hill housing

I was driving home from a piano class I no longer go too (and I don’t have a license), but my BFF Paula showed up and asked for a ride. We made it to this road that goes down the hill to my house, and were driving on it when we saw these little bright lights in the road with short, indecipherable words below them. Paula said they were oracular clams, but I told her oracular clams were just a legend. Then they started getting brighter and coming towards us, and we screamed and I accelerated. We saw a jogger, and we opened the door so she could escape and get in. She couldn’t go fast enough and the clams got her.

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Ex libris Halácsi

Ez az ex libris Halácsi Kati apukájának a születésnapjára készült, aki építőmérnök és egy igazi ezermester. A képen éppen az asztalánál látható, ahogy éppen nagyban tervez valamit. A betűket a szabványírásból rajzoltam át, hogy illeszkedjenek az ex libris stílusához.

Ex libris Halácsi

This ex libris was made for a civil engineer who keep animals and has thousand things to do. You can find him working at his table, on his next project. For the type I chose the standard blueprint letterform, which I slighty redesigned to match the style of the ex libris.

Jamie’s Brother

An Echo in the Bone, Diana Gabaldon

“D‘ye remember when we gave each other blood for blood?” Ian‘s eyes were closed, but he smiled. 

Jamie‘s hand tightened on the bony wrist, a little startled but not truly surprised that Ian had reached into his mind and caught the echo of his thoughts. “Aye, of course.” He couldn‘t help a small smile of his own, a painful one.

They‘d been eight years old, the two of them. Jamie‘s mother and her bairn had died the day before. The house had been full of mourners, his father dazed with shock. They had slipped out,he and Ian, scrambling up the hill behind the house, trying not to look at the fresh-dug grave by the broch. Into the wood, safe under the trees.

They had slowed then, wandering, come to a stop at last at the top of the high hill, where some old stone building that they called the fort had fallen down long ago. They‘d sat on the rubble, wrapped in their plaids against the wind, not talking much.

“I thought I‘d have a new brother,” he‘d said suddenly. “But I don‘t. It‘s just Jenny and me, still.”

In the years since, he‘d succeeded in forgetting that small pain, the loss of his hoped-for brother, the boy who might have given him back a little of his love for his older brother, Willie, dead of the smallpox. He‘d cherished that pain for a little, a flimsy shield against the enormity of knowing his mother gone forever.

Ian had sat thinking for a bit, then reached into his sporran and got out the wee knife his father had given him on his last birthday.

“I‘ll be your brother” he‘d said, matter-of-fact, and cut across his thumb, hissing a little through his teeth.

He‘d handed the knife to Jamie, who‘d cut himself, surprised that it hurt so much, and then they‘d pressed their thumbs together and sworn to be brothers always. 

And had been.