"Jane Thompson was the only one to stick to the original plan and carry on the association.
After some of the students showed signs of brain-washing and aggresive behavior, Meredith Reeder and Linda Prince reported Jane Thompson for suspected child abuse. When officers arrived at the headquarters, however, Jane, her husband, Gary, and one of the select pupils, Sean Hunter, had disappeared.
It is believed that ABW is still functioning, however police have little evidence and no clues as to where it is functioning now." Rick finished reading the article to Sean.
"Now look," said Sean, "I can see why you think we're the bad guys, but they don't understand. This system can save the world. Last time Linda and Meredith screwed everything up, but if you'll join us we can change the world for the better. You are the person we've been looking for. You will lead us, you will help us unite the world to become one, cooperative nation. You will be our leader"
"Why did you bring a knife when you came to find me?"
"I was instructed to be prepared to use whatever forces necessary to show you the light" Sean said
"You're brain-washed Sean. Your thinking is messed up." Rick replied, "They've messed with your head, trust me"
"I'm not brain-washed." Sean said. His voice was mellow, and yet held incredible power and warning to it.
"Just trust me, I've done more research than this article," Rick said, holding up the paper. "ABW is messed up, you have to get away, they've messed you up enough"
"Put that away," Sean said, "and listen to me."
"The police are on their way" Rick said, pulling out his cell phone and waving it in the air. "Please, they've messed you up, you've never known anything different, if you act now, you won't be guilty."
At this, Sean pulled a knife out of his big cargo-pants pocket. It was the knife, the knife that had been in Rick's room. He stepped towards Rick and held up the knife. Rick reacted quickly, sweeping Sean's legs out from under him smashing his hand on the ground, forcing him to drop the knife.
Rick scooped up the knife and held it in his hand apprehensively.
"So what happens now?" Sean asked, on his feet now.
"We face each other as God intended to. Sportsmanlike," replied Rick, "no tricks, no weapons, skill against skill alone"
"You mean, you'll put down your rock, and I'll put down my sword, and we'll try to kill each other like civilized people?"
"I could kill you now," said Rick, brandishing the knife
Just kidding :-) Ok, back to, "Rick scooped up the knife and held it in his hand apprehensively."
Sean jumped up, and walked quickly towards Rick menacingly. Rick kicked Sean in the gut with all his might. As Sean keeled over Rick hit him in the chin with the heel of his hand as hard as he could.
Sean fell to the floor, unconscious.
Rick stood in disbelief for a moment. Cautiously he checked for a pulse and breathing, which he found with a sigh of relief. He then ran over to a desk in the corner of the room opening the drawers, looking for some rope or tape. He found some duct tape under a bunch of papers. He taped Sean up securely, using up the whole role to make sure he couldn't escape if he woke up.
The police arrived just a moment later. Rick explained what had happened, not mentioning the fact that his parents were oblivious to the situation. On the ride home Rick noticed something in his pocket. It was a wrinkled scrap of paper with scratchy handwriting on it.
You were the one.
-Sean
The End.
Showing posts with label Me Writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Me Writing. Show all posts
Friday, January 25, 2008
Monday, January 21, 2008
Trepidation Part 10
That night Rick found a note on his pillow.
"Meet me at the base of the cemetary at 10 am tomorrow. I just want to help."
During this whole experience, Rick had felt fear, he had been scared of what could happen, what was happening, and what he didn't know. But he hadn't felt the fear like this. This was a fear of himself, a fear of whether he would make the right decision. For just a moment Rick thought about the future, wishing that he could jump ahead, just a couple months, having full knowledge of what had happened, still aware, possibly haunted by the situation, but he would be away from the decision at hand. Then something hit him square in the face:
What if this situation was serious enough that in a couple months it wasn't resolved, or worse yet, it had been resolved, with the worst case scenario being the resolution.
Suddenly, Rick fell onto his bed blinded by haunting flashbacks; flashbacks of the knife, the eyes, the room, the man's face, he couldn't escape them, they came back like a flashback in a movie, with fuzzy edges and a red tint over everything he saw. He rolled over and over on his bed the memories searing through him like the eyes had just a few days ago.
~~~~~~~~
A surreal feeling overtook Rick as he walked past the headstones. He wasn't concentrating on walking, thinking, moving, breathing, his body was just...going, functioning, moving. Like an oily machine in a factory, oblivious to the world around, he walked towards the base of the cemetary free of thought, free of emotion. And yet, his body ached with the stress and mental strain the last week had brought him.
He saw the tan Acura parked at the base of the hill that Rick lived on. He moved toward it, preparing himself to run, or fight, or scream. He opened the passenger's side door, and said to the once again hooded man, sitting in the driver's seat,
"You tell me your name, and tell me if you work with ABW, if you don't, I'm not comin' and I'll probably send the cops after you too."
"Probably is a word of weakness, and only tells me that you're in my control"
"I don't give a dang what words are 'words of weakness' or what you think, all I want to know is your name and whether or not you're working with ABW" Rick said, still standing outside the car.
"My name is Sean (sorry sean, it really has nothing to do with you, it just feels right), and yes, I am with ABW, and I'll explain a lot more if you'll just come with me"
"Are you going to hurt me?"
"No, I just want to talk"
"Do I have to wear the blindfold?" Rick asked
"No"
(Sorry for the length of this one, but my fingers are flyin' and I'm feelin' it and I don't want to lose it)
Rick climbed in the car apprehensively and noticed for the first time how small Sean was, his palms were like a small pancakes with thin twig-like fingers protruding from them. The moment Sean started driving Rick realized where they were going: Salem.
"Of course" he thought, "I can't believe I pieced together ABW, and yet I couldn't realize that they're located in Salem!"
Sure enough, the short ride ended at the exact sight of the picture. The building was small, but well-kept and sat on a short, dead-end road next to an abandoned building, which appeared to have been a flower boutique. On the other side sat a cute little transmission shop, with a pony-tailed man out front cleaning up an oil spill.
The two walked inside to the room where the previous meeting had taken place and started to talk.
(I'm sorry to leave you right here, but it's what I do :)
"Meet me at the base of the cemetary at 10 am tomorrow. I just want to help."
During this whole experience, Rick had felt fear, he had been scared of what could happen, what was happening, and what he didn't know. But he hadn't felt the fear like this. This was a fear of himself, a fear of whether he would make the right decision. For just a moment Rick thought about the future, wishing that he could jump ahead, just a couple months, having full knowledge of what had happened, still aware, possibly haunted by the situation, but he would be away from the decision at hand. Then something hit him square in the face:
What if this situation was serious enough that in a couple months it wasn't resolved, or worse yet, it had been resolved, with the worst case scenario being the resolution.
Suddenly, Rick fell onto his bed blinded by haunting flashbacks; flashbacks of the knife, the eyes, the room, the man's face, he couldn't escape them, they came back like a flashback in a movie, with fuzzy edges and a red tint over everything he saw. He rolled over and over on his bed the memories searing through him like the eyes had just a few days ago.
~~~~~~~~
A surreal feeling overtook Rick as he walked past the headstones. He wasn't concentrating on walking, thinking, moving, breathing, his body was just...going, functioning, moving. Like an oily machine in a factory, oblivious to the world around, he walked towards the base of the cemetary free of thought, free of emotion. And yet, his body ached with the stress and mental strain the last week had brought him.
He saw the tan Acura parked at the base of the hill that Rick lived on. He moved toward it, preparing himself to run, or fight, or scream. He opened the passenger's side door, and said to the once again hooded man, sitting in the driver's seat,
"You tell me your name, and tell me if you work with ABW, if you don't, I'm not comin' and I'll probably send the cops after you too."
"Probably is a word of weakness, and only tells me that you're in my control"
"I don't give a dang what words are 'words of weakness' or what you think, all I want to know is your name and whether or not you're working with ABW" Rick said, still standing outside the car.
"My name is Sean (sorry sean, it really has nothing to do with you, it just feels right), and yes, I am with ABW, and I'll explain a lot more if you'll just come with me"
"Are you going to hurt me?"
"No, I just want to talk"
"Do I have to wear the blindfold?" Rick asked
"No"
(Sorry for the length of this one, but my fingers are flyin' and I'm feelin' it and I don't want to lose it)
Rick climbed in the car apprehensively and noticed for the first time how small Sean was, his palms were like a small pancakes with thin twig-like fingers protruding from them. The moment Sean started driving Rick realized where they were going: Salem.
"Of course" he thought, "I can't believe I pieced together ABW, and yet I couldn't realize that they're located in Salem!"
Sure enough, the short ride ended at the exact sight of the picture. The building was small, but well-kept and sat on a short, dead-end road next to an abandoned building, which appeared to have been a flower boutique. On the other side sat a cute little transmission shop, with a pony-tailed man out front cleaning up an oil spill.
The two walked inside to the room where the previous meeting had taken place and started to talk.
(I'm sorry to leave you right here, but it's what I do :)
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Trepidation Part 9
Rick studied the handwriting and re-read the words several times.
"Who is this lady?" he thought, "Who is this guy and why do they want me?"
Rick fell into an uncomfortable sleep pondering these questions.
He woke the next morning and went to the library the moment it opened. He scanned the picture and searched for matches on the internet. Two matches came up, the first matched the landscape to Salem, just five miles down the road from Ricks house. The second matched the woman's face to a woman who had once been a founder of ABW, the Association for a Better World. Rick looked over the picture and determined that the computer had incorrectly matched the picture, he could see no one who looked like the woman in his picture. He skimmed over the names quickly, and then something caught his eye:
Jane Thompson.
"...her name is Jane." Rick remembered what the man had said. The moment Rick realized this, he searched the web for more information on ABW.
"ABW was formed on the shoulders of three women, Meredith Reeder, Jane Thompson, and Linda Prince. The organization was originally a school for brilliant youth, who the founders thought could rise to change the world. The system was inspired by Nicholas Burbules theory that the way we think about power decides what that power will become.
These women believed that by giving gifted children advanced education at a young age, they would form leaders who would never become corrupt, and would eventually rise to world power, creating a form of "utopia" in which differences would be forgotten and the world would become one big, smooth-running economy.
Opposite of original intention, this system became corrupt, due to the difference in curriculum which each of the women presented the children. They were introduced to many political ideas and seperate opinions from each of the women on each of these ideas. Jane Thompson was the only one to stick to the original plan and carry on the associaion."
