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There was once a little boy called Edward. Like most normal children his day-to-day life relied on rituals; two bowls of Nesquik cereal in the morning, one episode of Pokemon before putting on his shoes, ad one Penguin bar on the way to school. Edward was five years old, and his mummy took him to school.
Edward wasn't a loner, but he wasn't outstandingly popular, either. He would say hello if he saw a classmate at the park, and he got invited to parties and invited other people to parties, and when it was his birthday he always brought in Milkybars for everyone in his class. Edward liked drawing, he also quite liked painting but sometimes the paint got on his clothes and Edward's mummy got mad, so Edward preferred drawing. For one birthday he got a sketch pad and some sketching pencils. The pad had a picture of a giraffe on it.
Edward liked animals. He tore off the giraffe, and drew his own giraffe in its place. The giraffe had lipstick on and wore earrings, just like mummy. Edward wondered if for his next birthday he could get a giraffe. He started to shade in the giraffe's handbag, when suddenly he felt a sharp shooting pain in his writing hand. Edward looked down, and there was a little mark on his knuckle, as if he had poked his pencil through his own skin. It hurt a little. Edward squeezed his fingers and a little droplet of blood trickled it's way around the hand and down Edward's palm. He used it to make the lipstick red.
The next day Edward was walking to school. He had finished his Pengiun and was holding his mummy's hand. It wasn't his writing hand...he had made sure. Edward could see the hole in his hand. It was as if he had poked the pencil in a little deeper, and twirled it around a bit. It had bled during the night, and had made Edward's hand stick to his pyjama trousers a little bit. Edward was a sensible boy, so he put the pyjamas in the washing machine and washed his hand, getting rid of the last strings of dried blood. They were walking down the road, almost at school, when Edward heard someone talking to him. He looked around, but nobody was there. He let go of his mummy, and stared at her.
"That's rude!" he said. Edward's mummy didn't understand. "That's rude, what you said!" Edward never used bad words at school. Sometimes the bigger kids used it in the playground, but Edward was a sensible boy. His mummy decided to leave the conversation there, and carried on walking. Edward didn't hold her hand for the short journey. Instead, he cradled his writing hand. It was stinging a little bit, but Edward thought it was just because of the cold weather.
When Edward came home he opened his bag and unfurled a scroll-like sheet of brown paper. He showed his mummy his latest drawing...it was of a giraffe at the cinema. Edward's mummy said it was a very good picture, and that they should put it on the wall. She took some drawing pins and fixed the picture to the board they had in the kitchen. Edward was very proud. The giraffe had lipstick on. It was also holding a red handbag, and wearing a red watch.
That night Edward was restless. He kept scratching and scratching his writing hand. At one point he thought he might bite it off, like a dog, but then he realised he would never be able to draw again. Instead, Edward whiled away the night doodling in his sketchbook. He drew a family of giraffes at Christmas. They all wore lipstick, and bright red Santa Claus costumes.
Edward had to run to the sink to spit out his breakfast. He had finished all the Nesquik and was drinking the chocolate milk when he felt something scrape against his throat. He looked down into the sink, and there was a lump of skin lying amongst the chocolate milk. Edward looked down at his writing hand, and there was a lump of skin missing. His hand was very sore. Edward shouted a bad word at the milk. Edward shouted the word at the bowl. Edward shouted at the picture of the giraffe at the cinema, and threw the bowl at it. The bowl smashed, and blood soaked into the picture again. Edward's mummy ran in and asked what had happened. Edward took a deep breath and said that he had dropped the bowl and that he was sorry. Edward's mummy cleaned it up and then they went to school.
That day they were doing drawing again, but Edward didn't feel well. He was drawing a giraffe driving a big red bus, but he kept making mistakes. He used a rubber, but that just got covered in red. He almost cried, but Edward was a sensible boy, so he turned the paper over. He decided to write with the hole in his hand, instead of the pencil. He dragged the back of his hand across the page, pushed his knuckles up against the paper. He didn't know what he was drawing. He just let his hand move. When it started to sting Edward took his hand off. There were bad words on the paper. There were lots, more than ten. Edward wasn't very good at maths. His hand hurt. Edward went to the quiet corner and layed down.
When Edward woke up he was in his room. There was a big bandage over his hand. He could see blood trickling out from underneath. Edward was angry. He couldn't write like this. He got his sharpest pencil, and poked it through the bandage. It pierced his skin. Edward almost screamed, but he was a sensible boy. If he screamed mummy would take his pencils away.
