.;: A Sparrow's Mindless Chirps | DL's Daily Freewriting:;.

She sat, hunched, at her desk, her brow furrowed in annoyance. She couldn’t make up her mind! Trillions and billions and millions of ideas zoomed about in her head on thin paper wings; story ideas, poem ideas, song ideas. Some of them weren’t hers; Climb every mountain from the sound of music kept chiming along, the high notes ringing through the vast expanse of her brain. She pursed her lips, shaking her head and sitting back.
What to choose? Maybe a love story? Her pink lips pulled back into a smile at the thought. Oh, yes, she’d right a love story, making herself and a perfect-seeming boy be the main characters, and they’d fall in love, and--
Oh, how tragically boring that would be.
She glared at the blinking cursor vehemently, as if mentally giving it orders to do her work for her. She shook her head again, of course not expecting it to. It was just a computer. Computers are only as smart as their users. She mused over that for a moment, wondering if that meant her computer was a literate genius. Then she refrained, rolling her eyes, realizing how conceited that sounded.
She let her fingers fly across the keys, worrying in the back of her mind that her freewrite piece would be too short, or too boring, or if she was using ‘she’ too much. Then again, she didn’t feel like giving a name, so the readers would just have to deal with ‘she.’
Her thoughts shifted to the story she had just finished, a ghost story. Her heart ached as she slipped into reverie about the little girl in the story, Heather. The slightly insane seven year old who’d accidentally killed her own mother, and only wanted love out of everyone, which is why she refused to tell anyone. She shook her head. Love. Love. Loooove. When she thought about it, it didn’t even seem like a word. Word. If you think about word, too, it doesn’t seem that real.
She noted how our language is so strange, and that it’s merely a precise combination of sounds we can make. She smiled. She thought of how much a nerd she is, considering all this things while she wrote. She paused, and then shrugged. It’s just how her brain worked, she supposed.
She sat back again, one corner of her mouth tilted downward, the other up, giving her quite the odd expression. Pleased and displeased at the same time. She read over her work quickly, and sighed through her nose. Of course, it wasn’t too her likings. It needed action. And a plot. And more characters than this ‘she.’
But she shrugged it off, not wholly in the mood for a story, be it nonfiction or fantasy. Her fingers just wanted to dance, and so she let them, trying to figure out a good ending for this seemingly pointless piece.
By now she’s wondering if anyone will read up to the point she’s written. She doubts so. She means, why would anyone listen to her mental babble as she recorded in on the paper? Then she chuckled inwardly, realizing that this was only half of her mental babble. If she were to write everything down, she’d fill up an entire thousand-paged novel in an hour or so.
She shook her head, thinking to herself that she thought too much--and then realizing how much of an oxymoron that is, and snorting.
Finally, however, she decided to end her piece. She stared at the blinking cursor for a few more seconds, and then hit the little floppy disk icon, saving the piece.
‘Oh well,’ she thought. ‘Maybe next time I’ll actually write something useful.’

[And yes, this freewrite is about me, trying to figure out what I want to freewrite....xD]

Captain puts his hand down on the table, smoothing out the map with an elegant flick of his wrist. "Where should we strike?" he asks, pursing his lips.

"Here," says Button, stabbing the Market with a grin. "There's always something wonderful to be stolen at the market, is there not?"

Captain snorts, giving Button a look. "Button," he scolds, hitting the boy upside the head. "We need money. Not foot!"

Button leans back in the dim flickering light of the latern. "But food is nice, too!" he shrieks shrilly. "My tummy is aching, Captain. It han't got no food in two days! Two whole days!" He glares at Captain.

The man runs his hand through his hair. "That's not my fault," he mumbles. "The fish haven't been biting lately."

"So?" Button snarls, stomping his foot. "Catch 'un with your hands." He waves his hands in Captain's face.

Captain bats his hands away, and Button pinches Captain. Captain goes to smack Captain, but finally I intervene. "Stop it," I say, standing, pushing them apart with a rough movement of my arms. "The two of you. Worse than children, I say!"

They both look at me, there eyes innocent. "We wasn't figthin'," Button says, smiling.

"Jus' a heated disagreement, yeah," Captain agrees, nodding.

"Sure, sure," I say, rolling my eyes. I shove them down into their seats. "Now, we're going to listen to me, alright?" Begrudgingly, Dumb and Dumber nod their heads. "Good. We attack the Museum at four AM. During the change of the guards."

Captain's eyes go wide. "Museum, Sir?" he asks, his jaw hitting the floor with a dull thud. "You've got to be kidding me!"

Button's beaming. "Excellent idea, Sir, excellent, excellent!" He claps his hands.

"We'll get killed!" Captain roars, cuffing Button upside the head.

Button rubs his head and sniffles. "That wasn't very nice, Captain," he snaps, reaching out to steal the Captain's last sip of mead.

Captain howls in agony. "YOU FILTHY LITTLE VERMIN!" he screams, launching himself across the makeshift table (two barrels supporting a hefty piece of plywood) at Button.

Button squeals in fear and throws himself backwards.

I run my hand over my face and sigh deeply. "Stop," I say.

Captain grunts as Button lands a punch in his paunch.

"Stop..."

Captain puts Button in a headlock. Button's eyes bulge and he waves his arms madly.

"STOP!" I unsheathe my dagger and stab it into the center of the map so hard that the board beneath it all but shatters.

The two goons look up at me, falling silent. I smile. "There we go," I say, my voice thick as I try not to raise it. "Are you two ready to be civilized little thieves and come sit up here and play nice?"

"Yes, Sir," they drone. Button gives Captain a look before returning to his seat, as does Captain to button before he returns to his own seat.

"Good," I slip my dagger away, making sure to keep my voice deep and gritty. I can't let them know just yet; if they keep thinking I'm some all high-and-mighty 'Sir,' so be it, I don't mind. "At four o'clock tomorrow morning," I whisper, leaning over the map. "We'll make our move."

Button raises his hand.

I ignore him. "We'll take a few things. Not many; there can't be anything that worthwhile in that museum, since it's so little, so dinky."

"We could take the Mona Lisa or something," offers Captain.

"Wrong place, old chap," I say, patting his shoulder. I turn, grabbing the candle and raising it to my lips. "Go get some rest, boys," I murmur, exhaling deeply. The flame sputters out with a final puff of smoke. "You'll need it."