Rick printed off this page and walked home, overwhelmed with the information and what it might mean about him.
"Who is this lady?" he thought, "Who is this guy and why do they want me?"
Rick fell into an uncomfortable sleep pondering these questions.
He woke the next morning and went to the library the moment it opened. He scanned the picture and searched for matches on the internet. Two matches came up, the first matched the landscape to Salem, just five miles down the road from Ricks house. The second matched the woman's face to a woman who had once been a founder of ABW, the Association for a Better World. Rick looked over the picture and determined that the computer had incorrectly matched the picture, he could see no one who looked like the woman in his picture. He skimmed over the names quickly, and then something caught his eye:
Jane Thompson.
"...her name is Jane." Rick remembered what the man had said. The moment Rick realized this, he searched the web for more information on ABW.
"ABW was formed on the shoulders of three women, Meredith Reeder, Jane Thompson, and Linda Prince. The organization was originally a school for brilliant youth, who the founders thought could rise to change the world. The system was inspired by Nicholas Burbules theory that the way we think about power decides what that power will become.
These women believed that by giving gifted children advanced education at a young age, they would form leaders who would never become corrupt, and would eventually rise to world power, creating a form of "utopia" in which differences would be forgotten and the world would become one big, smooth-running economy.
Opposite of original intention, this system became corrupt, due to the difference in curriculum which each of the women presented the children. They were introduced to many political ideas and seperate opinions from each of the women on each of these ideas. Jane Thompson was the only one to stick to the original plan and carry on the associaion."
Rick printed off this page and walked home, overwhelmed with the information and what it might mean about him.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Fill in the Verb story, commenters style
Phil sprinted through the blue halls of Pedinski High, flexing his dumb muscles in hopes that a PFA would notice him. PFA was code for "pretty-freakin'-attractive", it was a nickname Phil and his friends had come up with to describe the ridiculously good looking girls at Pedinski, home of the Fighting Polka Dots. Phil quickly realized that he had been so concerned with his fast muscles he had forgotten what class he was going to. Then he remembered, he was heading towards Computer Literacy.
"Blecht," he thought, "the most boring class of the day, and not one single PFA! Oh well, I guess I'll just have to wait until drama."
As Phil savored the thought of his 3rd period drama class, he rushed into Comp Lit, slinking to his desk neatly. The teacher had already started his sharp, hard lecture, which would probably range from pointy microchips, to crispy Lay's chips. Phil did very well at taking notes for the first 7.2 minutes, at which point he realized how comfortable his circular, large, desk was.
Quietly, Phil was in zimbabwe. He was crawling, crawling past long baseballs and thick dwight schrute posters. Was there something behind him? Was someone chasing him? He didn't know he just kept crawling, past the junk when out of the blue a tasty, smelly sharpie was suddenly in his path, he couldn't turn, he couldn't stop all he could do was-
Phil jumped halfway out of his seat and came down with a sexy BANG.
"Nice of you to join us, Mr. Fodder" said his teacher, aggravated at this sudden interuption.
"Sorry" Phil replied.
Phil wasted the rest of the period thinking about green computers and slender michael scott's. Then the fat bell rang, and Phil was the first person out of the juicy classroom. Phil swam slowly down the hall, enjoying the fact that the rest of his day was going to be enjoyable. It consisted of: Drama, Lunch, and Creative Writing.
While Phil was thinking of how exciting his next class was going to be, something caught his eye. It was amazing, sad and happy. It was hair, and it belonged to Kirsten Klixington, the most scrumptious girl at Pedinski High. Phil flexed his muscles and sucked in his gut as he passed her, smiling timidly at her. She looked back, smiled stupidly and walked away, her purple hair flowing behind her like a spicy river. Without warning the words of the famous "Temptations" song entered Phil's head,
"Well, I guess you'll say, What can make me feel this way? My girl. My girl. Talkin' 'bout my girl." Phil hummed to himself on his way to drama.
All to slowly, drama was over and Phil was sitting at lunch, joking with his slimy friends, eating stupid, shiny fries from the lunch line, and spying PFA's who they would take turns waving at.
After Creative Writing, Phil hurdled outside and picked up some old snow while he waited for his bus. He saw his friends standing in a stretchy circle, talking. He stealthly lobbed the snow into the air, aiming for his friend, Bobby.
"Ahh crap," sighed Phil, as he watched his tiny snowball sail past his friends. Then neatly,
WHAM! he drilled Kirsten Klixington right in the face, covering her new, dusty shirt with sparkly, triangular snow.
And that is the story of how Phil Fodder lost his chance at the most gorgeous babe in the school.
Special Thanks and congratulations to Thomas Nilsen for being the first Fill in the Verb commenter.
"Blecht," he thought, "the most boring class of the day, and not one single PFA! Oh well, I guess I'll just have to wait until drama."
As Phil savored the thought of his 3rd period drama class, he rushed into Comp Lit, slinking to his desk neatly. The teacher had already started his sharp, hard lecture, which would probably range from pointy microchips, to crispy Lay's chips. Phil did very well at taking notes for the first 7.2 minutes, at which point he realized how comfortable his circular, large, desk was.
Quietly, Phil was in zimbabwe. He was crawling, crawling past long baseballs and thick dwight schrute posters. Was there something behind him? Was someone chasing him? He didn't know he just kept crawling, past the junk when out of the blue a tasty, smelly sharpie was suddenly in his path, he couldn't turn, he couldn't stop all he could do was-
Phil jumped halfway out of his seat and came down with a sexy BANG.
"Nice of you to join us, Mr. Fodder" said his teacher, aggravated at this sudden interuption.
"Sorry" Phil replied.
Phil wasted the rest of the period thinking about green computers and slender michael scott's. Then the fat bell rang, and Phil was the first person out of the juicy classroom. Phil swam slowly down the hall, enjoying the fact that the rest of his day was going to be enjoyable. It consisted of: Drama, Lunch, and Creative Writing.
While Phil was thinking of how exciting his next class was going to be, something caught his eye. It was amazing, sad and happy. It was hair, and it belonged to Kirsten Klixington, the most scrumptious girl at Pedinski High. Phil flexed his muscles and sucked in his gut as he passed her, smiling timidly at her. She looked back, smiled stupidly and walked away, her purple hair flowing behind her like a spicy river. Without warning the words of the famous "Temptations" song entered Phil's head,
"Well, I guess you'll say, What can make me feel this way? My girl. My girl. Talkin' 'bout my girl." Phil hummed to himself on his way to drama.
All to slowly, drama was over and Phil was sitting at lunch, joking with his slimy friends, eating stupid, shiny fries from the lunch line, and spying PFA's who they would take turns waving at.
After Creative Writing, Phil hurdled outside and picked up some old snow while he waited for his bus. He saw his friends standing in a stretchy circle, talking. He stealthly lobbed the snow into the air, aiming for his friend, Bobby.
"Ahh crap," sighed Phil, as he watched his tiny snowball sail past his friends. Then neatly,
WHAM! he drilled Kirsten Klixington right in the face, covering her new, dusty shirt with sparkly, triangular snow.
And that is the story of how Phil Fodder lost his chance at the most gorgeous babe in the school.
Special Thanks and congratulations to Thomas Nilsen for being the first Fill in the Verb commenter.
Friday, January 11, 2008
Here's the deal...
Ok, because of a couple of comments requesting a chance to be the "fill in the verb-er" I have figured out a system that will hopefully work. I will write a story (like I always do) and take out the verbs, adjectives, etc. I will then post how many of each verb, adjective, etc. there is and it will be your (the commenter's) job to fill in the missing words. The first person to comment with all of the needed adjectives, adverbs, verbs, etc. will have the priviledge of having their words put into my story, which I will post later that day (or whenever the first commenter comments, and I see that they have commented). Soooo, here's goes nothin'.
I need:
33 adjectives
1 Place (i.e. the dump, a beautiful la-la land, not a proper noun)
3 nouns
5 adverbs
5 verbs (these are like getting-from-point-A-to-point-B verbs, i.e. walk, run, flip, etc.)
2 verbs (like throw, jump, kick, etc.)
Don't give me the exact amount of things I'm asking for, give a few extra, in case I counted wrong or if some you give don't quite fit in the sentence (i.e. He flung out of his seat. In this case, the very creative word "flung" just doesn't quite fit.).
Sorry, this story might not turn out to be as exciting as the last two, I'm not really feeling the creative juices.
I need:
33 adjectives
1 Place (i.e. the dump, a beautiful la-la land, not a proper noun)
3 nouns
5 adverbs
5 verbs (these are like getting-from-point-A-to-point-B verbs, i.e. walk, run, flip, etc.)
2 verbs (like throw, jump, kick, etc.)
Don't give me the exact amount of things I'm asking for, give a few extra, in case I counted wrong or if some you give don't quite fit in the sentence (i.e. He flung out of his seat. In this case, the very creative word "flung" just doesn't quite fit.).
Sorry, this story might not turn out to be as exciting as the last two, I'm not really feeling the creative juices.
Friday, January 4, 2008
Fill in the Verb story #2
Sam sprinted through the scrumptious, bodacious rain. His transparent soccer game started in no less than 23 minutes and it took at least 22 minutes to get to the field depending on traffic. He plummeted inside his perry-winkle house and gave his mom the I-know-I'm-running-late look. Stupidly, he headed downstairs and put on his luscious uniform. They were playing the studly platypi (I don't know the plural of platypus) today. His team was in second place and the platypi in first. Sam was the star of his team having scored 16 ginormous goals this season. Sam searched his omnipotent room to find his shinguards. He found them through his bed.
As he licked upstairs he slipped on some spaghetti and fell back down, he whacked his pinkie toe on the last stair as he tumbled head-over-heels on his way down.
"Come on Sam!" yelled his mom
"Shoot" Sam muttered to himself, trying his best to ignore his throbbing pinkie toe. "I'm coming!"
Once in his mom's luminescent Lamborghini Revoluton he tenderly rubbed his pinkie toe cursing the last stair under his breath. His mom sped barely toward the field. Suddenly, a pointy Porsche Boxer, cut her off. Joyfully she slammed on her brakes. Sam nearly massaged out of his seat in suprise.
