Odds and Ends
My name is Sophie
((Twenty-Three, Sagittarius-thang))
I DIG: coffee (triple shot me), doc martin booties, mushrooms, androgyny and gender-boundary crossing in general yes please, choc-mint ice cream, icey water, fire stuff, characters, fine-tipped pens, spoken word, spontaneity, moon, curlew sounds, lightening bolts, pressing buttons, garlic, british accents, bare feet, peppermint tea, hands, sex, Adventure Time, being a spoon, mexican food, scrawling over lines, long drives, falling over, magical stuff, you.
Come say hello, I bet you're cool.
She had a voice so loud that all the plates in the house shattered when her friends were trying to eat their noodles and buttered toast. She tried living in Antarctica because they use plates less there, but she kept deafening the penguins little ears. So, one day, using her favourite 2B pencil, she chipped off her iceberg and floated into space. She tugged the red ribbons from her hair and tied knots to hold her down so she didn’t float away. Reaching out high, she grabbed her speech bubbles tight and used them as her blanket. They were a little itchy, but warm all the same. Whenever she got scared she pulled the lavender sprig from her knotted hair and crushed it between her fingertips. The smell reminded her of home.
Once upon a time, in the sky of green sunrises and moon shadows, there was a boat. It was a normal-sized boat with normal sized planks, a normal sized flag and a normal sized bow. It looked quite small, simply due to the fact that its anchor was extraordinarily large. 6.5 times its size, to be exact. Unfortunately, due to the anchor’s large surface area, other boats would fly past, think it was lost and take it home with them with compassionate intent - whilst, in reality, the boat of whom the giant anchor was keeping steady was just hidden under its shadow. This resulted in the boat being continually flung universes away from its original adventure course, sometimes up to three times a day! That’s just inconvenient. Especially when you end up having to row for lightyears just to get back to your cloud bed.
“Looting and plundering is difficult when the stars you’re surrounded by aren’t balls of light you recognise, and the moon rises from underneath your feet in odd shades of pink…” thought captain James as he drank pineapple juice from his brass flask and used a scuffed kaleidoscope to observe a horizon he did not recognise. “Green…” he muttered under his breath. “Give me green, please.”
He never forgot manners, even while speaking to the sky.
Frank made wings from flowers, but his mind was already a helicopter hurricane. He tapes his crutches to his knees, he likes to pretend his bones aren’t broken. His favourite animal is the butterfly. His favourite smell is burnt toast.
