My Scribles (sor-of)
This is just a little scene I wrote with Mikey and Donny, about Mikey being a writer. This was new news to me when I first went on the internet, but I got used to it, and this little scene popped up. You could say this is me reminising about my twin sister, who is always writing, she has this story her's, and she also writes poetry, and this has happed quite a bit, it is unerveing to be moved by something she has writen!! :o)
Mikey was scribling hurredly on a scrap of his solved notes.
"Uh, Mike?"
"Hang on, hang on, can't let it get away..." he scribled faster with an intense expression on his face.
"Uh, Mike, I was kinda using that." He didn't stop.
"Okay, okay....there. Done." turning around he stuck the pencil in the beack of his mask.
"What do you think, the writer look," Donatello gave an exasperated sigh.
"Alright, alright, don't get your wires in a tangle." he tossed Don the paper and repositioned the pencil. Donny gave a muffled thanks in reply, bent over another table.
"Say, Donny, wanta hear this poem I wrote?" Mikey pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his shell. Don held up a hand.
"I'm, um, kinda busy now, Mikey." he opened his eyes wider as something hit him and scribled it down.
"Aah, it'll only take a minute, besides, I think you'll like it." Don sighed, he obviously wasn't going to get anything done.
Alright," Mike unfolded the paper and started reading. As the poem went on Don's face became fixed, the words seemed to transfix him and penetrate his soul. His back was bolt upright in the chair by the time Mikey was finished.
Mikey stoped and looked up at Donny who was leaning his head on his hand. It was fine to be deeply moved moved by poems in books by great authors, but from Mikey was a different thing. Donny let his head fall down on the desk.
"Well, how'd you like it?" Mikey was folding the paper up again.
"Fantastic," Donny croaked.