"Sorry, I should slow down" said his mom.
Once they got to the field Sam crawled out of the car and flipped toward the treacherous field. As his team saw him they started whacking in excitement.
"We were afraid you might not make it" said Sam's teammate Joe.
Without responding Sam did some rushed sprinting around the field to warm up.
"Hey Tim" said Sam to his teams juicy keeper "go over by that fence and let me take a couple shots on you before the game."
"Okay" replied Tim "Don't injure me though"
Sam popped the ball into the air and ripped a radient, mellow shot at the silky, chain-link fence.
"MOOOOO" sounded the referee's whistle. "Let's get this game going" yelled the hilariously-voiced ref.
Sam's team, the Jellyfish, gathered in a steady huddle.
"Ok guys, play as jubilant as you can against this brilliant team. We really need this win to secure first place" said Sam's coach.
As Sam turned to go onto the field, he saw a steep, painful Sneech in the middle of the field. Several people screamed loudly and one clear man pulled a Katana out of his coat and pointed it at the Sneech's head.
After just 10 minutes, some of the parents had the Sneech tied to the chain-link fence that Sam had been shooting at earlier.
"Should we reschedule this fruity game?" the coaches asked one-another.
"THE GAME MUST GO ON!" yelled the referee. "OR ELSE THIS GOES AS A LOSS ON BOTH OF YOUR RECORDS!"
Sam played as plentiful as he had ever played juking guys out and showering the goalie in hard shots. At halftime, the score was 6,329-6,328 with the jellyfish in front. The strong rain was really coming down. In the second half Sam scored 8 goals, his last coming with just 30 seconds left for the winning goal.
After his team had congratulated him, and he and his mom were getting in the faithful Lamborghini, they saw the golden Sneech escape and eat the glassy referee in just one gulp.
"I would have to say, this has been the most exciting game of the season." said his mom as she pulled out of the parking lot.
Thanks to Jordan Parry for his adjectives, verbs, nouns, adverbs, numbers, preposition, and awsome weapon.
As he licked upstairs he slipped on some spaghetti and fell back down, he whacked his pinkie toe on the last stair as he tumbled head-over-heels on his way down.
"Come on Sam!" yelled his mom
"Shoot" Sam muttered to himself, trying his best to ignore his throbbing pinkie toe. "I'm coming!"
Once in his mom's luminescent Lamborghini Revoluton he tenderly rubbed his pinkie toe cursing the last stair under his breath. His mom sped barely toward the field. Suddenly, a pointy Porsche Boxer, cut her off. Joyfully she slammed on her brakes. Sam nearly massaged out of his seat in suprise.
"Sorry, I should slow down" said his mom.
Once they got to the field Sam crawled out of the car and flipped toward the treacherous field. As his team saw him they started whacking in excitement.
"We were afraid you might not make it" said Sam's teammate Joe.
Without responding Sam did some rushed sprinting around the field to warm up.
"Hey Tim" said Sam to his teams juicy keeper "go over by that fence and let me take a couple shots on you before the game."
"Okay" replied Tim "Don't injure me though"
Sam popped the ball into the air and ripped a radient, mellow shot at the silky, chain-link fence.
"MOOOOO" sounded the referee's whistle. "Let's get this game going" yelled the hilariously-voiced ref.
Sam's team, the Jellyfish, gathered in a steady huddle.
"Ok guys, play as jubilant as you can against this brilliant team. We really need this win to secure first place" said Sam's coach.
As Sam turned to go onto the field, he saw a steep, painful Sneech in the middle of the field. Several people screamed loudly and one clear man pulled a Katana out of his coat and pointed it at the Sneech's head.
After just 10 minutes, some of the parents had the Sneech tied to the chain-link fence that Sam had been shooting at earlier.
"Should we reschedule this fruity game?" the coaches asked one-another.
"THE GAME MUST GO ON!" yelled the referee. "OR ELSE THIS GOES AS A LOSS ON BOTH OF YOUR RECORDS!"
Sam played as plentiful as he had ever played juking guys out and showering the goalie in hard shots. At halftime, the score was 6,329-6,328 with the jellyfish in front. The strong rain was really coming down. In the second half Sam scored 8 goals, his last coming with just 30 seconds left for the winning goal.
After his team had congratulated him, and he and his mom were getting in the faithful Lamborghini, they saw the golden Sneech escape and eat the glassy referee in just one gulp.
"I would have to say, this has been the most exciting game of the season." said his mom as she pulled out of the parking lot.
Thanks to Jordan Parry for his adjectives, verbs, nouns, adverbs, numbers, preposition, and awsome weapon.
Friday, December 28, 2007
New Tradition
Ok, so I was just remembering how I did Quotable Fridays, and I decided to come up with a new tradition. However, I'm having trouble letting go of that last one (despite the fact that it only lasted about two weeks) soooo, I'm going to start TWO new traditions! One is this...periodically, I'll have a quote at the bottom of my post (like I used to do) and if you know what it's from, say what it's from in your comment. The second tradition is this: I will write a short narrative and then go back and remove at least some of the following: verbs, adjectives, adverbs, nouns, etc. and have one of my family members fill them in (without seeing the story if course) and then I'll post it. So, here goes nothin'
Jim walked through the cool, blue forest, eating a weird, circular ice-cream cone. Beautifully he heard a yellow-orange sound in the distance. It sounded like a plaid CD. Freaked-out, he ran his ice-cream cone down and moved towards the sound. Finally, he came to a clearing in the barf-y forest. In the clearing he could see a crunchy girl and 1 million ligers. They were slicing her and she was gushing blood profusely. Jim intensely dropped down on his hamstrings and eyelids and began to fly towards the little girl. When he finally got there, he killed the ligers and picked up the girl.
"Are you okay?" asked Jim
"Ya, my grandma's house is just through those leaves, can you take me there?"
"Sure" replied Jim.
As he flipped along the path with her, he heard a fart behind him, turning around he saw that it was a graceful, horrifying unicorn. Slowly, he pulled out his huge, rosy ninja star and fought the unicorn off until it went away. After flying -1 miles, Jim saw a long fairy standing in their way. Summoning his icy board powers, Jim out-magicked (so what if that's not a word) the fairy and trampled it's tongue. They walked 21 more miles and Jim saw a uncomfortable, comfortable cottage.
"Is that you're grandma's house?" asked Jim.
"No, that's where all of the the demented centaurs live" replied the little girl
"What the crap is wrong with this unusual, striped forest?" thought Jim as an awkward, demented centaur emerged from the long grass. He fought the centaur combining his pretty strength and his icy-board powers to defeat the awkward centaur. After flying 35,000,000 miles, Jim saw a freaky looking cottage.
"What lives in that?" Jim asked, scared.
"My Grandma" replied the little girl.
And that is the story of how Jim saved the day in the slippery, dangerous forest.
Special thanks to Nate for his adjectives, adverbs, nouns and numbers.
Jim walked through the cool, blue forest, eating a weird, circular ice-cream cone. Beautifully he heard a yellow-orange sound in the distance. It sounded like a plaid CD. Freaked-out, he ran his ice-cream cone down and moved towards the sound. Finally, he came to a clearing in the barf-y forest. In the clearing he could see a crunchy girl and 1 million ligers. They were slicing her and she was gushing blood profusely. Jim intensely dropped down on his hamstrings and eyelids and began to fly towards the little girl. When he finally got there, he killed the ligers and picked up the girl.
"Are you okay?" asked Jim
"Ya, my grandma's house is just through those leaves, can you take me there?"
"Sure" replied Jim.
As he flipped along the path with her, he heard a fart behind him, turning around he saw that it was a graceful, horrifying unicorn. Slowly, he pulled out his huge, rosy ninja star and fought the unicorn off until it went away. After flying -1 miles, Jim saw a long fairy standing in their way. Summoning his icy board powers, Jim out-magicked (so what if that's not a word) the fairy and trampled it's tongue. They walked 21 more miles and Jim saw a uncomfortable, comfortable cottage.
"Is that you're grandma's house?" asked Jim.
"No, that's where all of the the demented centaurs live" replied the little girl
"What the crap is wrong with this unusual, striped forest?" thought Jim as an awkward, demented centaur emerged from the long grass. He fought the centaur combining his pretty strength and his icy-board powers to defeat the awkward centaur. After flying 35,000,000 miles, Jim saw a freaky looking cottage.
"What lives in that?" Jim asked, scared.
"My Grandma" replied the little girl.
And that is the story of how Jim saved the day in the slippery, dangerous forest.
Special thanks to Nate for his adjectives, adverbs, nouns and numbers.
Friday, December 14, 2007
Trepidation Part 8
In case you haven't been able to tell, I've sorda been avoiding writing this next part because I don't want to ruin this story. I really like it, but I can't think of what to do with it. I've thrown in enough twists, I think it's about time to start the curve where questions will start being answered, not asked, (of course, I'm probably going to write this next part and solve nothing, and confuse everything, and there's really nothing wrong with that, as long as I can bring it all together in the end, which is my problem isn't it? hmm, maybe I should stop accepting the twists to just keep coming, maybe I need to have the attitude that I'm really just digging myself in a deeper hole, hmm....) Well anyway, bear with me, this could get interesting.
Later that night, Rick laid in his bed thinking,
"I'm no Jason Bourne, or Ben Gates," he thought, "This isn't going to be easy to figure out, I know that, but that doesn't mean that sitting and waiting for something to happen is going to help anything"
And with that thought, Rick lifted himself out of bed and slipped on a pair of jeans and the same black hoodie he had been wearing the night this had all started. He eased open his window as carefully as possible and lifted himself out. He was lucky, because he had his own room and he was in the basement. Once he was in the window well he gently eased his window shut, leaving it open just a titch (I don't really care if that's not a word).
He went through the back door into the garage and grabbed a shovel (oh man, that would be a sweet place to leave you all hanging, but I have only written like 2 paragraphs, and I want to see where this goes just as bad as you do). Quickly he crossed the street, trying to stay in the shadows as he headed toward the spot where he had seen the picture and the knife (holy crap, I've still got to work the knife in somehow, wow this is going to be fun).
