/lit/ - Literature

Please feel free to smell my shit


My childhood was a relatively happy one, there is no complaints. I lived in a modest house in a modest suburb, my parents had divorced awhile back; my father had full custody. The house was small and somewhat sad, it was old and needed quite a few renovations but none the less provided me with all that I needed in order to exercise my childhood imagination. I loved to play with Bionicle action figures, after coming home from school, I would spend all afternoon mercilessly manipulating the great collection I had amassed through many holidays. I would act out great battles, long episodes involving tragic heroes and shameful defeats took place habitually on the cracked concrete patio stage, the tiny black ants would swarm over legions of the dead. In the evening, after dinner with my father, I would retreat to my room and continue wherever I left off, now on the stage of “the great shades”, as I would call it. My room was small and even more sad than the house it lived in. I had one window, and the shades that covered the window were broken, something was wrong with the mechanism that controlled their operation but I could care less. My father would always watch TV at this time, through my door I could hear the sounds of muffled voices speaking with various inflections intertwined with impotent musical notes. At this time, the sun began to set.