Tuesday, October 10
It was just another dark, gloomy, depressing day. Although, I really don’t remember there being a day that wasn’t dark, gloomy, or depressing. Today was round-up day. I had the responsibility of kicking all the gray, pedestrian lumps into piles that would eventually be toppled with the storm headed toward us. This occurred once a week. Every bland, boring Tuesday, I would corral the rocks into small groups, for all of my work to be undone in the next twenty minutes. I stood and looked at our property. There sat our dull colored cottage with my family sitting inside while the storm blows over, and our windmill type thing that Ma, Pa, Gertrude and Helga never explained to me, and then there’s the huge, metal, chrome silo. I say chrome, but it is rusted to bits. I’m not quite sure why it stands in its place to this very day. A booming crack of thunder rushed in to my ears to interrupt my thoughts. I jumped in surprise, and my hair stood up, resembling a somewhat fluffed sheep’s coat. But then I remembered that this was a noise I was quite familiar with, even though the noise had startled me, I felt calm and reminded myself that there was nothing to fear. I met the clouds every day, and would have monotonous conversations about my life, that contains nothing. The thunder greets me with a smile, and my flat, stiff mane replies with anger. I am locked up in a realm of darkness, and the lightning is so bright, and moves from place to place as it pleases. I envy it. I am jealous of the thunder as well. It’s so loud, and everyone can hear it, while my opinion is muffled with an imaginary brick wall. Someday, I would conquer the storm and the things that come with… right?