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Description
{24.12.08}

     A boy stood quietly in the mist of the park; his small face matched the tiny body holding it up. Gentile lines made two smooth cheekbones that led to a button nose; identical to a small child's wee nose. Pink lips; small and round, the only living colour among the plain shades. His eyes swirled chocolate mousse, long bashful eyelashes curled above the eatable irises. Two ears like a sculptured art piece, detailed in every curved ridge and bump. His blond hair faded, stretched out and hugged his neck and shorter pieces of hair tickled the tops of his cheekbones.

     His tiny torso lay behind a well-fit jumper, sewed think to keep him warm; crumpled and worn holes at his elbows. Shorts covered his bare legs followed by wellingtons covered in mud tapping the ground. His arms crossed hugging himself, rocking slowly back and forth.

     The cold air drifted and clung onto the trees, imitating the ice skaters that flew across the thin ice weightless, in winter, which was soon to come. The tree branches swayed rhythmically back and forth, leaves fell slowly to the ground. The pond empty no water lilies or any sign of life, since summer ended and autumn took its turn. The cold air burnt and the boy breathed it in only to be relived to breath the freezing stings back out.

     The boy stood there for quite some time looking into the vast distance. He knew how long he had been standing there, but hadn't noticed how alien he looked. Of course he was going to get interrupted he lived in a small village where you recognized faces but not there name, and would see that face around five times a day. The boy liked living here because no one was a stranger you knew him or her one way or another.

     His eyes darted from one object to another waiting for something amazing to happen. Maybe a little creature will appear, or a wizard fall from the sky; anything. Nothing ever happened. He still did this because it took his mind off reality; it let him spread his imagination. "Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited. Imagination encircles the world."  He repeated the quote over and over again; in science class had learned it because there was a poster on Albert Einstein that said the quote.

     "Blair?" a fragile but shrill voice called out, the boy, Blair turned to see a wrinkly old woman who you could mistake as a prune. The old woman's mind was at work clicking away thinking about what she could say next.

     Blair stood there, not really wanting to talk to her not very interested either. The woman was Mrs. W. Kenervy the head of town council; she was a feisty woman and quite bossy, always questioning what people where doing because she always had to know.

     "Yes," whenever Blair said something it always came out in a meek mumble, or just really irritated. This time it was a mixture.

     "Speak up child!" Mrs. W. Kenervy hollered over the pound to where Blair was standing. Blair paused heart beating fast, what should I do now? He muttered and stuttered as still as a scared rabbit.

     Mrs. W. Kenervy backed up ready to leave, she got the expression that she had interrupted Blair and made him quite frazzled. Anyways she forced herself to think she didn't need to know what Blair was doing so there was nothing left for her to do here in the bitter cold.

     "Carry on Blair," her lips curled up wards as she turned and walked towards town hall. Before she was well on her way she glanced back at Blair slowly walking back home, she muttered, "Such a meek thing, god bless him,"

     Blair strolled back the way he had come; still he couldn't help looking around curious of everything like this village was new to him. The houses were so peaceful everything was so noiseless. In the distance he heard the sound of hammering, Mike he must be fixing the roof at last.

     Blair picked up his pace feet thumping the cobblestones, arms at his side swinging back a forth like the tree branches at the park. Blair wasn't the fastest runner but being so small and only five feet made it easy to run faster because he didn't have to carry as much weight as the other children his age.

     "Hello Mike, are you fixing the roof?" Blair sung. A man stood on top of one of those scaffoldings, his face wasn't as worn as Mrs. W. Kenervy, of course it wasn't he was only nineteen. A hat covered the tips of his ears only that were bright red; he was wearing a coat white and thick.

      "Oh yeah, yeah, yes I am Little Blay I finally got time to do it," Mike first met Blair when he was little; he thought up his nick name 'Little Blay' because Blair had always been; little.

     "So Little Blay, how are yer doin' these days, haven't seen you since" He paused and scratched his head, "end of summer?"

      "I am good," Blair, said his voice wobbled, he tried not to raise his voice because most of the other boys in his class voices cracked and Blair made sure if his voice did, then no one would hear.

     "Well Little Blay, I would be gettin' back home, it's getting cold," Blair waved as he ran, and Mike waved back. He ran because it was strange when you say good-bye to someone and they just slowly walked away.

     He wasn't going home though. He'd rather not.

     Stumbling over a worn frosty log, his feet touched the ground safely. The log had carried him over the soundless stream of ice drifting slowly down the river, silent like everything else in the village.

