I miss wearing my school uniform. Intact! How I wish to try again wearing a well ironed white polo shirt and a black coated pants along with polished leather shoes. Ayks! Or say raising my right hand on class discussions, reporting and collaborating in the class, ransacking my bag pack to do the assignments, books out for reading and or having a debate with classmates and friends. I do really miss those stuffs and school routines. Indeed I want to take another course! I'm hoping!
What can you say about my introduction? Somewhat related to this month's Blanchean Novel story that's why.
Sighing! Wondering? It really made me feel sad to say this, it's my last post about Alf Shrub's story. I think the novel is not that interesting and I need revisions. But soon and don't you worry, will continue posting the next chapters. So enjoy the story and do drop a comment or suggestion for future improvements of the novel. Read on!
Chapter 1. Part 3. Dust and Uniform
Alf Shrub was groomed with his old school uniform, a white polo shirt with a gray thin linings on its sleeves and on the pocket, it was actually a two and a half year old shirt trended with black long pants. Mounting toward the sofa chair to wear his socks and again old leathered shoes, Lereille Shrub asked his son about the school's weird news lately last week while leaving the kitchen with the subject of attention.
“Have you and your classmates been greatly recovered from your Biology class, after all that had happened a week before?” She gestured a piece of sandwich to Alf and stared at him.
“Uncovered all those vines! Some of what had crawled back to their post, some truly injured and replaced with new ones.” Alf gave a hand on the wrapped sandwich unto his bag pack.
“So started again from void? Seedlings then!”
“Yea twas sad! For months of taking care of em, singing with (the way their Biology teacher suggested), watering them every morning and on the aft, and suddenly it turned to be a mess. Beyond doubt it was upsetting!”
The class suspected it was ruthless. But of Shrub’s last sock to wear and finally his old shoes, he possibly wanted to turn it back. Alf Shrub wanted a stand for his teeth ready for brushing but his mother hitch and sang a question again.
“I heard that of Ceocyclus who cried moaning-ly. When she get actually hear the news, new a hoar they say?”
“Ms. Ceo Clay, roared a bit of shakin’ and she cried a ton. She was an obscene face that morning, kneed about our Biology teacher. Not only that, she cried because her vines were about.. it actually showed good signs of having fruits on its crawl, pretty small flowers sprouted unto their stems, that’s why.”
Lereille Shrub thinks cautiously perhaps it was actually a nightmare. “Vines against something that was not to be blame!”
“The school had been ardent of that, investigated this and that, about the blimey, but that was a beast.”
Alf Shrub finally stood there about the stitched-cover sofa chair. As he headed toward their kitchen sink to brush, knowing correctly the sink had a snag on it, it was very disconcerting. An excuse of at least a minute had turned into something really tricky. After brushing out up his teeth and whiten all like lusk, he heard something, a wink probably, thinking back on his mind it was a small tone of voice of something unknown, so small, whispering, or someone's was hiding from behind. He had seen glimmering gold dust, glowering around down the face of the earth apparently from the side ways of the creepy plants of the nearby forest, near in front of him standing thoroughly from the kitchen’s window frame. Rubbing his eyes with his hands, of neither believing nor disbelieving, it was a very fiddly, a crumb of bursting. To make attention of the matter, he called up his mother with a bang of prolonged shouts to which it had caused the creepy plants wiggling their about like tremors as if something had been disappeared.
Alf Shrub’s mother crumpled with a hustle leaving her rugs for cleaning, from the living room to the kitchen where Alf’s stood their freezing. “What are you trembling there ‘bout, neighbors there at bounce. Be quiet!” Lereille explained.
“Mom, take a look from behind that plants glowing ‘bout the gold dust of the forest.” Alf Shrub pointed his right hand toward the plant's post.
Lereille laid about in front of the window to look what Alf was up to and said in disguised, “It was only your sneaky imagination, go on with your bag pack; you’re goin’ to be late again for the last time. And only ifs,’ it is your examination day.” She reckoned with emphasis avoiding follow-ups of his son.
The mere fact that the gold dust on the plants disappearing politely, she knew it already; she knew it bountifully with laws of unnatural existence. Thinking away that it’s probably the time for his son to live with the-truth-behind she actually hiding for so many long years.
Lereille’s two ears seem to heard laughs of the same nature, reminding about what it was, probably she knew what was it or she knew who it was.
Alf Shrub would take fifteen minutes to school, walking about concrete shortcuts and curves, taking him days to memorize what way he would walking in. Before the Curvewalk trees grow their shadows upon to burgeon the entire street, Alf lead himself toward the main door and said, “Bye mom and see you Tart.” With an ease of saying, he added. “I’ll turn out up the exams.”
“Give it luck, will then see and it’s your day.”
Even though Lereille Shrub was roared up with the trailing about in their backyard, she thinks it was then now, the Blanchean Hills' calling.
Flickr photo: Jungle by jeffelix69g