Time. War; Peace and my day.

In my Shakespeare class this morning, we were reviewing sonnets and discussing the themes represented in each one. We also talked about literary terms like personification. My crazy literary mind seized my pen and made me write this:

Time paces across the floor, worrying that he is both late and too early. He wrings his hands and gazes down at his wrists, checking each watch face. He forces himself to sit down in a thickly padded, deep red chair, folding his legs one over the other to appear nonchalant. He is waiting for her, though he has no idea why.

And before class was over, I had this idea:

Peace cowers in the corner, turning her delicate face away. She doesn't want to see any more. War stands with his arms crossed across his chest, blood dripping from his palms and making a splatting sound as it hits the stone floor. He watches her, seeing her weakness and her strength shift across her face like waves on the ocean. A damaged olive leaf flutters to the floor, a symbol of her spilled blood. Peace pushes a strand of filthy blonde hair out of her face to look up at War: dirt smudges his cheeks and a terrifying kind of menace lights his eyes. She has never been so frightened in her life but she knows that in order to preserve herself, preserve Peace, she has to fight back.

Any comments?

Ok, my day. Mondays are lame. I hate Mondays.
I went to class. Lame.
I gave a speech. Lame.
Got a card from my aunt. Not lame.
Went to intramural basketball with my roomie. Definitely not lame. Know why? Cute athletic college guys. Jealous? I am almost jealous of myself. Lol. If that makes sense. Probably not. I am really tired and I should stop rambling now because I have class tomorrow. Goodnight all.