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Day 43; Would you like some more?
I'm so tired. I'm done studying for a big test tomorrow. My wrist hurts from typing up the huge study guide I made and plus the sprain or whatever on my hand. I'm honestly dead, I might fall asleep typing this. High school is painted upon our visions as the paint gracefully slides through the brushstrokes of the artist's hand. It is smooth and flowing and it drags your eye all around and with every single stroke comes a new experience. How beautiful it looks from afar, but alas the silent painter never mastered the details that would have made piece great up close. Up close it is a mess, up close the lines all cut across each other as if trying to outdo one another once again. Up close they scream, they yell, they shoot their words like weapons in a violent afternoon. Up close I can't stand it and for a moment I wish I could get up and move to the next painting. Then as abruptly as it started it would all change. My school isn't exactly the best school in the city. Actually saying it was near the worst would be closer to the truth. A "D" school where fights, grafitti, and drugs dominate and step over anything that crumbles in its path. The "fresh paint" peels and you can see the layers of grafitti tags hiding behind, the paint peels peels away, and the painting does not get any better. Middle class suburban vans line up to make their slow parade to the entrance. They look like they could be nice and lovely inside, the doors open, the teenagers step out. They're decked in their latest jeans that are perhaps five sizes too big and look like they were borrowed from someone's older brother. They wear their gold chains and pretend to act like they belong in a juvenille detention hall, like they know what real gangs are, like they need some freedom from their middle class opression. As if all they had was useless, as if they could never have enough. Then in the other scene you might see, the perfectly made up girls discussing their latest terrors. They cry in corners or scream out violently over some useless high school drama. Their life is going to end and they are convinced of it, and oh did you see what she was wearing, no, but I'm sure you're more concerned with what she was thinking. This is their constant wave of thoughts, they have everything and yet they have nothing that's actually their own. Their mothers take care of them, give them their every meal, treat them to their every craving. Every last thing they might need is there, but they're all too blind to see it. The only thing they see is what other might see and nothing more. I'm sick of it, I'm tired of it. "Hun, I ain't gonna take yo shit no mo'." I don't have much money, that I know. I know things have been rough and a lot of the things they have right now I might not ever be able to have. But if that's what makes them be that way then I'd rather not. I am thankful for every bowl of cereal, every last grain, every sweater, every hug, every rain. I am thankful cause I have it. No I don't care what I'm supposed to have. I don't care if I'm supposed to dress like that or sing that tune of song. No that's not it, my tune is it, every last detail in my life is it. I am. They am. "Take some tea," the March Hare said to Alice, very earnestly. "I've had nothing yet" Alice replied in an offended tone: "so I ca'n't take more." "You mean you can't take less," said the Hatter: "it's very easy to take more than nothing." "Nobody asked your opinion," said Alice. "Who's making personal remarks now?" the Hatter asked triumphantly.Everybunny has a story 197/365 11/15/08
Bingo and Frankencow moved closer to the White Rabbit. He seemed so pitiful in his stained, out-dated clothes. This rabbit bore only a small resemblance to the bunny they'd seen in the book, and it was only his pocket-watch chain that convinced Frankie that this was, indeed, the same one. "You may not know," the rabbit began, "but I used to be a court advisor to the royal highnesses." "Yes," Bingo said softly. Frankencow nodded in agreement. "Well, there came a time, after Alice's visit, when I saw a storm brewing on the horizon." Here, the rabbit paused, seeming to gather his thoughts. "People became - unhappy, I suppose, is the best way to put it, with the Queen's ways. It was always, 'Off with his head,' and eventually she offended too many of the wrong people." "But she was the queen," Frankie interrupted, protesting. "Surely it was her job to mete out justice." "Yes," the rabbit continued. "But if you're always beheading people, eventually the rest of the people left don't trust you. But I digress." The rabbit looked down at the chain attached to his side, and absently rubbed the end of it. "There was also too much nonsense, and people grew tired of what they saw as a chaotic, inefficient government. I tried to warn the King and Queen, but I was too late." For a moment there was silence. The White Rabbit seemed unsure of where to go with his tale, and Bingo and Frankie were afraid he wouldn't go on. Eventually, he spoke. "There was a revolution, a 'glorious revolution,' they called it, because there was no blood spilled. But a new regime came to power, and I had to run for my life. If I had been captured, I might still be in prison today." "But how did you survive?" Frankie asked, a little fear in her voice. She'd completely forgotten how funny she'd found the thought of a homeless rabbit just moments before. "By eating nuts and berries and stealing the occasional biscuit." The rabbit sighed, and Bingo began to give him a hug, then realized he really didn't know this rabbit all that well. It would do better to become acquainted with him first. "You said there was no bloodshed," Frankie asked, a thoughtful look on her face. "So what happened to the king and queen?" "Ah," the White Rabbit said, "now that is an interesting question, and I would be happy to answer it." Frankie and Bingo looked expectantly at the big white bunny sitting on the park bench. "But that part of the story will have to wait," the rabbit said, "until I've had some nourishment. Perhaps you will join me on a short journey?" Frankie and Bingo looked at each other. Slowly they turned and faced the rabbit. "We'd be honored," Bingo said, but there was caution in his eyes.
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