Sat upon the river bank.
Watching the rippling river tumbling over the stepping stones.
We can't go stepping on them, they're slippery.

Right hand touched the grass, a strange sensation.
A painful one,
A fellow in a striped vest, is attached to my finger.
He's joined onto the end of my fourth finger.

Hell.
I flicked him off with my thumb.
I think I hurt him more than he did me.
Next time I looked he'd gone.
No idea where.
My finger's still sore.
He's probably nursing a headache.
I really dislike wasps.
They always seem to pick on me.
(C)LIVVI