'Been a long time coming since I've seen your face

I'm a bit sad, you think? Blacked out whole February except for Sochi. And I'm really sorry for the abandonment of the past Challenge. I'll try to rebuild it, try. But for the meantime, my dad's been pining to see my blog or something, and through his eyes I think he wouldn't be largely impressed with the past content of the blog. (BUUUUUUT, THIS IS WHO I AM, DADA :'c). So I'll post this short beginning for a story I wrote that's been swimming in my head for maybe four days:




Kathmandu. The dust and the fumes envelop its valley, yellowing the newspapers that flap through the wind and the people who walk in its streets all day long. The tea on the box it was set upon has already gone cold. Cars honk their horns, screech their brakes, and make the dust fly all the more. Chickens in the tiny bazaar across the road wander around and the children play along with them. Above, the skies are a dichotomy, grey and blue clashing together. Black kites, house crows, mynas and sparrows make it their playground, coexisting together. A young man to the far right across the road cautiously evades the cars as he crosses, dark, curly hair bobbing with the hands that signal the cars he is crossing. He shuffles by, stepping onto the sidewalk. Looking around, he skips towards the shops along the roads that sell khaja, candy, sim cards and whatnot. His shoulder bag's flap sways away from its body, and he fumbles to close it. He glances at the cup of cold tea atop a box. "You're here," he says. "Late again," I utter, taking the cup and trying to remember what cold chiya tastes like.





Was it pwetty?? I somehow want to send it to The Kathmandu Post. By the way, I submitted another short story I wrote, last night to their Fiction Park, and it's the first time for me to do so, so I'm

"What ees the story?"--I'm not the one who spouts book reviews, and when people swarm around me asking what the book I'm blocking my face with is about, I tell them to read the back. 

PAHAHAHA, yes, but not block it like that, I messed up my room for finding the right jacket that could fit my book in front of my head.after seeing this

And here is how I described it to someone who looked like my cousin Shayne this morning:
"There's this teenager who goes to a carousel, in a park, and he sits on a horse and observes stuff and then he sees the girl he loves on the carousel and they ride horses together then the carousel stopped the girl stood up and she talks about a story and the boy reaches out to her hands but she disappears into the air I called them Aragorn and Arwen you know" SO MY DESCRIPTION IS LAME

"What ees it called?"--I hate carousels (Grey Eyes). Because there was this anon on Tumblr and he asked me "I hate carousels" cause my URL was ILikeCarousels hey Anton

"How did you send eet to the newspaper?"--I've never written a letter to companies and stuff like that even though it's been in every one of my schoolbooks  each grade/class/year a lot of times I'm awkward so I sent my story to Dad and Mom first this week and I said "I wanna send this to Kathmandu Post every Sunday they post short fiction stories on posts". Mom read it and she was

so eventually, Dad wrote us a letter last night, and he's a guru at writing letters HALP ME DAD I WANNA BE LIEK U and yeah, I'm waiting for their reply

"Samsamsamsamsam I wanna read eet before eet comes out"--I hate carousels (Grey Eyes)

OKAY NOW MY LAPTOP IS GONNA DIE. And so many gifs, you say? I haven't been here for months RAARGHAHRGAHAHHARGRGRAHAHRGAHHAGHGHGHH
Arrivederci.

(MR PEABODY AND SHERMAN TOMORROW WOO feel agaaaaaaaaain I can feel agaaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiin.)