Anzie Finishes Things?

[anzie]

[presto] It is seven hours and thirty-four minutes since she was woken up by the shouting from her new neighbour’s house. It lasted a couple of minutes. The voice was so full of fury that she wanted to call the police. Her husband stopped her, suggested tiredly when the voice finally shut up that they visit the next day to see if anything was wrong. She fell back to sleep with unease in her heart. Mary wrings her hands around the handle of her basket nervously, staring at the newly painted house with all the uncertainty in the world. “Come on,” her husband says, and they walk down the path together. He raises his hand to knock. The door opens on the first touch and she nearly flinches. Her husband gives her a soothing pat and cautiously enters. “Sir? Madam?” he calls - he knows there’s a man from the day he moved in, and maybe a woman who came with him, but that was just too brief a glimpse for him to be certain - but there’s no reply. Mary peers around her husband at the newly furnished house. Stray boxes were strewn around, the only evidence she can see that the neighbours have only recently moved in. “I’m afraid you left your front door open…” As he trails off they become aware of a young, weak voice that’s barely audible. With a glance at Mary, her husband cautiously follows the sound to the basement. He freezes, turns and tries to hurry Mary away, out of the basement. “We have to go, come on, we’re leaving,” he tells her in a hushed tone, moving to try and block her view. But she’s taller than him on the steps, and the words are torn from her, “Oh God! Oh God!” The naked boy is half curled over their neighbour, fingers running over the man’s roughened, wizened face, and his voice is the one they heard, singing nursery rhymes. As she stands there he finishes Mary Had a Little Lamb and starts Ring Around The Rosie, his voice hoarse from use. His matted blond hair can be beautiful, long, framing his girlish innocent face, and his eyes are fixed on the man, full of complete and utter adoration. Ring around the rosie, a pocketful of posies, a-tishoo! A-tishoo! we all fall down. And he sits in a pool of his own blood, the shallow gashes on his back having left smears of maroon and one leg is twisted awkwardly under him. He remains oblivious to his injuries. Oblivious to their presence. Oblivious to the gaping hole the neighbour’s head, revealing things that should not be seen outside of the an operating theatre. Ring-o-ring-o Rosie, a pocketful of posies, Ashes! Ashes! we all fall down. “Oh God,” she says again, and passes out. [/presto]

[presto] Kitty Keeni District6 LeoLegrand Twelve Dancin' around big eyes as well We live in cities you'll never see on screen Not very pretty, but we sure know how to run things Living in ruins of the palace within my dreams And you know, we're on each other's team [/presto]

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[anzie]

[presto] Kitty Keeni District6 LeoLegrand Twelve Dancin' around big eyes as well We live in cities you'll never see on screen Not very pretty, but we sure know how to run things Living in ruins of the palace within my dreams And you know, we're on each other's team [/presto]

[presto] It is seven hours and thirty-four minutes since she was woken up by the shouting from her new neighbour’s house. It lasted a couple of minutes. The voice was so full of fury that she wanted to call the police. Her husband stopped her, suggested tiredly when the voice finally shut up that they visit the next day to see if anything was wrong. She fell back to sleep with unease in her heart. Mary wrings her hands around the handle of her basket nervously, staring at the newly painted house with all the uncertainty in the world. “Come on,” her husband says, and they walk down the path together. He raises his hand to knock. The door opens on the first touch and she nearly flinches. Her husband gives her a soothing pat and cautiously enters. “Sir? Madam?” he calls - he knows there’s a man from the day he moved in, and maybe a woman who came with him, but that was just too brief a glimpse for him to be certain - but there’s no reply. Mary peers around her husband at the newly furnished house. Stray boxes were strewn around, the only evidence she can see that the neighbours have only recently moved in. “I’m afraid you left your front door open…” As he trails off they become aware of a young, weak voice that’s barely audible. With a glance at Mary, her husband cautiously follows the sound to the basement. He freezes, turns and tries to hurry Mary away, out of the basement. “We have to go, come on, we’re leaving,” he tells her in a hushed tone, moving to try and block her view. But she’s taller than him on the steps, and the words are torn from her, “Oh God! Oh God!” The naked boy is half curled over their neighbour, fingers running over the man’s roughened, wizened face, and his voice is the one they heard, singing nursery rhymes. As she stands there he finishes Mary Had a Little Lamb and starts Ring Around The Rosie, his voice hoarse from use. His matted blond hair can be beautiful, long, framing his girlish innocent face, and his eyes are fixed on the man, full of complete and utter adoration. Ring around the rosie, a pocketful of posies, a-tishoo! A-tishoo! we all fall down. And he sits in a pool of his own blood, the shallow gashes on his back having left smears of maroon and one leg is twisted awkwardly under him. He remains oblivious to his injuries. Oblivious to their presence. Oblivious to the gaping hole the neighbour’s head, revealing things that should not be seen outside of the an operating theatre. Ring-o-ring-o Rosie, a pocketful of posies, Ashes! Ashes! we all fall down. “Oh God,” she says again, and passes out. [/presto]