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Weekly Contest #72
Water dripped onto my working-bench, loosening up the grey chalky clay into a paste. I used my hands to shape it into a ball and place it in a dry bowl. Grabbing a seemingly millennia old bucket; my hands found themselves in the presence of cold water again. The tap water flushed inside, filling the rounded edges of it. I sighed. My mood wasn’t in sync with the routine I set myself to follow. In times like these, my mind can’t help but slip into yarns of memories. Especially the ones I weaved during my silly teen years. My thoughts dispers...
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