The 6 mark answer.

I sat there. Silence. The tiny scratching noises of 36 watches merging into that of pens (not ball pens. They don't scratch). Rustle. Extra Sheets. Double spaced-lined sheets. Very un-green. More rustle. Scratch.
Screech! How can you possibly afford to leave your seat. Time, there isn't any.
And I sit still. Scratching, but nothing coherent. The one point that eludes me. A greasy fish.
Fish... red herring... ? What if there is no 6th point? What if one of the previous 5 carries 2 marks? I'll have to elaborate it. But which one? Do I, at all? Or do I just chase the missing (or not) 6th?
6 marks equals to 6 points. Logic follows. Sadism doesn't.
The reason for my dilemma and agitation, the last 10 agonizing minutes, a delusion?
How can this possibly be legal?!

Uh... well... wait... I know... hmmm... ... ...
Oh, forget it! I've got nothing.

The colour of chaos

White. The amalgamation of all the colours simple and devoid of conflict on their own. All the other colours, for me, have chosen their sides. Not white.
When I picture white I am quite washed over by so many feelings at the same time. Vertigo, claustrophobia, confusion, a sudden rush, a strange sense of futility. The blankness of it is so bewildering. It is like an abrupt conclusion to an unfinished story. There is so much left to be said. No, you can't leave it at a blank, not now.
For many it is calm. I can see how, but the only calm I see is that of helplessness, of predestined outcomes.
Chaos, a whirl, so fast that all you catch is white. Stark, unspeaking, unyielding, withought compassion white.
And still magnificent.

At 11:43 pm

Of all the things hard to find, good food and good sleep, in that order, are the hardest. Also are english papers that really go well. There is a conflict here. What I might consider correct, according to my interpretation, hardly ever coincides with what is more universally accepted (or so I am made to believe; the best of authorities assure me). And when I don't write what my own convictions are I am left with the worst of feelings of being hypocritical.
Sigh. I am not meant for this time zone.

How stupid of me!

So sorry! I just realised I have two pictures on my blog and I haven't mentioned that they aren't mine! The main one, with the fire on water, and the other black and white one of the tree in the right column are taken by me from the internet. I apologize again for the almost plagiarism. I don't know the sources, I have had them for a long time, but I'll find out and acknowledge them as soon as I do.

It sits ablush in morning glory.

A small little thing, a short new story.

Too small, insignificant. It doesn't matter.

But oh, too small, give it some water.

The stem, pale green, bows to the ground.

It's too young and weak to lift it's crown.

It is too small, it will die soon.

It won't be around to even meet the moon.

No one will remember it when it's gone.

It leaves only its leaves to mourn.

The grass, the leaves, the bowed down stem.

It was special all alone, and alone to them.

Miss my sis...?

It could be, you know. It could just be.

The weird sisters.

You tell me who is the better photographer.

Choke hold! Struggle! Defeat.

2 or 9? 2 or 9? Which one is it?!

So, do I... ?

......................?

..............................?

Nope!

:)

Muah!