========== ===============
Thanks for reading. Thoughts?
Edward wasn't a loner, but he wasn't outstandingly popular, either. He would say hello if he saw a classmate at the park, and he got invited to parties and invited other people to parties, and when it was his birthday he always brought in Milkybars for everyone in his class. Edward liked drawing, he also quite liked painting but sometimes the paint got on his clothes and Edward's mummy got mad, so Edward preferred drawing. For one birthday he got a sketch pad and some sketching pencils. The pad had a picture of a giraffe on it.
Edward liked animals. He tore off the giraffe, and drew his own giraffe in its place. The giraffe had lipstick on and wore earrings, just like mummy. Edward wondered if for his next birthday he could get a giraffe. He started to shade in the giraffe's handbag, when suddenly he felt a sharp shooting pain in his writing hand. Edward looked down, and there was a little mark on his knuckle, as if he had poked his pencil through his own skin. It hurt a little. Edward squeezed his fingers and a little droplet of blood trickled it's way around the hand and down Edward's palm. He used it to make the lipstick red.
The next day Edward was walking to school. He had finished his Pengiun and was holding his mummy's hand. It wasn't his writing hand...he had made sure. Edward could see the hole in his hand. It was as if he had poked the pencil in a little deeper, and twirled it around a bit. It had bled during the night, and had made Edward's hand stick to his pyjama trousers a little bit. Edward was a sensible boy, so he put the pyjamas in the washing machine and washed his hand, getting rid of the last strings of dried blood. They were walking down the road, almost at school, when Edward heard someone talking to him. He looked around, but nobody was there. He let go of his mummy, and stared at her.
"That's rude!" he said. Edward's mummy didn't understand. "That's rude, what you said!" Edward never used bad words at school. Sometimes the bigger kids used it in the playground, but Edward was a sensible boy. His mummy decided to leave the conversation there, and carried on walking. Edward didn't hold her hand for the short journey. Instead, he cradled his writing hand. It was stinging a little bit, but Edward thought it was just because of the cold weather.
When Edward came home he opened his bag and unfurled a scroll-like sheet of brown paper. He showed his mummy his latest drawing...it was of a giraffe at the cinema. Edward's mummy said it was a very good picture, and that they should put it on the wall. She took some drawing pins and fixed the picture to the board they had in the kitchen. Edward was very proud. The giraffe had lipstick on. It was also holding a red handbag, and wearing a red watch.
That night Edward was restless. He kept scratching and scratching his writing hand. At one point he thought he might bite it off, like a dog, but then he realised he would never be able to draw again. Instead, Edward whiled away the night doodling in his sketchbook. He drew a family of giraffes at Christmas. They all wore lipstick, and bright red Santa Claus costumes.
Edward had to run to the sink to spit out his breakfast. He had finished all the Nesquik and was drinking the chocolate milk when he felt something scrape against his throat. He looked down into the sink, and there was a lump of skin lying amongst the chocolate milk. Edward looked down at his writing hand, and there was a lump of skin missing. His hand was very sore. Edward shouted a bad word at the milk. Edward shouted the word at the bowl. Edward shouted at the picture of the giraffe at the cinema, and threw the bowl at it. The bowl smashed, and blood soaked into the picture again. Edward's mummy ran in and asked what had happened. Edward took a deep breath and said that he had dropped the bowl and that he was sorry. Edward's mummy cleaned it up and then they went to school.
That day they were doing drawing again, but Edward didn't feel well. He was drawing a giraffe driving a big red bus, but he kept making mistakes. He used a rubber, but that just got covered in red. He almost cried, but Edward was a sensible boy, so he turned the paper over. He decided to write with the hole in his hand, instead of the pencil. He dragged the back of his hand across the page, pushed his knuckles up against the paper. He didn't know what he was drawing. He just let his hand move. When it started to sting Edward took his hand off. There were bad words on the paper. There were lots, more than ten. Edward wasn't very good at maths. His hand hurt. Edward went to the quiet corner and layed down.
When Edward woke up he was in his room. There was a big bandage over his hand. He could see blood trickling out from underneath. Edward was angry. He couldn't write like this. He got his sharpest pencil, and poked it through the bandage. It pierced his skin. Edward almost screamed, but he was a sensible boy. If he screamed mummy would take his pencils away.
========== ===============
Thanks for reading. Thoughts?
Page:
Excuse the spelling and grammatical errors. Didn't proof read it, sorry.