It took him almost three hours, plus a lucky guess as to where he should start digging so that he would come right down on the two objects. His arms were burning, and he quickly shoveled the dirt back in. He had been careful to lift the newly-laid sod off so that he didn't destroy it, and now that he was done, he put it back over the dirt, which was about an inch below the grass around it. Once he was back in his room he turned on his reading lamp to get a better look at the objects. The knife was a fixed hunting knife, it was made by the "Buck Knife Company" as the handle specified. It felt fairly sharp to Rick, though he was no knife expert. It was clear to see, however, that it had been well taken care of through several years.
After just a few minutes of examining the knife, Rick turned his attention to the picture. The printout was clearly recent, more than he could say for the woman in the picture next to him. It was laminated, and the excess plastic had not been trimmed. There were bubbles in the lamination,
"Whoever laminated this must have been in a hurry." thought Rick,
He recognized the image of himself that had been photoshopped into the picture, it was of him on the first day of school.
"Wait a second, I posted that picture on my blog!" he thought, "That's where they must have gotten it! Man, you might as well call me Bourne, he's got nothin' on me!"
As he dwelt on this lightening thought for a moment he thought to look on the back of the picture. There were just two words written in scratchy handwriting:
Find him.
Later that night, Rick laid in his bed thinking,
"I'm no Jason Bourne, or Ben Gates," he thought, "This isn't going to be easy to figure out, I know that, but that doesn't mean that sitting and waiting for something to happen is going to help anything"
And with that thought, Rick lifted himself out of bed and slipped on a pair of jeans and the same black hoodie he had been wearing the night this had all started. He eased open his window as carefully as possible and lifted himself out. He was lucky, because he had his own room and he was in the basement. Once he was in the window well he gently eased his window shut, leaving it open just a titch (I don't really care if that's not a word).
He went through the back door into the garage and grabbed a shovel (oh man, that would be a sweet place to leave you all hanging, but I have only written like 2 paragraphs, and I want to see where this goes just as bad as you do). Quickly he crossed the street, trying to stay in the shadows as he headed toward the spot where he had seen the picture and the knife (holy crap, I've still got to work the knife in somehow, wow this is going to be fun).
It took him almost three hours, plus a lucky guess as to where he should start digging so that he would come right down on the two objects. His arms were burning, and he quickly shoveled the dirt back in. He had been careful to lift the newly-laid sod off so that he didn't destroy it, and now that he was done, he put it back over the dirt, which was about an inch below the grass around it. Once he was back in his room he turned on his reading lamp to get a better look at the objects. The knife was a fixed hunting knife, it was made by the "Buck Knife Company" as the handle specified. It felt fairly sharp to Rick, though he was no knife expert. It was clear to see, however, that it had been well taken care of through several years.
After just a few minutes of examining the knife, Rick turned his attention to the picture. The printout was clearly recent, more than he could say for the woman in the picture next to him. It was laminated, and the excess plastic had not been trimmed. There were bubbles in the lamination,
"Whoever laminated this must have been in a hurry." thought Rick,
He recognized the image of himself that had been photoshopped into the picture, it was of him on the first day of school.
"Wait a second, I posted that picture on my blog!" he thought, "That's where they must have gotten it! Man, you might as well call me Bourne, he's got nothin' on me!"
As he dwelt on this lightening thought for a moment he thought to look on the back of the picture. There were just two words written in scratchy handwriting:
Find him.
Sunday, December 9, 2007
Trepidation/Sidelines of a Cemetary Part 7
Ricks breathing became heavier as he walked endlessly around the cemetary, hoping against hope that the board had been at some other spot. As he rounded the corner on the south side of the cemetary he saw the man, the creepy guy, walking behind a tree. Rick quickly looked away, but glanced back every couple seconds to make sure the man stayed in that spot. The man hadn't seen Rick looking at him, and Rick quickly thought of what to do. He walked straight for the tree, acting as though he was still searching for the hole.
Just as he came within arms-length of the tree, he concentrated all his energy on hurling himself around the tree and hitting the man as hard as he could.
He was successful, he planted one right in the man's gut. The man was holding a baseball bat,
"Big suprise," thought Rick as he lunged again at the man, grabbing the bat and ripping it from his suprised enemy. He held up the bat threateningly and said,
"All right, now I want you to tell me everything" The man turned quickly on the spot and began to run. Rick swung at his legs, but missed horribly, he never was very good at baseball. He tossed the bat aside and gave chase. He caught up and tackled him from behind. This time he took no chances, putting the man in a tight headlock and bashing his face with his other hand.
"TELL ME EVERYTHING!" Rick screamed, giving him three good blows to the cheeks and chin. He stopped to allow the man to talk.
"I'm sorry," the man said, "I can't tell you anything"
Rick lifted his leg, threateningly over the man's man-parts.
"I'll do it," Rick warned, "I'm in control here"
"Ok, her name is Jane, and I laid the sod"
"Jane?" Rick thought, "What is he talking about"
As Rick thought, he loosened his grip just enough for the man to deliver a blow to Rick's diaphram which allowed him to escape. Rick tried to get up, but could not for several seconds.
When he did, the man was gone.
Just as he came within arms-length of the tree, he concentrated all his energy on hurling himself around the tree and hitting the man as hard as he could.
He was successful, he planted one right in the man's gut. The man was holding a baseball bat,
"Big suprise," thought Rick as he lunged again at the man, grabbing the bat and ripping it from his suprised enemy. He held up the bat threateningly and said,
"All right, now I want you to tell me everything" The man turned quickly on the spot and began to run. Rick swung at his legs, but missed horribly, he never was very good at baseball. He tossed the bat aside and gave chase. He caught up and tackled him from behind. This time he took no chances, putting the man in a tight headlock and bashing his face with his other hand.
"TELL ME EVERYTHING!" Rick screamed, giving him three good blows to the cheeks and chin. He stopped to allow the man to talk.
"I'm sorry," the man said, "I can't tell you anything"
Rick lifted his leg, threateningly over the man's man-parts.
"I'll do it," Rick warned, "I'm in control here"
"Ok, her name is Jane, and I laid the sod"
"Jane?" Rick thought, "What is he talking about"
As Rick thought, he loosened his grip just enough for the man to deliver a blow to Rick's diaphram which allowed him to escape. Rick tried to get up, but could not for several seconds.
When he did, the man was gone.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
Trepidation Part 6
"Where were you?" asked Rick's mom.
"I went running," replied Rick,
"In this weather?"
"Ya, but it wasn't coming down quite as much when I went out" Rick said, rubbing his head and grimacing.
"What's the matter?" asked his mom
"I hit my head"
Rick's mother examined the back of his head and gasped at the size of the bump.
"Ya, it really hurts" said Rick.
"How did you fall?" asked his mom
"I tripped over the ball." said Rick
"This was from the pavement?"
"Ya."
"So you just went for a little run in the rain, huh?"
"Just like I always do."
"What is it with you and rain?" she said, more to herself than to him.
"Oh and mom, when I was running there was a freshly dug grave, but it had a piece of plywood over it, so I lifted it up-"
"YOU DID WHAT?"
"I just lifted it up to see if there was anything under it, and there was a knife."
"A knife?"
"Ya."
"Ok I think you've had enough fun teasing me for tonight, why don'-"
"No mom, I'm serious."
"Mmhmm, I know, now why don't you go shower and wait till your dad gets home to look at your head."
"Mom, I'm not lying."
"Just go, you're soaking wet."
The impact from the shower water hurt his head, and the water stung the bloody wound. He didn't use shampoo, figuring that if the water stung, fragrant soap was probably not going to feel like a fluffy pillow on his head either. Suddenly it worried him, when would he be able to wash his hair? Well, without immense pain at least. He got out and tenderly dried his head, thinking about what to do now. He hadn't lied, but he hadn't told the whole truth either. He went into his family room and turned on "Who's Line is it Anyway" and soon fell asleep.
~~~~~~~~~~
The next day he awoke to the smell of eggs and bacon.
"Is there a better way to start off a day? Especially a Saturday." Rick thought, "Maybe I should set up a George Foreman in my room."
He pulled himself up the stairs, driven by the juicy aroma of the bacon. He got upstairs and dished himself up more than his fair-share of bacon and eggs.
"Thanks Dad" he said, hoping that his dad realized that he really was grateful for a good start to his day, especially after the day he had had yesterday.
He killed a couple hours by watching T.V. and surfing the internet. At about 11 o'clock he went upstairs into his living room and glanced out the window. It was still wet and lightly raining, and some city workers were there digging a grave somewhat near the hole he had visited yesterday.
"Perfect timing," he thought. He had been waiting for someone else to be in the cemetary, so there would be witnesses. He slipped on some sweats and the same hoodie he had been wearing yesterday. He quickly jogged around, so it didn't appear obvious. He jogged around the same way he had before, avoiding the neighbors fence this time though. As he approached the spot he saw that the plywood was gone. But not just the plywood, there was no hole, no fresh soil, just grass.
Nothing but grass.
"I went running," replied Rick,
"In this weather?"
"Ya, but it wasn't coming down quite as much when I went out" Rick said, rubbing his head and grimacing.
"What's the matter?" asked his mom
"I hit my head"
Rick's mother examined the back of his head and gasped at the size of the bump.
"Ya, it really hurts" said Rick.
"How did you fall?" asked his mom
"I tripped over the ball." said Rick
"This was from the pavement?"
"Ya."
"So you just went for a little run in the rain, huh?"
"Just like I always do."
"What is it with you and rain?" she said, more to herself than to him.
"Oh and mom, when I was running there was a freshly dug grave, but it had a piece of plywood over it, so I lifted it up-"
"YOU DID WHAT?"
"I just lifted it up to see if there was anything under it, and there was a knife."
"A knife?"
"Ya."
"Ok I think you've had enough fun teasing me for tonight, why don'-"
"No mom, I'm serious."
"Mmhmm, I know, now why don't you go shower and wait till your dad gets home to look at your head."
"Mom, I'm not lying."
"Just go, you're soaking wet."
The impact from the shower water hurt his head, and the water stung the bloody wound. He didn't use shampoo, figuring that if the water stung, fragrant soap was probably not going to feel like a fluffy pillow on his head either. Suddenly it worried him, when would he be able to wash his hair? Well, without immense pain at least. He got out and tenderly dried his head, thinking about what to do now. He hadn't lied, but he hadn't told the whole truth either. He went into his family room and turned on "Who's Line is it Anyway" and soon fell asleep.
