The little boy

There was once a boy. A boy who did many things with his mom. She brought him to the library often, spending the afternoon reading pictures books together. She accompanied him for keyboard lessons, counting down from grade 9… to 8… to 7… They took walks together, in towns, in parks, everywhere.

But there were two things that the boy enjoyed doing at home with his mom. Baking and Cross-stitch. Boys don’t usually bake, nor do they do cross-stitchs. But his mom did, and so the boy followed.

His mom had a full range of baking tools. A gigantic porceline bowl to mix the egg and flour in. The boy used to help his mom beat the mix by hand, then they got the electric mixer, and making the mix wasn’t that hard anymore. Kneading the dough, laying it out on the baking pan, then cutting it into different shape using the cookie cutters. There were the stars, the crescent shapes, and even a cute car one. There wasn’t anything quite like pulling the baking tray out of the oven when all things were done.

Then there was cross-stitch. The boy didn’t do much, mostly just threading the needles for his mom. At times, his mom even allowed him to push the needle through certain holes. At 6, he started on a cross-stitch of his own. It was one of a landscape of the country side, and it was large. Somewhere in between an A1 and A2 paper size. But the holes and thread were even larger, so it wasn’t really that tough. It was only 80% completed though.

For it happened, and the boy never quite did either again.

Messages

You sit at home, online… doing nothing special, just what you do each day, surfing blogs and chatting with your friends. Taking a break from all the studying that you’re supposed to do.

It’s 12 already. Not early anymore. Then you suddenly see him sign-in at your lower left corner. Your heart skips a little, and you excitedly double click on that msn icon at the lower left. You see his online status at the top of your msn contact list and you give a little smile to yourself.

You turn back to your browser, click on a few blog links. Not quite reading, but waiting to see if he’ll msg you. You wait a little, then re-open your msn window. His status is still online. Not away. Not busy. Not anything but online, which he seldoms is. “He’ll msg me soon”, you think. And turn back to your browser.

You repeat the above in another 5 min, then in another 4 min, then again and again. Soon you’re just flipping back and forth between your browser and msn, and pretty much stoning at your computer sulking.

Happy ending? Nope. You grow tired and fustrated. And decided to go offline, since he’ll probably NEVER msg you anyway. You grab that textbook sitting on your desk, pop onto your bed, hoping that you’ll just grow sleepy and fall asleep, rather then have silly thoughts keeping you awake on your bed.

*beep beep!* Your hp which is sitting right across the room signals an incoming sms.

“is it him!!”

“did he notice me go offline??”

“but what if it’s not him!”

You don’t dare get out of your bed to check, for fear of disappointing yourself.

“it has to be him! who else would msg me in the middle of the night”

Your heart starts to pound, but you haven’t moved a single inch from your bed. And all the while your lie on your bed wondering if you’ll regret if you’d just simply walk over and take a look.

“what harm can it do”

You get out of bed, going over to your HP. It gives an empty grey screen. In screen saver mode. You hesitate pressing any buttons to wake the HP up. You know that once you do, and if it was him, his smiling picture would be there smiling back at you after you stored his photo into his profile. But if it wasn’t him, it’ll just be a simple “you’ve recieved a msg from … “

Your hand shakes. You pressed a button. A row of yellow words stare back at you. No photo.

You don’t even bother to read the msg, simply putting the phone down, turned around, and switched your room lights off.

You plop yourself back to bed. Willing yourself to think of nice water scenery instead of having thoughts of him float around in your mind. You just want the darkness of sleep to come quicker. You should have known better, you tell yourself. You should have known better.

what is this?

what is this? is there a point to this? hmm??? how’s this any much different from the original wordpress…?