reproachful

Whenever my dad asks me if I want to go grocery shopping with my mom, I always say no.  It's boring and I don't like shopping.  TV is way more fun.  I finally went with my mom one day because I got sick of his reproachful looks.


Here's what I thought when I first entered the supermarket:





The cart is my plate and the aisles are the tables.  Food waits on every shelf, and all I have to do is reach out and drop it in the cart.  It's like a big party that everyone's invited to.


My mom went to the salad section first, so I got my own cart and started grabbing.  There were chocolate chip cookies, animal crackers, apple juice, bagels with raisins in there, and all kinds of cereal!  I took some cheese puffs, nacho-flavoured Doritos, string cheese, and three Lunchable boxes.  I like the pizza kinds a lot.


Here's what my mom looked like when she saw me sitting in my cart eating a pack of oreos with some milk:





I'm not allowed to go grocery shopping anymore.

candle

When I was turning eight years old, I remember wanting exactly eight candles on my cake. I wanted people to see that I was already almost an adult, that with age comes a greater set of lungs to blow out the flames. I actually do remember inhaling deeply, making sure I blew out all the candles with one breath. Because two breaths is too easy, it's practically cheating. And trick candles are the devil.


I also used to be a pyromaniac, which is why I loved candles so much. I loved to play with matches and lighters around the house, and I used to burn paper because the flame made things disappear right in front of your eyes.


But one time I accidentally dropped a lit match in a trash can, and the plastic bag in there caught fire. So I don't like to burn things so much.


Anyway, my point is that I don't want 22 candles on a cake next year. Please.

icicle

Have you heard that the best murder weapon would be an icicle? Yeah, apparently that's supposed to be excellent for stabbing someone and then melting away evidence of murder. I'm not saying I want to be a murderer, but I just wanted to test that out and see if an icicle would really be a perfect murder weapon.


"Dad, do we have any icicles?" I ask my dad. He's watching TV because his old college football team is playing, but I don't think he's really ever paying attention because his team never wins. Why would you want to watch a losing team? Then again, he never seems very happy when he's watching TV, so maybe he is paying attention and feeling depressed at the same time.


"Why would we have icicles? We live in California," he says.


"I want to kill something with it and watch it melt," I say.


Like I said, I don't think he's really paying attention to the TV, but I don't think he's really paying any attention to me either. He keeps his eyes on the TV and just tells me I'm a crazy kid.


I find my mother in the yard outside gardening. "Hey Mom," I say to her when I get close enough, "do we have any icicles? I'm doing an experiment on murder."


"Well honey, I don't know," she says. She's shoveling at the ground and wipes her face with her sleeve. "What's this experiment?"


"I need to see if I can kill something with an icicle and I have to watch it melt."


"The icicle or the dead thing?"


I sigh loudly. "The icicle, Mom. The dead thing can't melt."


"It can if it's made of ice," she says, shoveling harder at the soil.


That shocks me because then not only would the murder weapon disappear, but the murder itself would be gone too. All that would be left would just be water, and what's the point of that then?


"You're really smart, Mom," I say admiringly.


"Go away. You're bothering me."


So I think hard about the coldest place nearby, and I go back in the house and check the freezer. We didn't have any icicles in there, but there are small bits of ice that I can sharpen. I grab the biggest ice piece and begin to whittle it with a butter knife.


When I have a sharp enough piece, I go outside and find some ants. I think about how murder is not good, but then I remember that ants are annoying and ruin a perfectly good cookie on the ground. So I pretend I'm a scientist and how I'm doing this in the name of science, and then I begin to try and stab an ant, but it's too fast for me.


My conclusion is that icicles good for nothing except cooling drinks.

 

goldfish

When I was five, I had a goldfish named Harry. Harry was not a regular fish just like I was not a regular boy. We could talk to each other and we were each other's best friend.


One day I was watching Harry swim in his small little bowl and wanted to learn how to swim from him. "Hey Harry," I said, "Can I swim with you?"


"Sure," Harry said. "But you won't fit in here."


So then I thought abou that  big bowl that I take baths in and brought him in with me. Harry showed me how to move my arms and my tail, but I couldn't do it because my bones were weird and I didn't have a tail.


"Thanks anyway, Harry," I said, still watching him swim around my legs. "If there's anything I can help you with..."


