When I work @the 11th hour...

was too busy making a movie that I forgot the written assignment we were asked to do alongside...we were to write a visual diary every week...well lets just say i scribbled the following lot an hour before I had to move my butt to catch my train for the hols :D...NJOY!! ;)

Psst....Visual Diary (VD) 1 hasnt been posted...I more or less copied from my previous post...
On a not-so-fine morning

VISUAL DIARY 2:
The withered leaves were crunching on the gravel as his footsteps got closer. I felt a shiver down my spine in this humid day in the month of April.
God help me! I wanted to itch so badly, but the silence was so deafening that I was sure if I moved, my scratch would raise the dead and then I would have to change my place.
There was heavy breathing accompanying the footsteps now. I peeked through my fingers to see a silhouette not far from where I hid. Against the sunlight it seemed he could almost vanish at will.
And then it happened. The damn wind came out of nowhere. At first it felt great and gave a cooling affect to my sweaty neck but then some strands from my hair band got loose and began to rustle across my nose, tickling me to a sneeze.
I really did try hard, but after all I could do only so much.
I sneezed and like a well functioning zip I heard heels of shoes screech to a halt right above me. He removed my cover and I had to shield my eyes against the sharp light.
Gotcha, he smiled.
But I smile back, now it’s my turn to be the hunter.

VISUAL DIARY 3:
The white wall was where they would stare at each other every day. The look in the eyes of the reptile wasn’t dainty in the least, it was obvious what it wanted, but the bee was too fast for the old bugger.
It was almost a ritual, as the seconds hand reached the 20 seconds place at 5mins past one you saw the bee buzz through the uncovered part of the wired white window and settle down on the wall. And as if in tune with the bee’s movements, the lizard comes slithering in to start a staring match which lasts till he decides to make a move.
He always looked at the bee with the same glassy eyes. No blinks, no shifting of the pupil. Just one straight constant stare.
The bee always knew when he came. For the faint buzzing sound that it emitted even while resting on the wall always came to a complete stop. The only thing that could be heard at that hour was the creaking of the old overhead fan and a faint noise from a distance of school bus arriving with the primary children returning home.

VISUAL DIARY 4:
He was cold and yet kept sweating, the fan was on the table. He reached out for the switch, first switching it on, then he turned it off and then on again. This went on for almost 20 mins. Then with a grunt and a huff he pushed himself to standup, taking a quick look in the mirror he decided his blue shorts and orange and black striped shirt would be alright to wear to the chemists shop. His face needed to be washed first though, there was a white patch right on his stubble under his lower lip.
Shaking his head he wondered how his ex-girlfriends could stay with him when he drooled so much that most of the pillow got wet the next day.
He took his first step towards the bathroom on his left. His feet buckled, and he tripped on his internets wire.
Shit! He forgot to turn off his laptop after chatting last night. The dim light from the screen could still be seen. The nauseating smell of last night’s dinner still lingered in the air. He should have thrown that too, it was beginning to stink, a faint hum of sour cheese could be whiffed out.
Strangely he found it comforting, he eyes began flickering again, drooping.
He knew he should get up. He lifted his hand once more and *CRASH* his hand fell on the side table. It hurt, a perfect excuse to take rest, he smirked and let sleep take over.

VISUAL DIARY 5:
She saw her watch again, it was a gift from her mother. It looked like it was made for the girl wearing it, it was just as delicate as the girl, white, pale enough to match her skin tone. The diamond that sparkled when in the sun was not unlike the girl’s light green eyes.
Sighing, she took out a cigarette and a lighter from the lower right side pocket of her polka dotted green dress. You could see from her clothes that she needed lots of pockets in her dresses to carry her smokes, chewing gums, and other knick knacks.
Her hand shook a little as she put the cigarette in her mouth and tried to light it with a lighter.
It wasn’t allowed there, she knew that. But her stomach had begun to clench which meant she would faint if she didn’t smoke.
She hated the acrid stench that came from the cigarette but she didn’t have a choice, she was wheezing now, hissing through her yellow teeth.
It was dark inside, she wondered if she might burn the closet, she had always hated those furry jackets anyways. But she was distracted by the ticking of her watch, it was only that she had wanted afterall.

VISUAL DIARY 6:
She sits, blankly staring at the cracked ceiling above, oblivious to the pain and voices around her.
The green blur makes no difference to her, her blank eyes stare at one place, with a far away look. They try everything to make her cry, scream, rant. Any noise to show she is not beyond help.
The clock keeps ticking and people by her door come in and out. The not-so-white walls with yellow patches stay hidden right in front of her eyes.
She hears, sees, tastes, feels nothing. She doesn’t cringe at the touch of steady, loving, caring hands that hold back a simmering anger as they feed her. Someone coughs, and a voice asks the person attached to it to leave.
Her father couldn’t stay in and was subjected to sudden unexpected agonising screams while holding a newspaper and the mocking picture. The man has been set free to hunt flesh again. The father was helpless, unshed tears mixed with the helplessness for his daughter and anger for the man.

VISUAL DIARY 7:
The tree stood in the middle of the road. It had a twisted bark which then grew as a green tip almost 8feet from the ground. It seemed to have no leaves, only very soft thorns slightly orange in colour.
As a car passes through the side of this strange tree it sways to the other side very slightly. If looked carefully you could almost see the bark bending.
The flowers are clustered right on the top of the tree, which have been forbidden to pluck, as said on the sign hung by a strong dirty white cloth around the tree’s bark.
The edges of these white flowers have begun to turn brown because of the toxin in the air. But no one wants to have it removed from there, they say that the light tangy fragrance emitted by these flowers keep the drivers happy and ensure that they drive safely.
No one knows how the tree came to be there, but its silhouette as the dusk sets in, reassures everyone in the town letting them snore in their beds in safety.

VISUAL DIARY 8:
There was still the packing to do, 30 mins, that’s all she had. She was no marathon runner but she had to do this, her plans had been made and couldn’t change now.
20 mins, she had to hurry now but her leg hurt, a sweat broke out on her forehead, will she be able to make it?
15 mins, the handbag was done, now the bigger one. The clothes were sprawled across her bed, her room smelling dusty already as if it doesn’t want her to go.
12 mins, almost done, but she has to go out of her room for a while, her stomach starts hurting, she has to eat something or else she would puke. The bitter-sour taste had already begun rising.
Ripping a packet of biscuits she had planned to pack, she munched four down in 5 straight seconds, the light outside was dimming she had to catch a cab.
4 mins, she whoops, she’s all set to leave now. She picks her bag throwing it across her shoulders. She sighs, and takes her steps towards a new journey.