moaning is music
1.29.2004
Stanley rough draft
current music: "king of carrot flowers part 1" neutral milk hotel
mood:indifferent.
Stanley by me.
Stanley was an average penguin; a horribly, hideously average penguin. A glossy tuxedo covered his bowling pin-shaped body, shimmering in the reflection of the sun on the ocean. His flippers had scars on the inside, but they weren’t from the sharp rocks of the ocean ridge.
Closing his eyes, Stanley could see the black and white masses of penguins on the coast near his home. He remembered being a part of that mass and how small he felt, with everyone exactly the same as he. But when he opened his eyes, an ocean of eclectic humans scurrying everywhere appeared before him.
In front of him was a statue bigger than any other he had seen. The bottom inscription read, “Give me your tired, your poor, your hungry, your huddled masses…”
This was Stanley’s new home, the Statue of Liberty.
Sulking as he waddled mournfully, he climbed up the stairs to the top of the Statue. “One foot in front of the other,” Stanley thought. He breathed a great sigh, lowering his shoulders even lower than before. He placed his slightly injured flipper on the railing as he waddled to the top.
There was still some ice left for him to sleep on when he reached the top of the great statue. He lied down beneath the giant flame above him, which, come nightfall, would illuminate the statue.
Stanley silently wept as he looked at his surroundings. He felt eerie, out of place. But as the thought of home returned to him, he remembered what it was like to be just like anyone else, what it was to be small, empty, insignificant, and helpless.
When he woke up, Stanley went down to sit for a while.
“Whoa, man, you’re a penguin,” some passerby said, staring. “Dude, you don’t look so great.”
Stanley said nothing. He was used to stares and odd comments.
One of the workers at the Statue, John, was the only person he really knew in New York. He had met him a couple times before, but Stanley didn’t really know John. Just like Stanley, he was as average as possible.
“Hey, Stanley, right?” John asked.
Stanley nodded.
“You look kinda down, man. You should see someone, or something.”
“Yeah, right,” Stanley thought. He was overcome with an eerie and intense feeling of fatigue. A chill ran though Stanley’s body. He wanted to cry, but couldn’t. His lungs were empty, and he could barely breathe.
Eventually, he fell asleep. The dreams he dreamt were of home, of his mother. But as he looked around, he saw the black and white masses, the army of clones. He tried to get away from them, but they were too quick. Soon, he was covered by the penguins.
He woke up. He almost through up, he felt so alone and dead. “I can’t take this anymore,” Stanley thought. “I can’t be happy anywhere.”
Looking up, he noticed how beautiful the grand statue before him was. He looked at the top, the very top where he slept. On the ground, Stanley could see three young boys taking pictures of themselves. For a second, he smiled.
Stanley began his ascent. “One foot in front of the other,” Stanley thought, somber as ever. He was overcome with a feeling of emptiness and ineptitude as he looked up at the huge flight of stairs. He was walking up to heaven.
The bowling pin-shaped penguin seemed to float to the top of the stairs. As he saw the light beaming out of the crown of the Statue, Stanley smiled. Looking down, he could see the children still laughing away. It took one last glance at the world to turn his veins to water. He could not fight the temptation any longer. As he closed his eyes, he thought about everything he’d ever known, what difference his life made and what he accomplished. Stanley became filled with every emotion he knew.
Stanley, the penguin from Greenland, rolled himself over the railing and fell like a stone.
The last thought he had was of his mother. He thought about how much she loved and cared for him, and suddenly, he was sorry, he was about to open his eyes when he hit the hard, cold cement and his heart burst open.
Lying on the ground, Stanley fell into a great sleep and dreamt of his home.
VOILA!
Sarah's birthday is tomorrow, i'll have the official sarah blog entry tomorrow.
.
current music: "king of carrot flowers part 1" neutral milk hotel
mood:indifferent.
Stanley by me.
Stanley was an average penguin; a horribly, hideously average penguin. A glossy tuxedo covered his bowling pin-shaped body, shimmering in the reflection of the sun on the ocean. His flippers had scars on the inside, but they weren’t from the sharp rocks of the ocean ridge.
Closing his eyes, Stanley could see the black and white masses of penguins on the coast near his home. He remembered being a part of that mass and how small he felt, with everyone exactly the same as he. But when he opened his eyes, an ocean of eclectic humans scurrying everywhere appeared before him.
In front of him was a statue bigger than any other he had seen. The bottom inscription read, “Give me your tired, your poor, your hungry, your huddled masses…”
This was Stanley’s new home, the Statue of Liberty.
Sulking as he waddled mournfully, he climbed up the stairs to the top of the Statue. “One foot in front of the other,” Stanley thought. He breathed a great sigh, lowering his shoulders even lower than before. He placed his slightly injured flipper on the railing as he waddled to the top.
There was still some ice left for him to sleep on when he reached the top of the great statue. He lied down beneath the giant flame above him, which, come nightfall, would illuminate the statue.
Stanley silently wept as he looked at his surroundings. He felt eerie, out of place. But as the thought of home returned to him, he remembered what it was like to be just like anyone else, what it was to be small, empty, insignificant, and helpless.
When he woke up, Stanley went down to sit for a while.
“Whoa, man, you’re a penguin,” some passerby said, staring. “Dude, you don’t look so great.”
Stanley said nothing. He was used to stares and odd comments.
One of the workers at the Statue, John, was the only person he really knew in New York. He had met him a couple times before, but Stanley didn’t really know John. Just like Stanley, he was as average as possible.
“Hey, Stanley, right?” John asked.
Stanley nodded.
“You look kinda down, man. You should see someone, or something.”
“Yeah, right,” Stanley thought. He was overcome with an eerie and intense feeling of fatigue. A chill ran though Stanley’s body. He wanted to cry, but couldn’t. His lungs were empty, and he could barely breathe.
Eventually, he fell asleep. The dreams he dreamt were of home, of his mother. But as he looked around, he saw the black and white masses, the army of clones. He tried to get away from them, but they were too quick. Soon, he was covered by the penguins.
He woke up. He almost through up, he felt so alone and dead. “I can’t take this anymore,” Stanley thought. “I can’t be happy anywhere.”
Looking up, he noticed how beautiful the grand statue before him was. He looked at the top, the very top where he slept. On the ground, Stanley could see three young boys taking pictures of themselves. For a second, he smiled.
Stanley began his ascent. “One foot in front of the other,” Stanley thought, somber as ever. He was overcome with a feeling of emptiness and ineptitude as he looked up at the huge flight of stairs. He was walking up to heaven.
The bowling pin-shaped penguin seemed to float to the top of the stairs. As he saw the light beaming out of the crown of the Statue, Stanley smiled. Looking down, he could see the children still laughing away. It took one last glance at the world to turn his veins to water. He could not fight the temptation any longer. As he closed his eyes, he thought about everything he’d ever known, what difference his life made and what he accomplished. Stanley became filled with every emotion he knew.
Stanley, the penguin from Greenland, rolled himself over the railing and fell like a stone.
The last thought he had was of his mother. He thought about how much she loved and cared for him, and suddenly, he was sorry, he was about to open his eyes when he hit the hard, cold cement and his heart burst open.
Lying on the ground, Stanley fell into a great sleep and dreamt of his home.
VOILA!
Sarah's birthday is tomorrow, i'll have the official sarah blog entry tomorrow.
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