"Actually," Harry said excitedly, "can I walk with you?"


"Sure," I said. "But we can't do it in here."


So then I took Harry out and put him on the floor. I tried to teach him how to put one foot in front of the other while keeping my body up, but he didn't have legs and his body was too big.


Harry fell down on the floor and sighed. "Let's take a break," he said, crawling into my hand. "Let's just rest."


So that's how Mom found Harry and me, sleeping on the floor next to the bathtub. She screamed and I woke up, but Harry didn't. He was still sleeping on my hand.

gooey

If everything feels gooey to you,
Stop and lick your finger.

lint

Fiction is great because you can make stories out of anything.  Anyone and anything can be a character, and there are no limits to what that person or thing can do.


In reality, we find lint annoying. But imagine a story based around lint on a sweater as a dying community. There are armies of lint, organized and determined to fight against the enemy, The Roller.  When The Roller attacks, it wipes out whole populations by barreling down homes and picking up innocents as trophies.  The elders of the community cry for their lost sons and daughters because they have lasted such a long time, and it is only when creation overfills homes that The Roller comes.  The Roller is heartless and enjoys taking away the young ones, shedding its skin often for the next generation to experience its full effect.


Something must be done.  The elders gather in a sleeve and discuss stratagems, possible hiding places for the new ones in the community, but before they can execute their plans The Roller comes and decimates the lint.  Some still remain.  Most are gone.


This would be sad if we really cared about lint.  But sometimes fiction can fail in believability.

plume

She wore a purple hat brandished with an ostrich plume sticking out flamboyantly and a scarf around her neck that had little peacocks on it. Her clothes in themselves weren't anything too showy, just a white shirt and black slacks. She was even wearing nondescript sandals. But it was the plume, the peacocks, the bright purple lipstick that she must've bought in a good mood that made her so colorful that I could literally see the life glowing in her.


Her eyes squinted until they found me, and then she gasped loudly and began to wave her arm around. "Jess! Over here!"


I quickly walked to her before she could yell some more. "Hi Mom," I said, kissing her on the cheek. "Nice hat."


"Do you like it? I bought it on sale. Seven dollars! Isn't it a bargain?" She wrapped her arms around me and squeezed my shoulders. Even with thin arms, she could still crush me. "Jess! Oh baby, how have you been?"


"Good. How are you?" We made our way to the car and put my bag in the trunk. "I heard you're off chemo now from Dad."


She winked at me and took off her hat, revealing the smooth skin that used to bring her to tears. Now she loves it. "Look at me. If I can't have a hair statement, then no one's going to stop me from having a hat statement." She laughed and opened the car door. "Let's get some ice cream. It's a good day, Jess!"


Maybe we should all buy hats with plumes.

prance

"If I prance away like a little girl, would you follow me?"


It was weird to hear the question asked from such a low, masculine voice. "I would be concerned for your mental health."


"But you would follow me then. Would you? Isn't that unsafe?"


"You think I'd be afraid if you were doing that?"


"Could be a tactic to lower your guard."


"Could be emasculating to your reputation."


A scoff. "What makes you think I care what people think about me?"


Shrug. Who knows. "Don't you care what I think about you? And why are you asking me stupid questions?"


See that little smile playing on his lips? "Do me a favor. Look at me for a second."


"And risk fatal blindness? You wish."


"Come on, just turn a bit. So you can see me."


Deep sigh. Fine. "What?"


"You're smiling."


"So are you. What's your point?"


He reaches into his pocket and takes out a small box. "Want to know what's inside?"


Faster thumping in the chest. Tightening of fists. "Not really." Yes.


He opens it. A diamond.


I knew it.


He snaps it closed. "Will you run after me now?"


I laugh and there's a chase.

seahorse

A seahorse was swimming around when it met a dolphin.


"Have you ever wished you were smaller? You could get into little crevices and explore a whole new world that would otherwise never be seen," the seahorse said.


The dolphin shook its head. "There is a so much to see above the water. There is sun and land and clouds and other animals. I am content with what I have."


The seahorse was not convinced though. "But there is so much more here. I truly feel sorry for you. If I weren't so small, I would probably think as you do though."


Turning around, the dolphin suddenly whipped its tail down, and away the seahorse flew in the water. The dolphin called after it, "And if I weren't so large, I probably wouldn't think that was very funny."

bargain

Another angry uncle dead, another funeral planned. It's like they exist to torture us.