There was once a little boy called Edward. Like most normal children his day-to-day life relied on rituals; two bowls of Nesquik cereal in the morning, one episode of Pokemon before putting on his shoes, ad one Penguin bar on the way to school. Edward was five years old, and his mummy took him to school.
Edward wasn't a loner, but he wasn't outstandingly popular, either. He would say hello if he saw a classmate at the park, and he got invited to parties and invited other people to parties, and when it was his birthday he always brought in Milkybars for everyone in his class. Edward liked drawing, he also quite liked painting but sometimes the paint got on his clothes and Edward's mummy got mad, so Edward preferred drawing. For one birthday he got a sketch pad and some sketching pencils. The pad had a picture of a giraffe on it.
Edward liked animals. He tore off the giraffe, and drew his own giraffe in its place. The giraffe had lipstick on and wore earrings, just like mummy. Edward wondered if for his next birthday he could get a giraffe. He started to shade in the giraffe's handbag, when suddenly he felt a sharp shooting pain in his writing hand. Edward looked down, and there was a little mark on his knuckle, as if he had poked his pencil through his own skin. It hurt a little. Edward squeezed his fingers and a little droplet of blood trickled it's way around the hand and down Edward's palm. He used it to make the lipstick red.
The next day Edward was walking to school. He had finished his Pengiun and was holding his mummy's hand. It wasn't his writing hand...he had made sure. Edward could see the hole in his hand. It was as if he had poked the pencil in a little deeper, and twirled it around a bit. It had bled during the night, and had made Edward's hand stick to his pyjama trousers a little bit. Edward was a sensible boy, so he put the pyjamas in the washing machine and washed his hand, getting rid of the last strings of dried blood. They were walking down the road, almost at school, when Edward heard someone talking to him. He looked around, but nobody was there. He let go of his mummy, and stared at her.
"That's rude!" he said. Edward's mummy didn't understand. "That's rude, what you said!" Edward never used bad words at school. Sometimes the bigger kids used it in the playground, but Edward was a sensible boy. His mummy decided to leave the conversation there, and carried on walking. Edward didn't hold her hand for the short journey. Instead, he cradled his writing hand. It was stinging a little bit, but Edward thought it was just because of the cold weather.
When Edward came home he opened his bag and unfurled a scroll-like sheet of brown paper. He showed his mummy his latest drawing...it was of a giraffe at the cinema. Edward's mummy said it was a very good picture, and that they should put it on the wall. She took some drawing pins and fixed the picture to the board they had in the kitchen. Edward was very proud. The giraffe had lipstick on. It was also holding a red handbag, and wearing a red watch.
That night Edward was restless. He kept scratching and scratching his writing hand. At one point he thought he might bite it off, like a dog, but then he realised he would never be able to draw again. Instead, Edward whiled away the night doodling in his sketchbook. He drew a family of giraffes at Christmas. They all wore lipstick, and bright red Santa Claus costumes.
Edward had to run to the sink to spit out his breakfast. He had finished all the Nesquik and was drinking the chocolate milk when he felt something scrape against his throat. He looked down into the sink, and there was a lump of skin lying amongst the chocolate milk. Edward looked down at his writing hand, and there was a lump of skin missing. His hand was very sore. Edward shouted a bad word at the milk. Edward shouted the word at the bowl. Edward shouted at the picture of the giraffe at the cinema, and threw the bowl at it. The bowl smashed, and blood soaked into the picture again. Edward's mummy ran in and asked what had happened. Edward took a deep breath and said that he had dropped the bowl and that he was sorry. Edward's mummy cleaned it up and then they went to school.
That day they were doing drawing again, but Edward didn't feel well. He was drawing a giraffe driving a big red bus, but he kept making mistakes. He used a rubber, but that just got covered in red. He almost cried, but Edward was a sensible boy, so he turned the paper over. He decided to write with the hole in his hand, instead of the pencil. He dragged the back of his hand across the page, pushed his knuckles up against the paper. He didn't know what he was drawing. He just let his hand move. When it started to sting Edward took his hand off. There were bad words on the paper. There were lots, more than ten. Edward wasn't very good at maths. His hand hurt. Edward went to the quiet corner and layed down.
When Edward woke up he was in his room. There was a big bandage over his hand. He could see blood trickling out from underneath. Edward was angry. He couldn't write like this. He got his sharpest pencil, and poked it through the bandage. It pierced his skin. Edward almost screamed, but he was a sensible boy. If he screamed mummy would take his pencils away.
