Cia's Blog

Deliberately, I stopped by the jewellers’:  I could then catch a glimpse of the dazzling treasures only a millionare would be able to afford.

As I stared into the glass display cabinet, numerous trinkets shimmered; these luxurious items lived miles away from the murky, city streets – even though these jewels were barely a few feet away from the kerb.

I took a few steps back, so I could get a better view of the shop (it was called JAS. HARDY & CO). The ancient, vintage building was built out of fine rosewood.

A petite, posh woman walked out, wearing a diamond necklace – each of the diamonds had a genuine pearl set into it. I envied her.

Next, a very tall man walked out, wearing a designer suit. He had an even taller woman accompanying him.

She was wearing a ring, which was made of a mixture of sapphires and sterling silver. I bet he had just proposed to her: they both were beaming in an unusual way (especially the woman).

“At last, Moby! We’ve found it!” exclaimed Tim.

The blue willow’s soft, fair hands reached out to congratulate them for finding her. This rare beauty swayed about, her indigo blossoms tumbling like the tide onto the ground. Dozens of lush plants surronded the blue willow, guarding it from any predators: humans often used the tree’s bark as incense (it is often prized very highly).

Moby called out robotically: “We – are – not- here-to-hurt-you. We-want-to-save-you.”

“Yeah,” added Tim.

The plants parted for the explorers, just like the sea had once miraculously done so for Moses.

Both of the explorers were completely entranced…

This’ll go down as a tasty miaow-sal…and come to think of it, it’s all purr me!

As I rolled out of the thin covers, the harsh bark of the prison guards greeted me with a cheery good morning(not.)

Eurgh! My room reeked of something along the lines of stale eggs and fresh goat’s cheese : my cell hadn’t been cleaned since it was built. Neither had any of the others.

While I was rinsing my face in the minute sink, an unidentified, murky, beige gunk began to dribble from the tap. I felt it – it was like cornflour mixed with water. How delightful. Every part of my miniscule cell was like a symbol of misery ; the drab gray walls, the dead rats in the corner (maybe that was why it stank so much?) and mostly, the cruel, iron bars, which held me in for most of the day. Maybe I should’ve counted myself lucky : I could go outside for an hour every afternoon, and I got food… (Well, I’d only count prison food as a good thing if I actually enjoyed eating slop that is green and boiling ,or freezing if you’re lucky.)

“Now, what do I need to finish this house?” I wondered.

A few scaffolding poles fell (with a crash) to the filthy, grimey mud; a few men in helmets attempted to pick the stubborn poles up again. Like the ringmaster of a circus, I ordered: ”Where’s me brush? Oi, James! Fetch me paint, lad! ‘urry up! ”

James scuttled hastily towards the paint crate, turned around -and chose  three cans of mauve paint.

“Thanks, mate.”

I took the paint cans, opened the lids, and pinched my nose in disgust : the paint reeked of a mixture of rotten onions and fresh goat’s cheese.