Scurrying
In the middle of the night,
It scurries across the floor,
Its feet making clicking sounds as it runs.
It stops mid-stride,
Lifts its nose in the air and sniffs,
Before running forward once again.
Finally, its destination is in sight,
And with a surge of energy the mouse runs full speed,
The smell of crumbs pushing it forward.
The Game
The clicking of a wii remote tells me my brother is playing a game yet again.
I walk into the living room,
To find him completey absorbered.
His face is twisted in concentration,
His eyes, two laser-beams,
With their sights set on "win".
He has no room for error,
No time to talk,
Only time to play.
Writing
Type, type, type.
Erase.
Sigh,
Yawn,
Stretch.
Crack fingers,
Crack neck,
Shudder at the noise it makes.
Clear mind.
Focus, focus.
Type, type, type.
Success.
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