"At least it's the reading of the will," my sister said as we walked into the study. I could see my mother standing by the books that her pompous brother used to own. "This is how we get 'em back."


I rolled my eyes but stayed silent as a man with floppy hair and glasses began to speak. "Hello everyone, thank you for coming..."


I drifted in and out of listening to what he said. Uncle Barney was most definitely not a generous man, but he did have a lot of assets and fortunes that had to be done away with now that he was gone. I remember when I was just ten, I had saved the last and best bit of a chocolate chip cookie that my mother had baked and was about to eat it when Uncle Barney swooped in and ate it out of my hand.


I had wanted to cry, but he had thought I was joking. "Good lad!" he had laughed, slapping me on the back before turning away.


I hated Uncle Barney. I don't want to be mean to the dead, but his funeral was just what it was to me: a funeral. I didn't cry, but I didn't jump up on his grave and laugh evilly either.


"And to my niece Candice..." I could feel my sister shifting next to me uneasily as the man with glasses finally got to her. I don't know what could be so exciting. I would expect Uncle Barney to leave us something that would burden us more than help us. If he leaves me his business or his dogs, I'm going to be one unhappy kid... again.


"And to my wonderful nephew Tim," the man read. My ears pricked up and I straightened in my seat. Now I'll listen. "For being such a good kid when he was younger, I leave my pub, The Hopping Frog, and hope that he takes care of it forever and always."


My heart clunked to the bottom of my chest. The pub? The one with the urine stains on the wall, the broken stereo systems, the angry workers at the bar, and the worst reputation in the city? That one?


My sister nudged me gleefully. "Good luck Tim!" she snickered. "Uncle Barney dead and you get his lousy pub? What a bar-gain!"

slippery

Self-control is a slippery slope. At the top there is Discipline, shining down beatifically, but in its path stands Temptation and Sloth.


This is Temptation.

And this is Sloth.

effervescent

She was shining with effervescence, her mouth stretched widely into a grin and her eyes gleaming brightly in the light. Her whole body seemed to glow from within and spread throughout her entire body, from her toes to her fingertips. She was alight with something, something that was not part of her.


"What are you so happy about?" I asked.


She turned her head so that her eyes were on me, but I could tell she didn't see me. Her face was blank but radiant. "I saw a light," she said dreamily, "and it was beautiful."


I furrowed my brows. "What are you talking about?"


She turned away and smiled gently, sighing. "The light was beautiful. I want to touch it." Her eyes closed and her smile grew. "I can feel it calling me."


She walked ahead and reached out her arms, embracing the light as it came and engulfed her completely.




I never saw her again.

chills

It's been a year since I've been to the beach, but I can remember it so well. If I close my eyes, I can still feel the hot sand under my feet, its grains trickling in between my toes and allowing me to sink into the land just a little bit. I can hear the distant sounds of splashing and laughing as I walk closer and closer to the water until I can smell the ocean and taste its saltiness on my tongue. The sand is wet and packed here, a hint to how cold the water will be once I'm ready.

I don't need my eyes to see the blue-green waters, powerfully rolling in until they come to shore as small waves. The sun shines and sparkles the water, and I feel torn because the glare hurts my eyes but at the same time the beauty of the ocean intrigues me. I take a few steps and stop just as the tide comes in and washes over my toes, my feet, up to my ankles. It's colder than I expected. I get chills just as the water pulls away back to the ocean.

fleet

Because I have no idea what to do with this word: Digression is key.

AHEM.

The First Fleet came to Australia in 1787 under Captain Phillip.

Phillip Island is known for the Penguin Parade today and is one of the largest tourist attractions in the country.

The Little Penguins come in rafts to shore once the sun goes down and it's dark for predators to see them easily.

The sunset is beautiful in the Outback.

addiction

Walking around Melbourne

Past all these cars

Past all these people

And into certain stores

I'm following

My nose

I eat with my eyes

I smile with my stomach

I have an addiction

 

 

 

Seriously.

zest

Food is porn.


When you're peeling a lemon, you're stripping it naked.


When you're zesting, you're just a tease.

wiry

The night was empty and cold tonight, the darkness shrouding everything not within five feet of the lamp posts. It was so quiet, the trees could be heard whispering gently in the breeze, and there wasn't even much wind. A lonely park bench stood timidly just under a lamp, but even it seemed to think it was not in a safe place to be at 10 o'clock at night.

