Photographers, artists, poets: show us MYSTERIOUS.
The photo above is of something that drives me crazy. I’m kind of nosy, and when you paint a door bright yellow looking all fun and inviting – I’ll want to go through it. What is behind the door? A secret garden? A Wonderland? Or, quiet likely, just a quaint english garden with two green plastic chairs from B&Q and some ill plotted Hydrangea’s.
Tell us something most people probably don’t know about you.
I have a 5 inch scar on my right leg. I got it after I fell down during a game of ‘Had/He/Tag’ when I was thirteen. It was the beginning of the end of my never-ending childhood immortality. I was hurt badly, and I was close to having my leg taken off.
A nail had punctured and torn my leg clean; it was so fast that I hadn’t felt any pain nor noticed until my cousin screamed and pointed at my open wound. I saw my bone and the fleshy inner walls in front of me. Trying to make the connection (it was so surreal) I looked back at the place I had fallen. The removed skin rolled up on the end of the large nail. Disgusting and horrifying.
I managed to run home pumped on adrenaline, maybe shock? I remember my Mum crying and Dad not saying a word. The way he does when he’s really angry/very sad or just extremely worried.