~~~~~~~~~~
The next day he awoke to the smell of eggs and bacon.
"Is there a better way to start off a day? Especially a Saturday." Rick thought, "Maybe I should set up a George Foreman in my room."
He pulled himself up the stairs, driven by the juicy aroma of the bacon. He got upstairs and dished himself up more than his fair-share of bacon and eggs.
"Thanks Dad" he said, hoping that his dad realized that he really was grateful for a good start to his day, especially after the day he had had yesterday.
He killed a couple hours by watching T.V. and surfing the internet. At about 11 o'clock he went upstairs into his living room and glanced out the window. It was still wet and lightly raining, and some city workers were there digging a grave somewhat near the hole he had visited yesterday.
"Perfect timing," he thought. He had been waiting for someone else to be in the cemetary, so there would be witnesses. He slipped on some sweats and the same hoodie he had been wearing yesterday. He quickly jogged around, so it didn't appear obvious. He jogged around the same way he had before, avoiding the neighbors fence this time though. As he approached the spot he saw that the plywood was gone. But not just the plywood, there was no hole, no fresh soil, just grass.
Nothing but grass.
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Trepidation/The Antics and Adventures of Rick Rick Ricky, Ricky Raccoon Part 5
The ride was strange and his head throbbed. He thought about trying to keep track of how many turns they took and how long between each turn, but after a while he realized that according to the turns he was keeping track of, they were going in circles.
After what seemed like hours the car stopped and the man finally spoke,
"Get out" he said.
Rick took off the blindfold and saw that he was just a block away from his house.
"You could drive me the rest of the way if you wanted to." said Rick, trying to lighten the mood and make the guy happy.
"Ha.....Ha......Ha" the man mockingly laughed, "Just shut up and get out of the car"
"Sheesh, who peed in your cheerios?" Rick said as he jumped out of the car and ran off with his ball. He glanced back and saw that it was an old tan Acura Integra without a license plate.
It was late and the rain had really picked up. As Rick passed one of his neighbor's houses he glanced inside to look at their massive clock. 9:15.
"Wow, I must have been blacked out longer than I thought." Rick rubbed the back of his head and nearly fell from the excruciating pain. He couldn't remember ever going through that amount of pain. He glanced at his hand and saw that it was covered in blood.
"Oh man," Rick thought aloud, "I didn't realize that it was cut open" He wiped his hand on the wet grass and shoved his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie.
"What am I going to tell my parents?" he thought. As he approached the corner where his house was, he sat down on the curb and thought about what he could say. He didn't know if he really wanted to tell them. He figured it was the right thing to do, but it just didn't feel right.
"What would they even do anyway?" he thought, "I have no proof, no way to lead them anywhere, just a story, that's all, just a story."
After what seemed like hours the car stopped and the man finally spoke,
"Get out" he said.
Rick took off the blindfold and saw that he was just a block away from his house.
"You could drive me the rest of the way if you wanted to." said Rick, trying to lighten the mood and make the guy happy.
"Ha.....Ha......Ha" the man mockingly laughed, "Just shut up and get out of the car"
"Sheesh, who peed in your cheerios?" Rick said as he jumped out of the car and ran off with his ball. He glanced back and saw that it was an old tan Acura Integra without a license plate.
It was late and the rain had really picked up. As Rick passed one of his neighbor's houses he glanced inside to look at their massive clock. 9:15.
"Wow, I must have been blacked out longer than I thought." Rick rubbed the back of his head and nearly fell from the excruciating pain. He couldn't remember ever going through that amount of pain. He glanced at his hand and saw that it was covered in blood.
"Oh man," Rick thought aloud, "I didn't realize that it was cut open" He wiped his hand on the wet grass and shoved his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie.
"What am I going to tell my parents?" he thought. As he approached the corner where his house was, he sat down on the curb and thought about what he could say. He didn't know if he really wanted to tell them. He figured it was the right thing to do, but it just didn't feel right.
"What would they even do anyway?" he thought, "I have no proof, no way to lead them anywhere, just a story, that's all, just a story."
Friday, November 30, 2007
Part 4
Ok so I told my friends that this can't just be a "and then he woke up and saved the day" type of story. It's got to be unexpected, intriguing (sp?), high-flying, exciting, adventerous, thri-ok I think you get the point. I've got christmas music playing, light's on, it's a near-perfect creative-juice-free-flowing environment (I would have a cup of Egg Nog next to me, but I'm going out to eat in not too long, because of a BYU vs. U*** bet I won with my young mens leader). Anyway, at this point, as I'm typing this very sentence, I have no idea where this story is going. So say a quick prayer and (hopefully) enjoy.
As Rick came-to, he heard an unfamiliar voice,
"This yours?"
His eyes slowly adjusted and he saw that the creepy hooded man was spinning his ball on his middle finger. Rick's immaturity shone through as he wondered if the man was spinning on his middle finger for any particular reason. Up close Rick could see that the man was probably no older than 26 or 27. He had black hair, and those deep, cold, piercing eyes. He had some stubble on his strong chin and high cheek bones. He looked like a guy who had been through a lot.
He was laying on hard white mattress that reminded him of the hospital. The room wasn't big, but not small either. It was actually kinda homey (don't laugh at that word, if you do, you're...dumb). The walls were a warm, tan color and the carpet was a clean, inviting, yet creepy shade of black.
"Umm, ya. But you can have it if it'll get me outta here." Rick hoped that he sounded, mature, tough-like.
"Haha," the man chuckled, "I imagine this is all really strange for you."
"What is "This"?" Rick asked, scared and annoyed.
"For now, I just want to ask you some questions, then I'll take you home"
"Umm, okay" Rick said, figuring he was in for more than just some questions.
"Why do you like soccer?" the man asked.
"It's fun" Rick replied, not wanting to go into detail.
"Go into detail"
"Ok, it's unique, simple, you can always get better...it kinda defines me" Rick said
'What the crap' thought Rick 'I wonder if this has anything at all to do with what I saw in the cemetary.'
"What's your favorite color?"
"Green, do you want an explanation?"
"Yes"
"It's rich, has depth, and makes me smile."
"Interesting, what is your greatest fear?" the man asked.
"Not having control"
"Why?"
"Does it need explanation." Rick replied with an edge in his voice, he tried to make it more of a statement than a question.
"What do you think about death?"
This caught him off-guard.
"Death?" Rick repeated, trying not to sound scared, though he knew he did.
"Yes"
"It's sad, and I think interfering with it is a big mistake" he hoped the man got his message.
"Ok, for safety I need you to wear a blindfold, or I can just knock you out again"
"I'll wear the blindfold"
"Fair enough"
As Rick came-to, he heard an unfamiliar voice,
"This yours?"
His eyes slowly adjusted and he saw that the creepy hooded man was spinning his ball on his middle finger. Rick's immaturity shone through as he wondered if the man was spinning on his middle finger for any particular reason. Up close Rick could see that the man was probably no older than 26 or 27. He had black hair, and those deep, cold, piercing eyes. He had some stubble on his strong chin and high cheek bones. He looked like a guy who had been through a lot.
He was laying on hard white mattress that reminded him of the hospital. The room wasn't big, but not small either. It was actually kinda homey (don't laugh at that word, if you do, you're...dumb). The walls were a warm, tan color and the carpet was a clean, inviting, yet creepy shade of black.
"Umm, ya. But you can have it if it'll get me outta here." Rick hoped that he sounded, mature, tough-like.
"Haha," the man chuckled, "I imagine this is all really strange for you."
"What is "This"?" Rick asked, scared and annoyed.
"For now, I just want to ask you some questions, then I'll take you home"
"Umm, okay" Rick said, figuring he was in for more than just some questions.
"Why do you like soccer?" the man asked.
"It's fun" Rick replied, not wanting to go into detail.
"Go into detail"
"Ok, it's unique, simple, you can always get better...it kinda defines me" Rick said
'What the crap' thought Rick 'I wonder if this has anything at all to do with what I saw in the cemetary.'
"What's your favorite color?"
"Green, do you want an explanation?"
"Yes"
"It's rich, has depth, and makes me smile."
"Interesting, what is your greatest fear?" the man asked.
"Not having control"
"Why?"
"Does it need explanation." Rick replied with an edge in his voice, he tried to make it more of a statement than a question.
"What do you think about death?"
This caught him off-guard.
"Death?" Rick repeated, trying not to sound scared, though he knew he did.
"Yes"
"It's sad, and I think interfering with it is a big mistake" he hoped the man got his message.
"Ok, for safety I need you to wear a blindfold, or I can just knock you out again"
"I'll wear the blindfold"
"Fair enough"
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Part 3
Rick felt his stomach crash into his tonsils with a bang.
Those eyes.
It felt as though they were piercing his soul, and corrupting it with creepiness.
"What do I do?" He thought, turning around and walking the other direction as though he had intended to.
"He's in between me and my house, I have nowhere to go, it's raining and I'm in short-shorts." He looked over his shoulder and saw that the hooded man was gone, leaving only the bench he had been sitting on behind him. Rick released an apprehensive sigh of relief and turned around and started the now eternally-long walk home.
As he walked he could not stop invisioning those eyes. They stayed in his mind like tree sap stays on your hands forever. He remembered a time when he had foolishly carved a pine stick with his new pocket knife and covered it in sap. He had taken the knife inside and started washing it off. As he rubbed it with his fingers, he had suddenly slipped and sliced open the heel of his hand. At first it hadn't hurt too much, but then searing pain had entered his hand and gone up his arm. That's how these eyes were, searing in his brain and filling his whole body with their image.
As Rick remembered this experience he came closer and closer to home. Suddenly out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move behind the tree he had just passed. Before he could turn around, something hard hit him in the back of the head and blackness took over everything.
Except those eyes.
Those eyes.
It felt as though they were piercing his soul, and corrupting it with creepiness.
"What do I do?" He thought, turning around and walking the other direction as though he had intended to.
"He's in between me and my house, I have nowhere to go, it's raining and I'm in short-shorts." He looked over his shoulder and saw that the hooded man was gone, leaving only the bench he had been sitting on behind him. Rick released an apprehensive sigh of relief and turned around and started the now eternally-long walk home.
