Getting up for Winston was the hardest task to ever perform. An earthquake could come and shake up his whole house and he still wouldn't stir and inch.
So, on that Sunday, when The Giant (i kid you not, that's her name...well, it's Farielgh the Giant...but everyone just calls her 'The Giant' and please for goodness sake don't ask me why) barged into Winston's house with a big fat ass hammer in her hand and stomped up his room, and banged open his door and stood looming above his tiny dishevelled figure (he still was snoring like a donkey and was dreaming about pink unicorns) when she ...wait for it:
.....
smashed his head.
That's right! She quite literally smashed his head with her hammer and barked out a menacing laugh and walked (well more like stomped away.)
What did I do, you say? Well, good heavens, I couldn't do anything, (except crow with laughter) I was just an ugly good for nothing greasy crow, (as Winston so kindly put it) perching on his window sill and thinking about what happened. Should I go fetch the Witch so she could heal the smashed Winston or just let him be? I pondered on that for a second and choose the latter.
Serves him right anyways. He wasn't even a good master.
So I spread my greasy (yes, they were in fact greasy but not ugly) and flew away to freedom.
YOU ARE READING
Out of Sight, Out of Mind.
Поэзияconsists of random pieces of poetry, unfinished one-shots, ideas, and my thoughts that don't make sense (beware; use of lower case letters) Short Story #172 Cover by: @inserene_ [ © billie rose two-thousand-&-thirteen ]
