Short story addition...

You step inside the shack, greeted by a wealth of new sensations: the warmth hits your chilled face, the smell of food cooking that sends your tastebuds raging with desire: the crackle of an open fire catches you attention. You stand in the doorway almost paralysed. You look to your left and you see a small kitchen, an old-time fire stove in one corner, a bubbling pot on top. In the center of the kitchen is a small bench top, a knife lies idly amongst an assortment of recently cut fresh vegetables. The smell of food grows stronger in that direction, so you dare not go closer. You glance to the left, the direction of the warmth: here is where the lounge is, against the far wall you see the fire place, flickering gently. Near to the fire place is an empty child's cot, a striped dark tie hanging off it. Alongside it was a table littered with an assortment of stuff - a big enamal mug, a tin of Johnson's Baby Powder, a sugar bowl, several toys, a pair of glasses and a wooden fruit bowl. Two small wooden chairs sit near the table.
Everything here is perfect, so perfect that you dont even begin to question why you are here: the only thing stuck in your mind is the illogical absence of a soul, why no one is around.
Still standing in the doorway, you decide to step inside and close the door behind you. Directly in front of you is a small hallway: against your better judgement, you decide to investigate further. Shaking your boots free of snow, you step onto the wooden floorboards and into the hall. Here there are two small rooms, again, one to the left, and one to the right.

... To be continued.

Short story segment... 8/4/10

You open your eyes, however you immediately shut them again as you are blinded by the whiteness around you. Slowly, as your eyes grow uccustomed to the light, you begin to realise where you are: you see snow all around you, black silhouettes dancing against the white backdrop: they are trees. You are in a forest, it is winter, but not cold. You inhale, the air is fresh,but you can smell something faint in the air... it's a smell you remember, the smokey smell of food roasting on a fire. You start to tredge through the snow. /crunch/ /crunch/ Your senses are working overtime, picking up on every sound and smell that's carried through the air.
Sudden, you step out of a clearing, onto harder ground, where the the snow makes a dimmer crunch: it is a path, it has been disturbed recently, you know this of course because you see many footprints imprinted in the snow: large, broad ones, medium sized skinny ones and a pair of tiny ones alongside the biggest. You follow this path, the smell in the air to good to resist. Soon you happen across a wood pile placed just off the path, there is an axe embedded in a cut log.

To be continued...

Poem I wrote... quick-unedited

Man, like a tree
lifts up his urgent arms
to heaven
and, like a tree
his roots reach out to find and to explore
the deepest regions of the mind.
If, like a tree, a man
should shelter in his day
the other living things of earth:
if underneath his shade
the twigs of knowledge
and the leaves of joy
should come to birth:
then haply, like a tree,
a man may fall
and sleep within his roots
and, like a tree,
be known by his fruits.

Update: I will now be posting irregularly from my DSi XL.

I will be posting writing segments to this blog via my DSi XL. The purpose is to make it a 'on-the-go' note taking system. Seeing as how this is meant to be a private thing, if anyone stumbles across this blog... comment to let me know. Cheers.