Post by Tristan A. Hexx on Jun 15, 2013 19:18:58 GMT -5
This was true literature. Looking Glass Wars, an amazing book that was actually a three part series. Tristan sat in an overstuffed chair, much to his liking in the warm library. Nevermore sat with his head under his wing on the arm of the chair, and the professor began to nod to sleep. But he read the last word of the book and closed the paperback, then took out his wand. He held the familliar magical weapon in his hand, feeling the notches placed in it after years of use. He shook his head to wake himself up and whipped it through the air, pulling a hardback from the shelf across from him and into his awaiting hand.
This was one of his favorites. And then there were None, Agatha Christy. Tristan adored the nursery rhyme that they spoke of in it and he smiled, reciting it out loud:
"Ten little Indian boys went out to dine;
One choked his little self and then there were nine.
Nine little Indian boys sat up very late;
One overslept himself and then there were eight.
Eight little Indian boys travelling in Devon;
One said he'd stay there and then there were seven.
Seven little Indian boys chopping up sticks;
One chopped himself in halves and then there were six.
Six little Indian boys playing with a hive;
A bumblebee stung one and then there were five.
Five little Indian boys going in for law;
One got in Chancery and then there were four.
Four little Indian boys going out to sea;
A red herring swallowed one and then there were three.
Three little Indian boys walking in the zoo;
A big bear hugged one and then there were two.
Two Little Indian boys playing in the sun;
One got all frizzled up and then there was one.
One little Indian boy left all alone;
He went out and hanged himself and then there were none."
Tristan would often sing this to his little brothers when they were younger, stroking their hair as they fell asleep. He would sometimes sing it so many times he had it stuck in his head for days. It's not like his parents cared enough to sing to him or his brothers. Tristan's eyes slowly shut and he began to nod off, not fully asleep, but not fully awake.
But Tristan was shocked awake when a loud slam was heard, and Nevermore, startled, flew onto his shoulder, clinging to his scarf that the professor had wrapped around his neck. Oh, it was just a student that dropped books. He rubbed his eyes and pulled his legs closer to his body, his booted feet laying on top of the arm of the chair. He yawned and acknowledged Nevermore on his shoulder, letting the large bird fall asleep again.
This was one of his favorites. And then there were None, Agatha Christy. Tristan adored the nursery rhyme that they spoke of in it and he smiled, reciting it out loud:
"Ten little Indian boys went out to dine;
One choked his little self and then there were nine.
Nine little Indian boys sat up very late;
One overslept himself and then there were eight.
Eight little Indian boys travelling in Devon;
One said he'd stay there and then there were seven.
Seven little Indian boys chopping up sticks;
One chopped himself in halves and then there were six.
Six little Indian boys playing with a hive;
A bumblebee stung one and then there were five.
Five little Indian boys going in for law;
One got in Chancery and then there were four.
Four little Indian boys going out to sea;
A red herring swallowed one and then there were three.
Three little Indian boys walking in the zoo;
A big bear hugged one and then there were two.
Two Little Indian boys playing in the sun;
One got all frizzled up and then there was one.
One little Indian boy left all alone;
He went out and hanged himself and then there were none."
Tristan would often sing this to his little brothers when they were younger, stroking their hair as they fell asleep. He would sometimes sing it so many times he had it stuck in his head for days. It's not like his parents cared enough to sing to him or his brothers. Tristan's eyes slowly shut and he began to nod off, not fully asleep, but not fully awake.
But Tristan was shocked awake when a loud slam was heard, and Nevermore, startled, flew onto his shoulder, clinging to his scarf that the professor had wrapped around his neck. Oh, it was just a student that dropped books. He rubbed his eyes and pulled his legs closer to his body, his booted feet laying on top of the arm of the chair. He yawned and acknowledged Nevermore on his shoulder, letting the large bird fall asleep again.