Saturday! I get to sleep late, eat pizza and watch good tv programmes! :)

I've been doing a year of my GCSE French course now, and I'm beginning to gain enough vocab to actually form conversations. It was a shock, though, when I woke up during the middle of a dream I'd had - in French! Ever person in that dream (myself, my mum, passers by) was talking French, including myself! I even understood a fair amount of what was being said :)

It's quite creepy, though,  don't you think? If I was asked to have several conversations in French whilst awake, I don't think I'd be able to! :)

I assume this means a motto type phrase, so here are two I like: 

"Failing to prepare is preparing to fail," and 

"All good things must come to an end, but so must all bad things."

 =)

My nickname is Puff the Magic Dragon (puff for short). I got it when my textiles teacher realised that every time I sat down at a sewing machine, I sighed loudly, as I'm really bad on the machines and usually get some odd piece of thread stuck inside the thing along the way, breaking the machine and causing a fuss! The 'magic dragon' part came about when said teacher remember the song of the same name, and, to this day, sings it whenever I see her :)

It's a short (okay VERY short) story set just after Rose has gone ='(

Lonely.
That's the only word to describe this vast mass of land.
Lonely.

An empty crisp packet drags itself across the cold, hard cement. The trees on the surrounding grass, once lush and green, wave their vulgar, bare branches in the chilling breeze.

A lone figure stands in the centre of this eerie courtyard, hands in pockets.
He calmly surveys the desolate scene.

As a bird screeches out its menacing cry, the figure sits down on the hard cement ground, removing his hands from his pockets.

He reaches into a bag nearby; his only companion in the suffocating darkness.
He pulls out a small, square photograph in a silver frame.
He gazes down at the happy man and joyful young woman in the photo.

He wonders why it all had to change.

He reaches into the bag again, and pulls out a small, vivid blue shirt.

His eyes rest on the shirt for a few moments, then he hugs the material close as burning tears form cascading waterfalls down his cheeks.

The weather mimicks the man's feelings; heavy drops of rain fall thick and fast from the murky night sky.

The man looks up at the sky, the drops of rain washing together with his tears of pain, fury and love.
As thunder crashes loudly, and a sharp bolt of lightning flashes, the man whispers one word...

"Rose..."