PETER'S POINT OF VIEW
Little whirlwinds of sand fluttered gently about him as he lay quietly in the pit, eyes closed and nose whistling. Only did his eyes open when he noticed a faint buzzing sound to his left. Peter turned and saw the fly with only three working legs. Carefully, he plucked the fly from the sand and then threw it up into the air, hoping it would fly. When it fell, it died.
Silly little boy, he tries. Thought Peter, observing himself. He always thought of himself as a good boy; a clever boy. He sighed.
Peter was exceptionally small for his age. In fact, he was a dwarf. Everyone said so, because he was so. His stunted legs were covered by ill-fitting trousers of a dusty yellow colour, matching his hair. His shirt was red. He had a rather normal face: brown eyes, shapely eyebrows and desirably clear skin. Ofttimes he wished he were forty years old, thinking his height would adapt with his age. Unfortunately, he was only eleven and was permanently tiny.
His mother and father were a normal size and so was his older sister Luna.
Luna was perched on a swing nearby the pit of sand, immersed in a book called "How To Make Boys Cry".
Luna is a ridiculous name for a person. He reflected. Then again, she is hardly a person.
She had a curiously non-ladylike figure: broad shoulders and no dent in her waist. Her arms were laced with black hair that clashed with the yellow on her head. She could sit on her hair. Lucky for her, it was voluminous and covered her pointy ears. Her pink full lips were her one redeeming quality.
"What are you looking at, dwarf?" She called to him.
Peter was not taken aback in the slightest. "I'm not sure. Perhaps it is an elf, or maybe a bear." He watched her furrow her brow. "You've a ladybird on your knee."
Luna looked down at her knee, and to her horror, there was the ladybird. She bent awkardly and parted her lips to blow it off. Afterward she looked unsure of whether she should continue reading or frowning.
It was a not so much of a warm day to be sitting out in the garden. The flowers that cradled the earthy ground were as vivid as ever, making the grey sky seem insignificant. More often that not, the wind was washing over the garden. Peter liked that. The wind somehow made him feel as though he were floating...
"I wish to kiss a king."
"What?" This time, Peter was confused.
"A king will make me beautiful. I need a kiss, and I need his hand, and I need--"
"What?"
"Allow me to retort, dwarf. Always so impatient, tiny child." She growled at him, bearing her silver teeth. "I am sick of my bear-like figure. You are sick of your twisted legs. Come with me and meet the king. It is said that when he kisses and ugly person, his beauty within him transfers to the kisser's face."
Peter was unconvinced. "Ah, yes, kissing kings. And what happens to the ugly that came from the kisser?"
"The king recieves the ugly as payment." Luna replied happily, swinging her legs. She began to hum.
Peter huffed. "Sounds like a pretty unfair deal to me." He imagined this king must be the ugliest man in the world. How unfortunate one should inherit pointy ears and hairy skin and all other forms of hideousness just so somebody else can look different. How odd. How rare.
WRITER'S JUNK
hello wow i don't know how to write. i'm lazy. i don't finish often. i don't finish properly. i won't finish properly. here is this.
