He spies a sword on the table and wields it, sneaking away silently from the unknowing Dark Queen, one of the two who imprisoned him in this lonely castle. Sticking to the shadows like glue, he is a ninja, born and raised. His entire life depends on his sly escape.
The ninja slides into the Dark Queen’s sitting room and surveys his surrounding. Plush cushions litter the room, a welcoming sight for any tired ninja. An untrained one would have succumbed to the soft temptation, but not he, he is far too wise for such a trick.
Ah-ha, a trap! Out of the corner of his eyes, two spears are hidden between loving wool for him to fall into. But he knew better than to fall into that!
He takes a few steps back and then runs lightning speed towards the spear. Then, with mighty fervour, he jumps into the air with grace and power! It is close, so close, for the tips of the spears had almost scratched him, but he had accomplished the feat of a five-meter jump! Of course he had, he is an Olympic athlete by day, after all.
I know that there’s something out there for me, but I don’t believe that. At least, not in a religious faith.
I know that this will end in me scrunching up paper and throwing it against the sturdy wood in a fit of rage. The stencilled words deceive and torment me, as the white shavings of wood are abused and frowned upon by myself. The letters form illegible slanders, words only to humiliate and deprecate. The A takes on a clown’s frown, with the O as its big, black honking noe. The rest of the lines and curves serve as the clown’s home and toys, the B serves as the circus tent, the P as its juggling recital, and the S as the crowd.
The onlooking children peer at me from the small and wobbly hilltop of white balls, and they leer with overflowing curiosity. They ask their mothers if I will be an act in the show, but the women reply no, it is merely a statue of failure. They would ask what failure was if the two-legged lion hadn’t roared, missing its rear from the half-written q.