The trees were whistling as the winds swayed, and the badgers flew as the mice preyed.
A river ran backwards and the ocean's fish flew, the birds swam deep as the rocks and stones grew.
The soft brick block bounced high in the air, and the splintered glass building grew its long hair.
A perfect mistake saw descriptions askew, as the small bright green kitten gave off a loud moo.
The sea level falls and the mountains grow small, and the ants and the bugs are tallest of all.
Our beds made for sitting, our chairs for sleeping, the shelves on the floor and the curtains are beeping.
Who decides where things come from, and what words mean? Who makes these decisions behind the scenes?
Why can my brain not let the TV volume be odd? And why above all else is a group of squid not called a squad?
About the Creator
Liam Storm
I currently work as a thatcher, but love the art of writing a narrative, currently I am working on putting my ideas onto paper and creating a book. In the meantime I create short stories to keep myself, fiancée and two dogs entertained.
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