========== ===============
Thanks for reading. Thoughts?
Edward wasn't a loner, but he wasn't outstandingly popular, either. He would say hello if he saw a classmate at the park, and he got invited to parties and invited other people to parties, and when it was his birthday he always brought in Milkybars for everyone in his class. Edward liked drawing, he also quite liked painting but sometimes the paint got on his clothes and Edward's mummy got mad, so Edward preferred drawing. For one birthday he got a sketch pad and some sketching pencils. The pad had a picture of a giraffe on it.
Edward liked animals. He tore off the giraffe, and drew his own giraffe in its place. The giraffe had lipstick on and wore earrings, just like mummy. Edward wondered if for his next birthday he could get a giraffe. He started to shade in the giraffe's handbag, when suddenly he felt a sharp shooting pain in his writing hand. Edward looked down, and there was a little mark on his knuckle, as if he had poked his pencil through his own skin. It hurt a little. Edward squeezed his fingers and a little droplet of blood trickled it's way around the hand and down Edward's palm. He used it to make the lipstick red.
The next day Edward was walking to school. He had finished his Pengiun and was holding his mummy's hand. It wasn't his writing hand...he had made sure. Edward could see the hole in his hand. It was as if he had poked the pencil in a little deeper, and twirled it around a bit. It had bled during the night, and had made Edward's hand stick to his pyjama trousers a little bit. Edward was a sensible boy, so he put the pyjamas in the washing machine and washed his hand, getting rid of the last strings of dried blood. They were walking down the road, almost at school, when Edward heard someone talking to him. He looked around, but nobody was there. He let go of his mummy, and stared at her.
"That's rude!" he said. Edward's mummy didn't understand. "That's rude, what you said!" Edward never used bad words at school. Sometimes the bigger kids used it in the playground, but Edward was a sensible boy. His mummy decided to leave the conversation there, and carried on walking. Edward didn't hold her hand for the short journey. Instead, he cradled his writing hand. It was stinging a little bit, but Edward thought it was just because of the cold weather.
When Edward came home he opened his bag and unfurled a scroll-like sheet of brown paper. He showed his mummy his latest drawing...it was of a giraffe at the cinema. Edward's mummy said it was a very good picture, and that they should put it on the wall. She took some drawing pins and fixed the picture to the board they had in the kitchen. Edward was very proud. The giraffe had lipstick on. It was also holding a red handbag, and wearing a red watch.
That night Edward was restless. He kept scratching and scratching his writing hand. At one point he thought he might bite it off, like a dog, but then he realised he would never be able to draw again. Instead, Edward whiled away the night doodling in his sketchbook. He drew a family of giraffes at Christmas. They all wore lipstick, and bright red Santa Claus costumes.
Edward had to run to the sink to spit out his breakfast. He had finished all the Nesquik and was drinking the chocolate milk when he felt something scrape against his throat. He looked down into the sink, and there was a lump of skin lying amongst the chocolate milk. Edward looked down at his writing hand, and there was a lump of skin missing. His hand was very sore. Edward shouted a bad word at the milk. Edward shouted the word at the bowl. Edward shouted at the picture of the giraffe at the cinema, and threw the bowl at it. The bowl smashed, and blood soaked into the picture again. Edward's mummy ran in and asked what had happened. Edward took a deep breath and said that he had dropped the bowl and that he was sorry. Edward's mummy cleaned it up and then they went to school.
That day they were doing drawing again, but Edward didn't feel well. He was drawing a giraffe driving a big red bus, but he kept making mistakes. He used a rubber, but that just got covered in red. He almost cried, but Edward was a sensible boy, so he turned the paper over. He decided to write with the hole in his hand, instead of the pencil. He dragged the back of his hand across the page, pushed his knuckles up against the paper. He didn't know what he was drawing. He just let his hand move. When it started to sting Edward took his hand off. There were bad words on the paper. There were lots, more than ten. Edward wasn't very good at maths. His hand hurt. Edward went to the quiet corner and layed down.
When Edward woke up he was in his room. There was a big bandage over his hand. He could see blood trickling out from underneath. Edward was angry. He couldn't write like this. He got his sharpest pencil, and poked it through the bandage. It pierced his skin. Edward almost screamed, but he was a sensible boy. If he screamed mummy would take his pencils away.
========== ===============
Thanks for reading. Thoughts?
Page: