I was 11 when i wrote this.
The blazing hot sun beats down onto the grass. It is very hot inside the classroom my clothes stick to me and i wish i had a long cold drink. It is very hot outside like a furnace burning old rubbish.
The sun is a circlet of yellow flame which silently sits in the skylike a wildcat ready to pounce.
The everlasting fire burns and burns.
The sun sits on the horizon making no sound.
The great fire starts to slowly move down below the horizon.
As the evening comes the weather changes dramatically and it begins to rain.
Quite a change from the very hot afternoon.
Al Sithees' Big Generator . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Farewell my little star, we wish you well. What about love i hear you say, but this is the bottom line, its over, i dont love you anymore. We had 100 nights of fun and games but here, in my time of dying, in this house of broken love, lies a better man.
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