As he walked he could not stop invisioning those eyes. They stayed in his mind like tree sap stays on your hands forever. He remembered a time when he had foolishly carved a pine stick with his new pocket knife and covered it in sap. He had taken the knife inside and started washing it off. As he rubbed it with his fingers, he had suddenly slipped and sliced open the heel of his hand. At first it hadn't hurt too much, but then searing pain had entered his hand and gone up his arm. That's how these eyes were, searing in his brain and filling his whole body with their image.
As Rick remembered this experience he came closer and closer to home. Suddenly out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move behind the tree he had just passed. Before he could turn around, something hard hit him in the back of the head and blackness took over everything.
Except those eyes.
Friday, November 16, 2007
My Story That Has Yet To Be Named Because I Don't Know Where I'm Going With It; Part 2
Ok first off, for the ridiculous amount of comments regarding "Kylie" aka Camille, my next door neighbor: I'm over her, but that doesn't mean I can't think she's attractive. From this moment on, "Kylie" was never in the story, and I don't want to hear any mention about it. Sheesh! I make one reference to a girl and all the teenage guys (and my dad!) have to make some smart comment about it.
Rick jumped out of the hole and then was suddenly glued to the spot.
"What now?" he thought as he looked back in at the knife and picture, "I've seen them, and I can't just pretend I didn't, it'll haunt me for years"
He quickly scanned the area to see if anyone was watching him. When he saw no one was around he thought,
"What am I doing, it's a frickin' picture and a knife, they're not going to attack me."
Gently he lowered himself back into the hole and picked up the picture. He wiped off the mud with the sleeve of his sweater and held the picture up to see it in the dim light. What he saw caused him to drop the picture as if it were on fire.
It was him! He was in the picture with an old woman who he had never seen before.
After a minute he again he regained his composure and managed to pick up the picture again. As he looked more closely, he could see he had been poorly photoshopped into the picture. The proportion of his body to the tree next to him was all wrong.
"What the crap!?" he thought slowly, "I'M IN THIS PICTURE!"
Having lost all feeling, he slowly lifted himself out of the hole and covered it with the plywood as it had been before. He started to walk home when he something caught his eye.
A hunched figure staring right at him from across the cemetary.
Rick jumped out of the hole and then was suddenly glued to the spot.
"What now?" he thought as he looked back in at the knife and picture, "I've seen them, and I can't just pretend I didn't, it'll haunt me for years"
He quickly scanned the area to see if anyone was watching him. When he saw no one was around he thought,
"What am I doing, it's a frickin' picture and a knife, they're not going to attack me."
Gently he lowered himself back into the hole and picked up the picture. He wiped off the mud with the sleeve of his sweater and held the picture up to see it in the dim light. What he saw caused him to drop the picture as if it were on fire.
It was him! He was in the picture with an old woman who he had never seen before.
After a minute he again he regained his composure and managed to pick up the picture again. As he looked more closely, he could see he had been poorly photoshopped into the picture. The proportion of his body to the tree next to him was all wrong.
"What the crap!?" he thought slowly, "I'M IN THIS PICTURE!"
Having lost all feeling, he slowly lifted himself out of the hole and covered it with the plywood as it had been before. He started to walk home when he something caught his eye.
A hunched figure staring right at him from across the cemetary.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Presenting: A Josh Crowley Original Series *Revised Edition*
When I was writing part 1 of my original series, my plan was to go back and add more detail, proofread, make better word selections, etc. However, my sister needed the computer RIGHT NOW!!! So I didn't, but I'm going to now, probably more for my sake than yours, but hey.
Rick Somner swung open his front door and inhaled deeply the heavy, pre-storm air.
"Perfect timing." he thought.
He slipped on a sweatshirt and some just-a-little-too-short shorts, in hopes that Kylie, his incredibly attractive next-door neighbor might glance out the window as he jogged in the lukewarm rain.
He stepped out the door and felt the first raindrops fall on his nose and eyelashes,
"Why do I love this so much?" he questioned, for as long as he could remember he had loved running through the cemetary in the cool, thick fall air of a rainstorm. Something to do with the heavy, wet-asphault smell and the colored leaves that fell as he jogged by absorbed him.
As Rick jogged through the cemetary, he thought about life. He enjoyed school, couldn't wait to date, and appreciated things most teenagers didn't. He had worked for the first time over the summer and was still enjoying the all-powerful feeling of his strengthened muscles. He loved sports and soaked up a good game like a sponge. Soccer encompassed him, (see, this is already becoming a narrative about my life) and felt that soccer in a way defined him. Unique and fascinating, soccer took a completely different mindset from most other sports. Yet it was so simple, put the ball in the goal.
As he rounded his lap around the cemetary, he crossed the street and grabbed a ball from his backyard. He lifted the ball to his face and, for just a second, stood and smelled the ball and the grass and the rain.
Back in the cemetary, he took a couple juggles of the ball to warm his legs. When he felt his muscles get warm and stretched out, he trapped the ball with immense precision on the asphault in front of him. He envisioned his opponent and took a touch forward. He faked right and went left, going full speed, he popped the ball up with his foot, took a touch off his thigh and WHAM! he smashed the ball into a vine-covered fence, across the cemetary.
"Hey! You 'bout gave me heart attack. You're going to put a whole in my fence you little terd! I'll call the cops on you if you ever slam a ball into my fence again!" said an deep, old voice behind the vines.
"I'm so sorry!" Rick replied, scared half to death.
"Ya you better be" replied the old man.
Rick scampered off, wishing he hadn't kicked the ball and cursing the old man under his breath.
"It's a freakin' chain-link fence" he thought "I mean, I can see that I scared him, but come on! What a loser." As he gave the incident more thought than it deserved, he noticed a plywood board laying in an empty part of the cemetary.
"That's weird" he thought. He remembered a time when a funeral had been delayed a couple of hours on a rainy day and they had layed a board over the hole. He had assumed at the time that they just didn't want the soil muddy. But today, it was already 5:00, they wouldn't be doing a funeral tonight.
"It must have been planned for today, but postponed till tomorrow" he figured. "Wait a minute, tomorrow is Sunday, surely there won't be a funeral tomorrow." Out of curiosity, he went and lifted up the plywood to see if there was anything underneath.
The clouds had blocked out most of the light and he had to lift the board off the hole to see inside. He saw the corner of something sticking out of the dirt at the bottom of the hole. He jumped in and moved some dirt around with his foot.
His heart stopped at what he had uncovered.
An old knife and a muddy picture.
Rick Somner swung open his front door and inhaled deeply the heavy, pre-storm air.
"Perfect timing." he thought.
He slipped on a sweatshirt and some just-a-little-too-short shorts, in hopes that Kylie, his incredibly attractive next-door neighbor might glance out the window as he jogged in the lukewarm rain.
He stepped out the door and felt the first raindrops fall on his nose and eyelashes,
"Why do I love this so much?" he questioned, for as long as he could remember he had loved running through the cemetary in the cool, thick fall air of a rainstorm. Something to do with the heavy, wet-asphault smell and the colored leaves that fell as he jogged by absorbed him.
As Rick jogged through the cemetary, he thought about life. He enjoyed school, couldn't wait to date, and appreciated things most teenagers didn't. He had worked for the first time over the summer and was still enjoying the all-powerful feeling of his strengthened muscles. He loved sports and soaked up a good game like a sponge. Soccer encompassed him, (see, this is already becoming a narrative about my life) and felt that soccer in a way defined him. Unique and fascinating, soccer took a completely different mindset from most other sports. Yet it was so simple, put the ball in the goal.
As he rounded his lap around the cemetary, he crossed the street and grabbed a ball from his backyard. He lifted the ball to his face and, for just a second, stood and smelled the ball and the grass and the rain.
Back in the cemetary, he took a couple juggles of the ball to warm his legs. When he felt his muscles get warm and stretched out, he trapped the ball with immense precision on the asphault in front of him. He envisioned his opponent and took a touch forward. He faked right and went left, going full speed, he popped the ball up with his foot, took a touch off his thigh and WHAM! he smashed the ball into a vine-covered fence, across the cemetary.
"Hey! You 'bout gave me heart attack. You're going to put a whole in my fence you little terd! I'll call the cops on you if you ever slam a ball into my fence again!" said an deep, old voice behind the vines.
"I'm so sorry!" Rick replied, scared half to death.
"Ya you better be" replied the old man.
Rick scampered off, wishing he hadn't kicked the ball and cursing the old man under his breath.
"It's a freakin' chain-link fence" he thought "I mean, I can see that I scared him, but come on! What a loser." As he gave the incident more thought than it deserved, he noticed a plywood board laying in an empty part of the cemetary.
"That's weird" he thought. He remembered a time when a funeral had been delayed a couple of hours on a rainy day and they had layed a board over the hole. He had assumed at the time that they just didn't want the soil muddy. But today, it was already 5:00, they wouldn't be doing a funeral tonight.
"It must have been planned for today, but postponed till tomorrow" he figured. "Wait a minute, tomorrow is Sunday, surely there won't be a funeral tomorrow." Out of curiosity, he went and lifted up the plywood to see if there was anything underneath.
The clouds had blocked out most of the light and he had to lift the board off the hole to see inside. He saw the corner of something sticking out of the dirt at the bottom of the hole. He jumped in and moved some dirt around with his foot.
His heart stopped at what he had uncovered.
An old knife and a muddy picture.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Presenting: A Josh Crowley Original Series
Lately I've been thinking about how the name of this blog is Creative Corner, and none of my posts are really that creative. Usually when I write, the most creative things I can think to write about are: Soccer, Waterskiing, and BYU football, as you can already see from my previous posts. I'm going to make a valiant attempt to get you, my readers, and the rest of America hooked on an original Josh Çrowley series. No really, I'll do my best, but I do not profess to be a great writer, so bear with me as I venture off into the world of creative twists and turns, in what will probably turn out to be a pretty cliche, boring story.
Rick Somner opened his front door and inhaled deeply the pre-storm air.
"Perfect timing" he thought. He slipped on a sweatshirt and some just-a-little-too-short shorts, in hopes that Kylie, his incredibly attractive next-door neighbor might glance out the window as he went running in the lukewarm rain.
