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rainbowfic2015-07-31 06:44 pm
starphotographs) wrote in rainbowfic2015-07-31 06:44 pm
Baby Pink 6
Name: starphotographs
Story: Corwin and Friends
Supplies and Styles: Graffiti (Summer Carnival, Duck Gallery: http://s1241.photobucket.com/user/rainbowficmods/media/Dead%20Time%202015/tumblr_nnikxmPELx1qhttpto1_540.jpg.html), Glitter (http://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/summer-3), Canvas
Characters: Martin (POV), Russell (AKA Martin’s dad), Lien (AKA Martin’s mom) is somewhere in the general area.
Colors: Baby Pink 6 (I'm allowed to criticize you. I made you.)
Word Count: 598
Rating: PG
Warnings: Choose not to warn.
Summary: Martin had kind of a weird early childhood. But he could get as bored as anyone else.
Note: I’d like to thank SWL, for giving me a prompt that went perfectly with today’s poem!
It‘s a little hazy, because I was only about six by the time we got back to the States, but mostly, I remember having fun when my Mom was working on her big art project. She was doing sketches and taking photos for a book about the post-impact recovery of plant life in Southeast Asia, and me and my Dad tagged along.
Sometimes, we’d go hiking on our own, or would head out with Mom for the day, but I always got the impression that she got to venture deeper than either of us ever did. Off on some kind of crazy journey, like an explorer in a movie. I imagined her climbing up giant mushrooms, mapping out glowing caves, running from monsters, stuff like that, while Dad and I kept ourselves occupied with whatever we could find at the camp.
Usually, I was pretty good at this. But, sometimes, when I’d read all my books, and played all the games on both unoccupied tablets and my dad‘s phone, I’d start getting belligerent, and my poor Dad would have to deal with me.
Keep in mind, he already had enough to deal with, because he was trying to telecommunicate from the middle of a jungle, and the reception wasn’t always great. He’d sit huddled in the tent, swearing and muttering about how he didn’t know why working remotely from the US had to be easier than doing it from another country in the same time zone.
I made this more difficult by throwing sticks at the tent until he had to come out and pay attention to me. When I heard him undoing the zipper, I knew I’d succeeded.
“Martin, cut that shit out! The heck is wrong with you?”
“I’m bored.”
He ducked back inside.
“Well, don’t be!”
I threw another stick.
“Come back out!”
“I’m at work, kiddo.”
This time, he didn’t come out. I grabbed another stick and poked the tent instead.
“Hey! You’re gonna stab a hole in the tent, and you know what’ll happen? Every mosquito within a five mile radius will come in the tent and suck the blood out of us until we’re dry bones. You want that?”
Well, no. But you’re also lying.
“I’m hot!”
“You’ve been hot for the last three years! Get over it, you little disaster!”
I figured out that he wouldn’t go all the way back inside if I kept asking questions.
“Why can’t I go with mom?”
“Because you’ll be… Um, eaten.”
As far as I was concerned, this confirmed the “mom is out having crazy adventures” theory.
“By what?”
“A snake… Mosquitos… I don’t know!”
The poor man obviously just wanted to get back to work, but he had to climb out of the tent and look around for something that might hold my attention for five minutes. Eventually, I saw him pick something up off the ground. It looked light and dry, like paper.
“Here, kiddo. Play with this. It‘s interesting, you‘ll like it.”
I examined what he’d given me. It was a cast-off snake skin, but I didn’t know that yet.
“What is…”
“It’s a snake’s old skin. They peel it off so they can grow.”
That said, he vanished into the tent, and got back to whatever sort of rocket science I’d just interrupted.
I sat for a while, holding the skin up to the sun. Looking at how my fingers went wavy and blurry behind the scales, and thinking about the snake itself.
Still out there somewhere, getting big enough to eat me.
Mom had probably already met him.
starphotographsStory: Corwin and Friends
Supplies and Styles: Graffiti (Summer Carnival, Duck Gallery: http://s1241.photobucket.com/user/rainbowficmods/media/Dead%20Time%202015/tumblr_nnikxmPELx1qhttpto1_540.jpg.html), Glitter (http://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/summer-3), Canvas
Characters: Martin (POV), Russell (AKA Martin’s dad), Lien (AKA Martin’s mom) is somewhere in the general area.
Colors: Baby Pink 6 (I'm allowed to criticize you. I made you.)
Word Count: 598
Rating: PG
Warnings: Choose not to warn.
Summary: Martin had kind of a weird early childhood. But he could get as bored as anyone else.
Note: I’d like to thank SWL, for giving me a prompt that went perfectly with today’s poem!
It‘s a little hazy, because I was only about six by the time we got back to the States, but mostly, I remember having fun when my Mom was working on her big art project. She was doing sketches and taking photos for a book about the post-impact recovery of plant life in Southeast Asia, and me and my Dad tagged along.
Sometimes, we’d go hiking on our own, or would head out with Mom for the day, but I always got the impression that she got to venture deeper than either of us ever did. Off on some kind of crazy journey, like an explorer in a movie. I imagined her climbing up giant mushrooms, mapping out glowing caves, running from monsters, stuff like that, while Dad and I kept ourselves occupied with whatever we could find at the camp.
Usually, I was pretty good at this. But, sometimes, when I’d read all my books, and played all the games on both unoccupied tablets and my dad‘s phone, I’d start getting belligerent, and my poor Dad would have to deal with me.
Keep in mind, he already had enough to deal with, because he was trying to telecommunicate from the middle of a jungle, and the reception wasn’t always great. He’d sit huddled in the tent, swearing and muttering about how he didn’t know why working remotely from the US had to be easier than doing it from another country in the same time zone.
I made this more difficult by throwing sticks at the tent until he had to come out and pay attention to me. When I heard him undoing the zipper, I knew I’d succeeded.
“Martin, cut that shit out! The heck is wrong with you?”
“I’m bored.”
He ducked back inside.
“Well, don’t be!”
I threw another stick.
“Come back out!”
“I’m at work, kiddo.”
This time, he didn’t come out. I grabbed another stick and poked the tent instead.
“Hey! You’re gonna stab a hole in the tent, and you know what’ll happen? Every mosquito within a five mile radius will come in the tent and suck the blood out of us until we’re dry bones. You want that?”
Well, no. But you’re also lying.
“I’m hot!”
“You’ve been hot for the last three years! Get over it, you little disaster!”
I figured out that he wouldn’t go all the way back inside if I kept asking questions.
“Why can’t I go with mom?”
“Because you’ll be… Um, eaten.”
As far as I was concerned, this confirmed the “mom is out having crazy adventures” theory.
“By what?”
“A snake… Mosquitos… I don’t know!”
The poor man obviously just wanted to get back to work, but he had to climb out of the tent and look around for something that might hold my attention for five minutes. Eventually, I saw him pick something up off the ground. It looked light and dry, like paper.
“Here, kiddo. Play with this. It‘s interesting, you‘ll like it.”
I examined what he’d given me. It was a cast-off snake skin, but I didn’t know that yet.
“What is…”
“It’s a snake’s old skin. They peel it off so they can grow.”
That said, he vanished into the tent, and got back to whatever sort of rocket science I’d just interrupted.
I sat for a while, holding the skin up to the sun. Looking at how my fingers went wavy and blurry behind the scales, and thinking about the snake itself.
Still out there somewhere, getting big enough to eat me.
Mom had probably already met him.
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