Free writing to the core

I am looking out the window, feeling a bit disappointed for I left all my writing kit at home and I had to borrow from the cafe. I like the pen, how it slides on the paper, I like the paper because it's blank but I don't like how thin the pen is. It makes me try or actually not try but grip it harder then I should like it. And my wrist is already hurting.

But yes. I am sitting here and looking out. At a wet day. Or some say so. But I don't say
so and that is so because with my West Scotland standards what standards? Weather standards this weather is just another day

I am concerned I would run out of paper before 10 minutes finished. That would be shame and it would be

I can never find linking words god I don't even know what the name of linking words is I just call tham that
This is what we call them in P3 or P2 or somewhere around that. Goodness! I meant to say P2/P3 in Glasgow And that is what the 'Goodness!' is for. As a matter of fact. You should try slowing down. No competition it is now. 4 minutes left and scarcely more than half a page. Glasgow was it and my thought came back to me!

Hurray!. So far I mentioned good old Scotland twice in this last 7 minutes. How weired it that. This is a bit like a letter of Nostalgia. It is funny though 'cause I, who is not a born Scotsman desperately try to hang on to my 'Scottishnes', like the stuff about the weather. Jen just called today a wet day. And I argued with her that this is not a wet day, well not quite argued but I already explained this I think. It is just a day. Tipical 2000 miles west from here. Maybe wet here but my heart is a bit confused here.

Time is up and my hand is about to fall o
f fdffgf
written 10m 11s
typed 10m 21s

Bar and Cafe

The door was open. The store was open. In fact, somehow everything in the town was open but the streets were empty and there wasn't anyone to enter, not a soul to share the gloomy sunlight on the terrace. Nobody came. Many shop assistants, bar and café staff stayed home too but it didn't matter anyway.

Half a dozen pigeons were fooling about at the fountain on the middle of the square. It was theirs now. Normally, they, the birds wouldn't have chance to get close to it, too many people around, children playing with the water. Today it was theirs; Only Birds Day. Birds and other wildlife were moving outside only.

A bravehearted pigeon wondered into the bar, flying carefully, checking around then eventually setting on the bar right in front of me. 'What can I get you sir?' I asked him although I could not have told its gender. It did not answer but started walking up and down with its head swinging back and forth at every step. He, I firmly decided it was a he even though my observations did not clarify it, so he was checking, measuring the place inspecting everything, turning his head to all directions. He was probably interested in the things he could get there.

I gave George some water, I decided his name was George, just a hunch. George didn't appreciate the water; he gave me a stern look. I guessed maybe beer would go down better. Soon dozens of birds were having an afternoon at my bar. By the evening the place was crowded with animals of all sorts from around the city. The event turned out to be one of the greatest parties my bar has ever held…

This happened some five years back and since then every year for one day they come, take over my bar when the country comes to a halt to watch the president's birthday banquet on telly.

Written 11m 35s

Typed 15m 20s (try to do anything when a 4 years old is around)

Edited 04m 23s

Wings

They were standing dangerously close to the edge of the cliff, they behavior seemed to make no sense at all. A strong wind, a sudden change and they all would have fallen, taken to flying like autumn leaves do when letting go of the branch after deciding the high breeze is safe to fall into.

But the wind hasn't changed and the figures remained, waiting. Waiting and anticipating the arrival of the wind because they were not going to fall. One would think that surly, the wind will rip them off the cliff and drop them into the abyss below to crash on sharp rocks and weekend campers' left behind tins. They knew it would not.

They were not going to fall because they had wings. Magnificent, bright, sparkling sails that they now freed from underneath their cloaks, unfolding them into the bright morning sun never to hide them again. All five were standing angle like, resting their eyes on the world below. And suddenly the wind they were waiting on came and off they went. They began their lifelong journey in the skies never to touch the ground with their feet, never to hide their wings beneath dusty cloaks, never to return to the place where they were born.

Written 10m 08s

Typed 08m 42s

Edited 05m 03s

Strwberry dream

Stefan opened his eyes and the room slowly came to focus around him. He was sitting in the armchair in the corner. There was a bed, a small table with a chair, large amounts of paper and notes on the table. There was a great wardrobe and a shabby rag on the floor. It seemed this was a bedroom as he led his attention slowly around the features. Then he realized, this was his own bedroom. A book was lying on the floor, he dropped it when he fell asleep reading. It was hard to remember now what was it about, that was before the dream and everything before the dream was blurry, everything seemed insignificant.

It felt as if this dream was more than just a dream, in fact, more than a vision or a 'seeing' dream. He became someone else while his consciousness left the world and he was aware that a part of him remained there. Wherever there was. Should he close his eyes, would he be there again? Standing in the queue, chattering to her friends, ordering a strawberry ice-cream? 'What on earth a strawberry is?' he wondered to himself. He could not have imagined the taste before.

He wanted to go back, see what would happen next, so he leaned back comfortably and closed his eyes... Nothing happened. Nothing at all except that he realized his hunger, in his own body, in his own room in his own reality. He stood up and walked downstairs to the kitchen looking for something that at least would remind him to the wonderful taste of strawberry ice-cream.

written 10m 22s

typed 10m 27s

edited 03m 37s