Gallery 4

Goodness, I'm Rudolph.
"Do you have a tissue?"
"No... Sorry."

"Wah, what are you doing? Homework?"
"Uhm. No."
"Oh, 'cos you looked so... Concentrated."
Isn't that something like orange juice?

A tumbleweed of string rolls by,
tossing, leaping, twirling.
Sarah flaps her script at it, as if to say, "Shoo!"
It retreats and meekly sits in a corner.

Little delicate pieces of paper,
clutched in the rough palm of her hand.
A hundred thousand colours sweep pass,
and they fall like snow.
"Shoots. Shouldn't have torn them up so much."

Boom, cha-cha-cha, boom.
They recite their lines,
some stumbling over them.
[Well, we've been having a ton of homework lately. Why blame them?]

Heads are sticky.
The sticks used to manipulate them make a hollow sound when they drop onto the floor.
Now that's what I call an airhead.

We want this.
We want this bad.

But can't somebody install fans???