Description
{24.12.08}

     A boy stood quietly in the mist of the park; his small face matched the tiny body holding it up. Gentile lines made two smooth cheekbones that led to a button nose; identical to a small child's wee nose. Pink lips; small and round, the only living colour among the plain shades. His eyes swirled chocolate mousse, long bashful eyelashes curled above the eatable irises. Two ears like a sculptured art piece, detailed in every curved ridge and bump. His blond hair faded, stretched out and hugged his neck and shorter pieces of hair tickled the tops of his cheekbones.

     His tiny torso lay behind a well-fit jumper, sewed think to keep him warm; crumpled and worn holes at his elbows. Shorts covered his bare legs followed by wellingtons covered in mud tapping the ground. His arms crossed hugging himself, rocking slowly back and forth.

     The cold air drifted and clung onto the trees, imitating the ice skaters that flew across the thin ice weightless, in winter, which was soon to come. The tree branches swayed rhythmically back and forth, leaves fell slowly to the ground. The pond empty no water lilies or any sign of life, since summer ended and autumn took its turn. The cold air burnt and the boy breathed it in only to be relived to breath the freezing stings back out.

     The boy stood there for quite some time looking into the vast distance. He knew how long he had been standing there, but hadn't noticed how alien he looked. Of course he was going to get interrupted he lived in a small village where you recognized faces but not there name, and would see that face around five times a day. The boy liked living here because no one was a stranger you knew him or her one way or another.

     His eyes darted from one object to another waiting for something amazing to happen. Maybe a little creature will appear, or a wizard fall from the sky; anything. Nothing ever happened. He still did this because it took his mind off reality; it let him spread his imagination. "Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited. Imagination encircles the world."  He repeated the quote over and over again; in science class had learned it because there was a poster on Albert Einstein that said the quote.

     "Blair?" a fragile but shrill voice called out, the boy, Blair turned to see a wrinkly old woman who you could mistake as a prune. The old woman's mind was at work clicking away thinking about what she could say next.

     Blair stood there, not really wanting to talk to her not very interested either. The woman was Mrs. W. Kenervy the head of town council; she was a feisty woman and quite bossy, always questioning what people where doing because she always had to know.

     "Yes," whenever Blair said something it always came out in a meek mumble, or just really irritated. This time it was a mixture.

     "Speak up child!" Mrs. W. Kenervy hollered over the pound to where Blair was standing. Blair paused heart beating fast, what should I do now? He muttered and stuttered as still as a scared rabbit.

     Mrs. W. Kenervy backed up ready to leave, she got the expression that she had interrupted Blair and made him quite frazzled. Anyways she forced herself to think she didn't need to know what Blair was doing so there was nothing left for her to do here in the bitter cold.

     "Carry on Blair," her lips curled up wards as she turned and walked towards town hall. Before she was well on her way she glanced back at Blair slowly walking back home, she muttered, "Such a meek thing, god bless him,"

     Blair strolled back the way he had come; still he couldn't help looking around curious of everything like this village was new to him. The houses were so peaceful everything was so noiseless. In the distance he heard the sound of hammering, Mike he must be fixing the roof at last.

     Blair picked up his pace feet thumping the cobblestones, arms at his side swinging back a forth like the tree branches at the park. Blair wasn't the fastest runner but being so small and only five feet made it easy to run faster because he didn't have to carry as much weight as the other children his age.

     "Hello Mike, are you fixing the roof?" Blair sung. A man stood on top of one of those scaffoldings, his face wasn't as worn as Mrs. W. Kenervy, of course it wasn't he was only nineteen. A hat covered the tips of his ears only that were bright red; he was wearing a coat white and thick.

      "Oh yeah, yeah, yes I am Little Blay I finally got time to do it," Mike first met Blair when he was little; he thought up his nick name 'Little Blay' because Blair had always been; little.

     "So Little Blay, how are yer doin' these days, haven't seen you since" He paused and scratched his head, "end of summer?"

      "I am good," Blair, said his voice wobbled, he tried not to raise his voice because most of the other boys in his class voices cracked and Blair made sure if his voice did, then no one would hear.

     "Well Little Blay, I would be gettin' back home, it's getting cold," Blair waved as he ran, and Mike waved back. He ran because it was strange when you say good-bye to someone and they just slowly walked away.

     He wasn't going home though. He'd rather not.

     Stumbling over a worn frosty log, his feet touched the ground safely. The log had carried him over the soundless stream of ice drifting slowly down the river, silent like everything else in the village.