Death By a Pink Umbrella

October 24, 2009
1. Meet the Roses.
Monday:
My Life was perfect. I lived in a perfect little white house in perfect little green hills in constant perfect weather in perfect little urban England. Even the rain was perfect. But of course this is from an artist’s point of view. As the oldest I find myself having to stoop to my younger siblings’ thoughts if I wish to communicate. As about the weather in perfect urban England, the 2nd oldest, disagrees. She is rough, rowdy, and enjoys the dirt. But no, she dislikes mud. Just attracts dirt. Lots of it. She’ll track it into the house and still have enough to make the bathwater dirty. Her name is Wednesday. Then it’s Thursday, the bookish one; Friday, the quiet, shy one is 2 youngest. The youngest is still a baby, and her name is Friday.





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