He stepped out the door and felt the first raindrops fall on his nose and eyelashes,
"Why do I love this so much?" he questioned. For as long as he could remember he had loved running through the cemetary in the cool, thick fall air of a rainstorm. It had something to do with the heavy, wet-asphault smell and the leaves that fell as he jogged by.
As he jogged through the cemetary, he thought about life. He was about ready to start dating, enjoyed school, and could appreciate things most teenagers didn't. He had worked for the first time over the summer and was still enjoying the all-powerful feeling of his strengthened muscles. He loved sports and had a real passion for soccer, (see, this is already becoming a narrative about my life) and felt that soccer in a way defined him. It was unique, fascinating, and took a completely different mindset from most other sports. Yet it was so simple, put the ball in the goal.
As he rounded his lap around the cemetary, he crossed the street and grabbed a ball from his backyard. He lifted the ball to his face and, for a second, just stood and smelled the ball and the grass and the rain.
Back in the cemetary, he took a couple juggles of the ball and then let it drop. He envisioned his opponent and took a touch forward, he faked right and went left, popped the ball up with his foot going full speed now, took a touch off his thigh and WHAM! he smashed the ball into the vine-covered fence, across the cemetary.
"Hey! You're going to put a whole in my fence you little terd! You about gave me heart attack and I'll call the cops on you if you ever slam a ball into my fence again!" said an old voice behind the vines.
"I'm so sorry!" Rick replied, scared half to death.
"Ya you better be" replied the old man.
Rick scampered off, both wishing he hadn't kicked the ball and cursing the old man under his breath.
"It's a freakin' chain-link fence" he thought "I mean, I can see that I scared him, but come on! What a loser." As he gave the incident more thought than it deserved, he noticed a plywood board laying in an empty part of the cemetary.
"That's weird" he thought, he had seen that done before, when a funeral got delayed a couple of hours on a rainy day. He had assumed at the time that they just didn't want the soil muddy. But today, it was already 5:00, they wouldn't be doing a funeral tonight.
"It must have been planned for today, but postponed till tomorrow" he figured. "Wait a minute, tomorrow is Sunday, surely there won't be a funeral tomorrow." Out of curiosity, he went and lifted up the plywood to see if there was anything underneath. His heart stopped at what he saw at the bottom of the hole.
A knife and a picture.
Rick Somner opened his front door and inhaled deeply the pre-storm air.
"Perfect timing" he thought. He slipped on a sweatshirt and some just-a-little-too-short shorts, in hopes that Kylie, his incredibly attractive next-door neighbor might glance out the window as he went running in the lukewarm rain.
He stepped out the door and felt the first raindrops fall on his nose and eyelashes,
"Why do I love this so much?" he questioned. For as long as he could remember he had loved running through the cemetary in the cool, thick fall air of a rainstorm. It had something to do with the heavy, wet-asphault smell and the leaves that fell as he jogged by.
As he jogged through the cemetary, he thought about life. He was about ready to start dating, enjoyed school, and could appreciate things most teenagers didn't. He had worked for the first time over the summer and was still enjoying the all-powerful feeling of his strengthened muscles. He loved sports and had a real passion for soccer, (see, this is already becoming a narrative about my life) and felt that soccer in a way defined him. It was unique, fascinating, and took a completely different mindset from most other sports. Yet it was so simple, put the ball in the goal.
As he rounded his lap around the cemetary, he crossed the street and grabbed a ball from his backyard. He lifted the ball to his face and, for a second, just stood and smelled the ball and the grass and the rain.
Back in the cemetary, he took a couple juggles of the ball and then let it drop. He envisioned his opponent and took a touch forward, he faked right and went left, popped the ball up with his foot going full speed now, took a touch off his thigh and WHAM! he smashed the ball into the vine-covered fence, across the cemetary.
"Hey! You're going to put a whole in my fence you little terd! You about gave me heart attack and I'll call the cops on you if you ever slam a ball into my fence again!" said an old voice behind the vines.
"I'm so sorry!" Rick replied, scared half to death.
"Ya you better be" replied the old man.
Rick scampered off, both wishing he hadn't kicked the ball and cursing the old man under his breath.
"It's a freakin' chain-link fence" he thought "I mean, I can see that I scared him, but come on! What a loser." As he gave the incident more thought than it deserved, he noticed a plywood board laying in an empty part of the cemetary.
"That's weird" he thought, he had seen that done before, when a funeral got delayed a couple of hours on a rainy day. He had assumed at the time that they just didn't want the soil muddy. But today, it was already 5:00, they wouldn't be doing a funeral tonight.
"It must have been planned for today, but postponed till tomorrow" he figured. "Wait a minute, tomorrow is Sunday, surely there won't be a funeral tomorrow." Out of curiosity, he went and lifted up the plywood to see if there was anything underneath. His heart stopped at what he saw at the bottom of the hole.
A knife and a picture.
Monday, November 5, 2007
Some Quotes and a Story.
Have I really not posted in a week? My sincerest apologies, (although apparently only two people read my blog). I even missed quotable Friday!
"You could open my heart and you'd see that it's true."
"Merry Christmas you old building and loan! Merry Christmas Mr. Potter! Merry Christmas Mr. Bank Examiner! I know isn't it great, I'm going to jail!"
"And I know (echo: and I know), yes I know that it's plain to see, we're so in love when we're together."
And now a story from Friday.
I'm sitting in AP Euro, trying my hardest to keep my eyes open, and thinking about the 1 zillionth king of England, when all of a sudden I hear a voice,
"Can I borrow Josh for a minute?"
It was a girl from the symphonic band.
Ok, interjection here. At the beginning of the year in band, we had a placement tryout. Symphonic band is the highest, then concert band, and then there are the people who just want to be able to say they play drums and they don't even get to be in a band. I tried-out and I thought that I did horribly. I did not play well at all. But, I now know that it must have been very interesting for Mr. Chaston, my band teacher, because some of the tryouts...well how do I put this...they can't hold sticks, let alone play the music he gave us. Anyway, shockingly I made it into Symphonic Band. Which is quite an honor for a sophmore to make symphonic band. But still, I'm the ONLY sophmore in symphonic band, not just the only sophmore percussionist, I'm the only sophmore in ALL of symphonic band. Anywho, I have mixed feelings about this, I'm getting to play way more fun music than concert band is, so I guess it's pretty much okay.
Now back to the original story.
"Sure, you can borrow Josh" My teacher said.
I stood up and followed her out into the hall.
"We're playing "Ghost Train" for the assembly and you need to go set up" she said
(Ghost Train is the piece we had played for the concert the night before, and now, without warning, Mr. Chaston wanted us to play it for the Harvest assembly.)
"Okay" I said.
So after I got down there, I started getting equipment out, and we realized that based on the assembly schedule, we needed to get the timpani onto the stage a different way than the rest of the equipment. So I was wandering onstage, trying to see a way that we could get all of the timpani past the many props and scrap wood that is backstage. It was pitch dark, because they were testing a movie on the projector that they were going to show in the assembly.
Somehow I wandered my way onto the front of the stage with another kid from percussion. When we got to the front, the stage crew started screaming at us.
"GET OFF THE STAGE! HURRY UP! GET OFF RIGHT NOW! COME ON! GET OFF!!!"
Now, I still don't know why they wanted us off stage. I have no explantion. Needless to say, I was afraid that I might be hit by a train any minute. I started hurrying toward the front of the stage to get off. I didn't think I was anywhere close to the edge, but I was.
So yeah, I fell off the stage, hit the first step on my knee, and skidded down the second and third steps on my shin. I have a big old scrape and I was bleeding all over and stuff. No one really saw me, 'cause it was dark but I still feel really embarassed, so EVERYONE who reads this should make really comforting, I've-done-that-same-type-of-thing comments, so that I feel better about myself.
A smile is a curve that sets everything straight.
-Anonymous
"You could open my heart and you'd see that it's true."
"Merry Christmas you old building and loan! Merry Christmas Mr. Potter! Merry Christmas Mr. Bank Examiner! I know isn't it great, I'm going to jail!"
"And I know (echo: and I know), yes I know that it's plain to see, we're so in love when we're together."
And now a story from Friday.
I'm sitting in AP Euro, trying my hardest to keep my eyes open, and thinking about the 1 zillionth king of England, when all of a sudden I hear a voice,
"Can I borrow Josh for a minute?"
It was a girl from the symphonic band.
Ok, interjection here. At the beginning of the year in band, we had a placement tryout. Symphonic band is the highest, then concert band, and then there are the people who just want to be able to say they play drums and they don't even get to be in a band. I tried-out and I thought that I did horribly. I did not play well at all. But, I now know that it must have been very interesting for Mr. Chaston, my band teacher, because some of the tryouts...well how do I put this...they can't hold sticks, let alone play the music he gave us. Anyway, shockingly I made it into Symphonic Band. Which is quite an honor for a sophmore to make symphonic band. But still, I'm the ONLY sophmore in symphonic band, not just the only sophmore percussionist, I'm the only sophmore in ALL of symphonic band. Anywho, I have mixed feelings about this, I'm getting to play way more fun music than concert band is, so I guess it's pretty much okay.
Now back to the original story.
"Sure, you can borrow Josh" My teacher said.
I stood up and followed her out into the hall.
"We're playing "Ghost Train" for the assembly and you need to go set up" she said
(Ghost Train is the piece we had played for the concert the night before, and now, without warning, Mr. Chaston wanted us to play it for the Harvest assembly.)
"Okay" I said.
So after I got down there, I started getting equipment out, and we realized that based on the assembly schedule, we needed to get the timpani onto the stage a different way than the rest of the equipment. So I was wandering onstage, trying to see a way that we could get all of the timpani past the many props and scrap wood that is backstage. It was pitch dark, because they were testing a movie on the projector that they were going to show in the assembly.
Somehow I wandered my way onto the front of the stage with another kid from percussion. When we got to the front, the stage crew started screaming at us.
"GET OFF THE STAGE! HURRY UP! GET OFF RIGHT NOW! COME ON! GET OFF!!!"
Now, I still don't know why they wanted us off stage. I have no explantion. Needless to say, I was afraid that I might be hit by a train any minute. I started hurrying toward the front of the stage to get off. I didn't think I was anywhere close to the edge, but I was.
