Just now Dimple n Dori went out in the garden. They were so happy. Running around very quickly, digging the soil. And dimple loves to stand there, then suddenly starts running very fast making all the sand and soil run around. He does that again n again. So naughty! But they’re happy, sniffing their way about…tralala…see. Here I’ve written a bit of the story. Nothing like this was in the dream. But the guy’s mother shops like crazy in the dream. Tell me ur reviews…aww..my tagboard’s not working! E-mail me then.
A black Ferrari convertible zoomed past a group of giggling girls. The Ferrari suddenly stopped on its tracks and moved backwards and stopped next to the group of girls.
A handsome young man with wild eyes and crazy hairstyle sat in the car.
“Need a ride, babes?” He asked, giving them a brilliant smile.
The girls looked at each other, giggled, and jumped into his car.
It was 1am when he parked his car outside the house. He fumbled around his pockets for the house key and unlocked the door. The house was dark, cold and silent. He reached out to the wall on his left for the switch. Light flooded the living room, blinding him momentarily. He dumped his bag on the sofa and turned on the answering machine. A high pitch voice filled the whole house.
“Nicky daarling! Mommy’s gone to Milan. After this I’ll be going to Paris. There’s an exclusive exhibition for Gucci and Prada. I can’t miss them, can I? Be a guy boy ok. Mommy will be home soon…”
While the voice rattled on and on, Nick walked to the kitchen, switching on the light before walking to the fridge. He opened the fridge and took out a can of Coke. He walked back to the living room and settled on the sofa, stretching his legs and putting them on the table.
“Remember to drink your medicine darling. And I’ve heard from Mrs Lola that there’s a baseball game coming up. Oh Nicky, why didn’t you tell me? You must be so excited right? I’ve asked Doctor Howard, he said it’s ok for you to play as long as you’re not the pitcher.”
There was a pause. Nick was about to drink his coke when the voice came on again, “And oh yes, Nicky, don’t drink cold drinks! Remember your asthma!” Nick let out a grunt and piped the coke down his throat.
“Pitcher! What’s the use if I can’t be a pitcher?” Nick muttered to himself. He aimed the can at the dustbin and kicked it. “Goal.” He said without enthusiasm, “What’s the use? All I can be is the goalie. Stupid baseball! Stupid soccer! Stupid Asthma!”
He walked up the stairs to his room. He was greeted by heaps of dirty clothes, papers, balls, skateboards…all strewn on the floor. His bed was full of magazines, cds and potato chips wrapper. He let out frustrated grunt and pushed all the things on his bed to the floor. He plopped on the bed and his hand struck a photo frame and it dropped to the ground. Nick looked at the photo in the frame, it was a picture of him when he was five. He was holding a basketball, grinning happily.
“My mother thinks I’m still you,” Nick told the boy in the photo, “Doesn’t she realise I’m 19 now?”
He let out another disgruntled grunt and sniffed his shirt in distaste.
“Stupid girls and their thick perfumes.”
He took off his shirt and dumped it on the floor.
“Life sucks…” he mumbled before closing his eyes.
A black Ferrari convertible zoomed past a group of giggling girls. The Ferrari suddenly stopped on its tracks and moved backwards and stopped next to the group of girls.
A handsome young man with wild eyes and crazy hairstyle sat in the car.
“Need a ride, babes?” He asked, giving them a brilliant smile.
The girls looked at each other, giggled, and jumped into his car.
It was 1am when he parked his car outside the house. He fumbled around his pockets for the house key and unlocked the door. The house was dark, cold and silent. He reached out to the wall on his left for the switch. Light flooded the living room, blinding him momentarily. He dumped his bag on the sofa and turned on the answering machine. A high pitch voice filled the whole house.
“Nicky daarling! Mommy’s gone to Milan. After this I’ll be going to Paris. There’s an exclusive exhibition for Gucci and Prada. I can’t miss them, can I? Be a guy boy ok. Mommy will be home soon…”
While the voice rattled on and on, Nick walked to the kitchen, switching on the light before walking to the fridge. He opened the fridge and took out a can of Coke. He walked back to the living room and settled on the sofa, stretching his legs and putting them on the table.
“Remember to drink your medicine darling. And I’ve heard from Mrs Lola that there’s a baseball game coming up. Oh Nicky, why didn’t you tell me? You must be so excited right? I’ve asked Doctor Howard, he said it’s ok for you to play as long as you’re not the pitcher.”
There was a pause. Nick was about to drink his coke when the voice came on again, “And oh yes, Nicky, don’t drink cold drinks! Remember your asthma!” Nick let out a grunt and piped the coke down his throat.
“Pitcher! What’s the use if I can’t be a pitcher?” Nick muttered to himself. He aimed the can at the dustbin and kicked it. “Goal.” He said without enthusiasm, “What’s the use? All I can be is the goalie. Stupid baseball! Stupid soccer! Stupid Asthma!”
He walked up the stairs to his room. He was greeted by heaps of dirty clothes, papers, balls, skateboards…all strewn on the floor. His bed was full of magazines, cds and potato chips wrapper. He let out frustrated grunt and pushed all the things on his bed to the floor. He plopped on the bed and his hand struck a photo frame and it dropped to the ground. Nick looked at the photo in the frame, it was a picture of him when he was five. He was holding a basketball, grinning happily.
“My mother thinks I’m still you,” Nick told the boy in the photo, “Doesn’t she realise I’m 19 now?”
He let out another disgruntled grunt and sniffed his shirt in distaste.
“Stupid girls and their thick perfumes.”
He took off his shirt and dumped it on the floor.
“Life sucks…” he mumbled before closing his eyes.
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