Post by Kane McLaggen on Jul 21, 2019 22:30:37 GMT
[attr="class","viva"]
[attr="class","vivalyric"]FOR SOME REASON I CAN'T EXPLAIN, I KNOW ST. PETER WON'T CALL MY NAME
 [attr="class","vivaright"]WORDS 316 [attr="class","vivaright"]TAGGED @open [attr="class","vivaright"]NOTES n/a | Kane and his brother Sean were always competing for bragging rights. Sure, Kane worked hard at it, and sure, Sean seemed to be a lot more talented naturally and didn’t need to work as hard (at least in Kane’s point of view), but Kane didn’t care. If he really cared about something, he worked at it. He wouldn’t let it pass him by. And that was why, he was outside at the Quidditch Pitch. Technically, he wasn’t supposed to be here. However, he didn’t want to rest and let his brother get ahead of him. He was the keeper and so he had taken his quaffle, which he had gotten for his 13th birthday, and charmed it to aim for the hoops randomly. He flew from hoop to hoop, blocking it at every turn, as it would fly back and then aim once more for a hoop. “Every time I miss, I have to do 10 squats. If I don’t finish the squats, I’ll have to do 10 pushups for each,” he told himself and his eyes trained on the quaffle again. 100 shots it was charmed to do. By the end of it, he’d missed nearly 20. Groaning, he flew down to the ground already exhausted and started his squats. 200 squats. That didn’t really make him feel good. The sun was still high and so he had time. He began to count aloud to make sure he didn’t cheat himself out of his squats and possible push-ups. Already the next task was coming to his mind. He would run around the quidditch pitch and for each time he made it around, he’d get to eat a bite of cake at dinner. His stomach grumbled. Boy that sounded good. Taking in a deep breath as he finished his 200th squat, he charged towards the edge of the pitch, broom in hand, and began his laps. |
PHARAOH LEAP CREATES
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