So yeah, I fell off the stage, hit the first step on my knee, and skidded down the second and third steps on my shin. I have a big old scrape and I was bleeding all over and stuff. No one really saw me, 'cause it was dark but I still feel really embarassed, so EVERYONE who reads this should make really comforting, I've-done-that-same-type-of-thing comments, so that I feel better about myself.
A smile is a curve that sets everything straight.
-Anonymous
Friday, October 12, 2007
Daniel Powter
Bad Day. More like a bad mood, but it's kind of a bad day too. My blog won't let me customize anything, I'm getting agitated with people easily, I have a slight headache, and I don't really want to go do my chores. So I'm going to try to write my emotions all out onto this blog and be happy for the rest of the day.
It is the drive when you can't go on
It is the strength to stand when you know you will fall
It is the power when power is lost
It is the force that lifts you through the blood, sweat, and tears
It is the intensity in the veins of a winner
It is the concentration required for the victory
It is the knowledge acquired after hours of intense practice
It eats Wheaties for breakfast
It lays awake at night
It knows no boundaries
It hears no whistle
It dwells deep in the heart of a champion
Waiting to be called upon
What is it?
It is will
It is determination
It is desire
It is passion
It is ardor
It is love for the game
Joga Bonito-The Beautiful Game
(I want a really sweet soccer picture right here, but unfortunately I'm on dial up)
I beat my juggling record last night, 564.
"The difference between a successful person and others is not a lack of strength, not a lack of knowledge, but rather in a lack of will."
Vince Lombardi
P.S. If you like to read my incredible blog, but I don't know you, SWEET! But I would like it if you told me if I should know you or if you just happened to come across my blog and you like it.
It is the drive when you can't go on
It is the strength to stand when you know you will fall
It is the power when power is lost
It is the force that lifts you through the blood, sweat, and tears
It is the intensity in the veins of a winner
It is the concentration required for the victory
It is the knowledge acquired after hours of intense practice
It eats Wheaties for breakfast
It lays awake at night
It knows no boundaries
It hears no whistle
It dwells deep in the heart of a champion
Waiting to be called upon
What is it?
It is will
It is determination
It is desire
It is passion
It is ardor
It is love for the game
Joga Bonito-The Beautiful Game
(I want a really sweet soccer picture right here, but unfortunately I'm on dial up)
I beat my juggling record last night, 564.
"The difference between a successful person and others is not a lack of strength, not a lack of knowledge, but rather in a lack of will."
Vince Lombardi
P.S. If you like to read my incredible blog, but I don't know you, SWEET! But I would like it if you told me if I should know you or if you just happened to come across my blog and you like it.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Thanks For Commenting even though it was misleadingwhen I saw that there were 7 comments because thomas and matt both posted twice
Fine dad, I won't be *just* like you. I'll only be *mostly* like you. Jk, thanks to everyone who commented.
I wrote this in 9th grade.
Oh What Fun It Is To Water-Ski
I hear the zipper and now I’m awake
My muscles are sore and I’m starting to quake
Soon I remember, the sooner the better
Quickly goes on my black, hooded sweater
A little hot chocolate I quickly sip
And I try to forget about my sore hip
After a bite of muffin, we’re on the lake
And the feeling I’m getting is sweeter than cake
I slip off my shirt and I want to dose
A whiff of smoke softly brushes my nose
I remember last night, with the music and laughs
A little more sleep could’ve helped my calves
I quickly dive in, and catch my breath
The soreness in my muscles now feels like death
I surface the water and slip on my ski
Ah! Now it’s warm, I just went pee
I’m on top of the water and it’s smooth as glass
No boats to see, no boats to pass
This feels like heaven, I’m totally free
My soreness forgot, I don’t feel so achy
With freedom of motion, I zig and I zag
The tighter the turn, the less the sag
As I make a cut, my body moans
I’m gonna hit the water, I feel it in my bones
I hit the water, as hard as concrete,
Again my body and the soreness meet
I was just getting dry! Now I’m all wet
I search for my ski, which I swim to get
I’m limp and tired and back in the boat
Oh, how grateful I am that it can float
“Give me a rest!” is my body’s plea
Yet oh what fun it is to water-ski
"It is one of the most beautiful compensations of life, that no man can sincerely try to help another without helping himself."
Ralph Waldo Emerson
I wrote this in 9th grade.
Oh What Fun It Is To Water-Ski
I hear the zipper and now I’m awake
My muscles are sore and I’m starting to quake
Soon I remember, the sooner the better
Quickly goes on my black, hooded sweater
A little hot chocolate I quickly sip
And I try to forget about my sore hip
After a bite of muffin, we’re on the lake
And the feeling I’m getting is sweeter than cake
I slip off my shirt and I want to dose
A whiff of smoke softly brushes my nose
I remember last night, with the music and laughs
A little more sleep could’ve helped my calves
I quickly dive in, and catch my breath
The soreness in my muscles now feels like death
I surface the water and slip on my ski
Ah! Now it’s warm, I just went pee
I’m on top of the water and it’s smooth as glass
No boats to see, no boats to pass
This feels like heaven, I’m totally free
My soreness forgot, I don’t feel so achy
With freedom of motion, I zig and I zag
The tighter the turn, the less the sag
As I make a cut, my body moans
I’m gonna hit the water, I feel it in my bones
I hit the water, as hard as concrete,
Again my body and the soreness meet
I was just getting dry! Now I’m all wet
I search for my ski, which I swim to get
I’m limp and tired and back in the boat
Oh, how grateful I am that it can float
“Give me a rest!” is my body’s plea
Yet oh what fun it is to water-ski
"It is one of the most beautiful compensations of life, that no man can sincerely try to help another without helping himself."
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Thursday, October 4, 2007
Stumped Already
Ya so I am already not sure what to post. I mean, I have plenty of ideas, but I don't know what ideas will be worth reading. So this is a short narrative that I wrote in 9th grade. We had to write a twist into a fairy tale. Enjoy! (I hope)
Happily Ever After?
Pete Pig here, the second pig, stick house, you know the one. I’m here to set the record straight on this so called fairy tale. This is the way it happened.
So all of a sudden somebody stomped on the porch, they stomped at the front porch because any knock loud enough for me to hear inside will knock the house down. So I gingerly opened the door and there was my idiot brother Patrick standing there quivering and shaking like a little baby.
I’m about to ask him what he did to get mother angry when I see an angry wolf flying down the path towards my house. I grab my brother and throw him into a chair. I slam the door without thinking about what would happen if I slammed the door. The impact from the slam loosened and cracked the mud and three sticks fell from the roof. This made me even angrier and I began to scream at my brother asking him what happened.
He told me that the wolf had knocked on his door asking him if he could come in. Without even finding out what it was the wolf needed, my brother called him brainless buffoon and told him to get off his porch and never come back. Now as everyone knows, wolves have very short tempers, and obviously the wolf got a little upset. He then knocked his house down. I don’t know where the “huff and puff” came from but the record shows that he just ran my brothers house right over.
Just as Patrick finished telling me this, there was an angry knock at the door followed by the sound of a slobbering wheezing wolf. He then screamed to my brother that he was not going live to see the next day. Thanks to the wolf knocking on my door and screaming, my already unstable home collapsed in a heap of dried mud and sticks. At first all I could do was sit and stare.
THAT HOUSE TOOK ME YEARS TO BUILD!!
I then called the wolf something I shouldn’t have and ran for my life to my brother Parley’s house. When I ran inside, Parley, AKA Einstein, was playing some Warcraft game, unlocking some super-mega ultra ninja man that could wipe out any guy in the game with his 3 billion point thunder fire power attack. To put it short my brother is a nerd. Regardless to say I was grateful for the warmth and safety of his expertly designed brick house.
At this point the story has been confused with the wolf trying to climb in the chimney some other weird endings to the story. What happened was that he simply knocked at the door asking for me. I quickly hid in a closeet as my brother began to explain to him some complex story involving the square root of the hypotenuse of the distance from my house and so on and so forth. Eventually the wolf just asked bluntly if I was in the house or not. My brother told him that I went through the back. The wolf then dashed through the house, out the back door and kept running, never to be heard of again.
Happily Ever After?
Pete Pig here, the second pig, stick house, you know the one. I’m here to set the record straight on this so called fairy tale. This is the way it happened.
So all of a sudden somebody stomped on the porch, they stomped at the front porch because any knock loud enough for me to hear inside will knock the house down. So I gingerly opened the door and there was my idiot brother Patrick standing there quivering and shaking like a little baby.
I’m about to ask him what he did to get mother angry when I see an angry wolf flying down the path towards my house. I grab my brother and throw him into a chair. I slam the door without thinking about what would happen if I slammed the door. The impact from the slam loosened and cracked the mud and three sticks fell from the roof. This made me even angrier and I began to scream at my brother asking him what happened.
He told me that the wolf had knocked on his door asking him if he could come in. Without even finding out what it was the wolf needed, my brother called him brainless buffoon and told him to get off his porch and never come back. Now as everyone knows, wolves have very short tempers, and obviously the wolf got a little upset. He then knocked his house down. I don’t know where the “huff and puff” came from but the record shows that he just ran my brothers house right over.
Just as Patrick finished telling me this, there was an angry knock at the door followed by the sound of a slobbering wheezing wolf. He then screamed to my brother that he was not going live to see the next day. Thanks to the wolf knocking on my door and screaming, my already unstable home collapsed in a heap of dried mud and sticks. At first all I could do was sit and stare.
THAT HOUSE TOOK ME YEARS TO BUILD!!
I then called the wolf something I shouldn’t have and ran for my life to my brother Parley’s house. When I ran inside, Parley, AKA Einstein, was playing some Warcraft game, unlocking some super-mega ultra ninja man that could wipe out any guy in the game with his 3 billion point thunder fire power attack. To put it short my brother is a nerd. Regardless to say I was grateful for the warmth and safety of his expertly designed brick house.
At this point the story has been confused with the wolf trying to climb in the chimney some other weird endings to the story. What happened was that he simply knocked at the door asking for me. I quickly hid in a closeet as my brother began to explain to him some complex story involving the square root of the hypotenuse of the distance from my house and so on and so forth. Eventually the wolf just asked bluntly if I was in the house or not. My brother told him that I went through the back. The wolf then dashed through the house, out the back door and kept running, never to be heard of again.
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