my elbows but ignoring this. Someone pressed the button and when the sound faded away I realised the elderly man was muttering under his breath.
I considered elderly men and deals. I thought about honour and ties. I questioned whether lime green really was an appropriate colour for a tie.
Then I felt something bump into me.
"Are-" I turned and caught sight of the elderly man kicking at my bubble.
"Do pardon your intrusion!" I cried.
The elderly man kicked my bubble again and sent me rolling awkwardly out into the isle as the bus began slowing. "The intrusion's all mine, lassie!" he called out. I almost certainly heard a cackle as he did this.
"I demand you stop at once!" I exclaimed, "This bubble is expensive!"
The bus stopped and the elderly man lashed out again with frightening strength. I stumbled and tripped as my bubble rolled past the driver and to the top of the bus steps. I could see the trees blowing in the wind, and I must say, I was momentarily anxious at the thought of being pushed out into the gale and rolling forever. Rolling really isn't my thing.
"A tip to ya, lying lassie: a cold wind is always much stronger than the warm!"
And then, with one final lifting of his skinny leg, and as I tried in vain to count all the little hairs that sat upon it, the elderly man kicked me down the four little steps and out into the street.


...just one more cup of coffee before I go

What shoes do stars wear?

Well, this is new.
And it was.
I had just returned from my exhilarating walk in the cool, brisk winds to find my living room covered in red fabric cut-outs.
"What are they of?" I gestured my hand at the two mice sitting on the sofa. One had a pair of scissors suspended in mid air, as if it was about to cut. The other was holding a tiny black bottle.
"NO YOU CAN'T," said the mouse holding scissors, and I thought: I bloody well can, but I wasn't sure what we were talking about so I said, "I've just run thirty miles."
"Well on with it then," squeaked the second mouse quite pompously.
"You know-" I began, but the mouse with scissors turned to its companion and said, "Snails don't eat mushrooms. Have you ever seen a snail eating a mushroom?"
"I most certainly have!" said the second mouse, and it waved the bottle through the air.
I stuck out my foot, hoping to appear cool and into it: "There's-"
"You have NOT! When have you seen a snail eating a mushroom?"
The first mouse seemed very put-out and the second mouse seemed not to notice as it pulled the bottle in close to its face and took a big whiff.
"Are you sniffing?" I asked, shocked, "Sniffing glue?"
The first mouse turned to me, "What's it to ya?"
A mouse saying 'ya'? This had to be stopped. "I will not have mice sniffing glue in my house!" I exclaimed loudly.
"It's not glue," said the second mouse with its eyes half closed, "It's cocoa."
I raised an eyebrow, "Chocolate?"
The first mouse looked down sadly, and even the scissors seemed to droop in dismay while I pondered how to name these lost, wayward creatures.
"Ahhh, gets the old heart pumping," said Morsel, swinging its legs in a satisfied contentment.
"No, that's your Heart Pumper," said Twinge, and I said, "Sorry, heart pumper?"
Twinge eyed me up suspiciously, "Haven't you got one?"
"I'm done," I said extravagantly.
"Oi," one of them called as I walked away (I couldn't be sure which one because they both sounded the same: high-pitched and annoying), "Tell us when our sister is returning from her balloon adventure!"
I ignored this ridiculous request.
"I'd rather like to ride in an air balloon," I heard the other mouse declare dreamily.
"Let's."
And as I made my way into the kitchen to prepare my double-strength Cinnamon and Cherry tea, I had an uneasy feeling that things were about to go down.
~In a furry kind of way.