Today there is only a WEEK TO GO of the challenge. Thinking about this made me realise that my numbers weren’t matching up to my end date- it turned out that I had accidentally made a mistake around day 128… meaning every number after that was wrong. My “Day Numbers” were having an identity crisis… hence today’s story:
I used to be a two, but I got changed to a three. The other numbers laugh at me, they tell me I’m messy. They tell me I’m a mistake.
I remember when it happened, I’d only just been drawn into existence. I liked being a two. Two was a couple, it was even, I liked being a two. But then, without warning I was crudely changed to a three. It was an odd number, and it felt wrong. Two was solid, three was awkward.
For a while I thought I was a two trapped in the body of a three. But one day I met an 8 who used to be a zero, her round curves entranced me, they were more beautiful than any other number I’d ever seen.
Something switched that day and I realised I am lucky number. I get to have fun, sometimes I tell others I am a fancy five and other times I just let them guess. Now I know I am not a two or a three, I am whatever I want to be.
ALSO REMINDER: On the 30th of November I will be holding a picnic for you all- please come tell tales and eat food. I would love to meet you! Read more about the event by clicking here.
Cinnamon suggested “unwanted phone calls.”
I remember getting her call. It annoyed me, she knew I was busy. I let it ring out. She left a message, but I didn’t listen to it.
When the second call came it was a day later and it wasn’t her voice on the other end. It was her mothers. She was gone.
I listen to the message she left that day all the time now. It’s just a simple message, she doesn’t say anything special. But it helps me remember her voice.
Today I parked my car next to a paper bark tree at work.
and then obviously this happened…
I like the way Bananas show all the bumps and marks from its life on its skin. So I wrote a story today at lunch after finishing my lady finger.
I saw this clock made out of a Mona Lisa, it gave me an idea.
I’d never seen art like hers. As I walked around the gallery I could feel all the eyes from the paintings following me around. They were small, playful things and I ended up tripping over a pair of over excited dog eyes. I scooped them up and put them on my shoulder, I didn’t mind having an extra pair of eyes here.
Most people thought the gallery was haunted. I walked deeper into the gallery, to the room no one would dare enter. They say her later paintings toward the end of her life were very dark.
At first I couldn’t see anything at all, it was pitch dark. But then, I realised that the darkness was fur. The entire room was filled with a fury black monster.
It roared at me and the dog eyes on my shoulder bounced around in fear. I reached up and patted the eyes on my shoulder to calm them, which gave me an idea. I extended my hand into the black and started to pat the dark fur in front of me. The monster began to pant and rolled over happily.
I don’t think the gallery is haunted, I think her paintings have always been real. She just knew how to handle them.
Xanthe wanted to give me a prompt today but didn’t get a chance to- I remember she said she’d like to give me a song to inspire me. I’ve seen Xanthe sing before and her voice almost seems like it isn’t coming from her. She is the closest person I know to an actual fairy. When she sings, even though she is young, she sounds more like an ancient wise being. So that idea is going to inspire me today. (Disclaimer – Xanthe is very articulate and intelligent whether speaking or singing).
People think the clouds are stupid. They mix up their words a lot, but people don’t realise that speaking is their second language. They’ve been singing since the big bang, but they only learnt to speak a few thousand years ago. The people don’t hear their singing over the sound of the rain, but it is there if you listen close. They sing their wisest tales and ideas during the heavy rains.
I was talking to Simon about finishing and he said his favourite stories of mine are the object stories. So I am bringing them back. This one is written on a bar of soap.