100 words

She gave him the keys, took down the sign;
He grinned on the threshold and christened it ‘Mine’.
But Ours was breathed, enough to be heard –
Such fear inspired by just that word!
He wasted no time, sent for a priest;
He needed to call this ‘Mine’ at least.
But that night as he rested his head,
Ours was breathed at the foot of his bed.
Outraged, infuriated, ‘MINE!’ he cried
But Ours as he tripped on the stairs, as he died.
When the realtor came he realised Not mine,
But Ours, they vowed, as she put up the sign.

100 words

They followed him from the bus, sharks. The blood: the invisible pet he crooned to the whole ride through, the one that occupied a seat no one wanted to take. The blood: social security, the wallet tucked in his back pocket, the promising bag from the drug store. The blood: the age that hung heavy on his shoulders, his back, the twist to one leg.

They followed him from the bus and into an alley way, deserted and poorly lit and silent – for a moment. He walked out alone. For a moment, at least.

(The blood.)

“Good kitty,” he said.

(no subject)

Apparently more pupils were singing my praises today. Also I got a year 8 bottom set to think that Shakespeare is 'actually quite cool' and that studying the Tempest is pretty fun. And the year tens are begging me to set up a book club.

I've never believed I was good at something before! I don't know how to react!

If you're bored of the teaching stuff, btw, lemme know and I can probably set up a filter.

And one final thought - Sheldon and Sherlock. Think about it. >:D