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Sunday, 5 September 2010

Ready Or Not

“Buy it, use it, break it, fix it. Trash it, change it, now upgrade it”
Technologic - Daft Punk

If you think I’m immature and still wanna lash out at the tears that are already flowing, you’re in the wrong place.

If ever in your life you are to receive advice from a dude named Mervin, don’t hesitate. He’s always right.

I may be a blurcase, but I’m not the type that can ignore things for too long. I can feel bad vibrations a mile away.

For obvious reasons, I shall rephrase the initial contents of my blog post.

Not too long ago, while the air was clean and sex was dirty, a herd of 20 regrouped north of the beautiful autumn meadow to retire for the night.

It was approaching winter, and the chills had started coming in. The winds were high and it threatened to snow once very often. The herd had to brace for the worst.

As it is, the rank of many horses are told by their colour, and in all innocence of judgement, the white stallion was the leader of the pack. He was a fighter capable of taking home the spoils of war.

Respected for her purity and striking colour, the next most influential beast was the unicorn. She was beautiful and was the star of the herd, clearly due to her horn. Most thought it was a blessing, few thought of it as a penis gone wrong.

Either way, some heeded the call of the leaders, while some stayed in the herd for the sake of survival. Every day as the herd grazes the meadow, there he stood. A sarsaparilla-brown steed grazing alone.

He wasn’t unfortunate or whatever, but it was just that he didn’t fit in. He had beautiful hoofs, but no one quite gave a damn. He himself was a little too proud of it, but it was that tiny margin that set him apart. The rest of the herd was either moving in accord with the unicorn, grazing with the white stallion or just among each other.

Then there were lovers, couples that wouldn’t let anything get in their way. Nothing could separate their tender young love except for the white stallion. His word is law, and if you are to defy him (or the unicorn), you’re toast.

And then there’s a cross-breed in the herd. Somewhere between a bull and a horse. He had a dark brownish tone of colour, and was pretty much a loner. Not only was he quite rejected by the herd, but he was also a lone ranger himself.

Most of the time, he would pass by unnoticed until he opens his mouth, then the whole herd wants to shut him up.

As for the brown steed who grazed alone too, everyone would pretty much notice him and avoid him. He seemed to be fine with being the odd one out. The herd usually cracked jokes and talked far too much behind his back. It’s a wonder how he can keep it all inside.

The cross-breed had more of a temper, and had rather more trouble keeping the mess inside. Snide looks follow him, and he can’t help but notice. He’s observant, and he can smell real disrespect and backstabbing from a mile away.

But he had a weak heart that was easily injured, and that was when he started to graze alone; not to observe anymore, but to hide the tears he cried. Every bit just wouldn’t come out, even when he was alone.

Winter came, and all the herd could do was wait for summer. Those who were accepted huddled around the white stallion and the unicorn, the couples kept each other warm while the two loners, at opposite ends of the herd, could do nothing but endure the cold all alone. Sometimes one or two who were independent enough to fare on their own would come and help, but they still stood strong. Strong enough to survive and then collapse on to the bed of daisies that awaited them in the spring.

Summer would come shortly after, and the herd would disperse, some never to see each other again.

But the question is, how many more lonely winters is this bull going to endure before he doesn’t live to see another spring?




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