Yet, a wiry, thin girl in framed glasses sat there, slumped with her shoulders bowing in and her chin pressing down on her chest. She was small, almost invisible in her brown overcoat. If someone was walking by (but no one would, at this hour and in this place), he'd probably mistake her for a pile of clothes abandoned in the park.

But she was there, eyes closed, mouth open with little puffs of air coming out. She shrunk into herself so much that it almost seemed like she wasn't there.

Maybe she wasn't.

paprika

Paprika is really pretty until you get it in your nose. Then it's not so pretty anymore.


Don't blow into it!

bamboo

Bamboo can be used for anything.

It can be made into strong, sturdy bridges.

It can offer nice housing.

But that's not even the best of it.

What could be more eco-friendly than a bamboo bike?

gazebo

The first time he saw her, she was in line for a coffee. He casually moved his friend away and smoothly took her order.

The first time she noticed him was when he couldn't seem to remember how to type her order in.

The second time he asked her out, she said yes because shyness shouldn't be a factor.

The second time she called him, he decided to memorize her number.

The first, second, third time he held her hand, her palms got sweaty.

Once in a while she would surprise him with a hug. It was nice.

The first time he proposed, she said yes.

The second location she took him to was a white gazebo. He thought it was perfect if they had flowers everywhere.

The first moment he slid the ring on her finger, she couldn't hold back her tears and a smile.

The only words she never had to say to him were the ones she always said. But he already knew.

bubble

To float away on a bubble may sound romantic, but you should think twice before sailing over a cactus field.

parasol

The parasol

is a light, delicate object that a woman holds with her.

It twirls in the wind, floats on the breeze,

Or it can lay neatly on the grassy meadow, even casting beauty in its shadow.

The parasol can elevate a woman's status and image,

Except if there's a hole in it.

So please: don't punch holes through your parasol.

flamboyant

I know he's supposed to be blending in, but don't you think his clothes are a little flamboyant?

If he was real, we would always be able to find him.

swish

The squeaking of shoes, the hot, humid air, the cheering of the audience as boys in uniform run up and down the court.

Yep, I'm at a basketball game.

"Who's your boy? Number 14 is mine," I told the woman next to me. She turned and smiled at me.

"My son is number 44," she replied, pointing out a short kid with large round frames perched daintily on his nose. I resisted the urge to laugh and instead politely smiled back, nodding at the kid. Poor guy must have been forced on the team and taken on out of pity.

"He looks really good," I said to her. He had just rebounded the ball and was dribbling it across the court. At least the kid could move. I could see my Arthur standing on the side, waiting almost as if he didn't care if he got the ball or not.

"Thanks," the woman laughed. "He's just learned how to play this year. But I think he's getting the hang of it," she said as 44 ran in the middle of the defense and made a layup. Huh. Lucky shot.

"My boy's been playing for years now," I told her offhandedly. "He loves basketball. He can do anything with a ball." I shrugged even though inside I was beaming with pride at my little treasure.

"Oh, does he?" She frowned and watched as Arthur jogged lazily down the court. What a cocky boy! But the confidence was fitting, after all.

Arthur finally got the ball and held it, calculating it in his hands before he delivered what was to be the prettiest shot of the game. "Yeah, he's pretty much our little star," I said with a smile. Come on, Arthur! You can do it! "Go for the swish, baby!" I yelled.

He jumped and released, the ball sailing over the hands of the defender as it made toward the basket. "Go Arthur!" I screamed. He did it! He...

It was a swish all right. It was a perfect swish into thin air.

dessert

Happy Father's Day!




It's a special day for a special person, and I wanted to make it perfect. Last night, I researched for two hours on a delicious dinner specifically cooked for you because I know how particular you can be. I wanted you to enjoy everything! This morning I bought all the ingredients I would need. I asked Mom how to make your favorite soup, and I let the meat marinate in a specially made sauce for five hours. I want it to be extra juicy for you, so I made sure to keep checking on it while it cooked. I prepared everything and even decided to take on the challenge of dessert. Who doesn't love chocolate lava cake? It took an hour or so for me to finish everything, but you were smiling when you finished your plate. All I had to do was bring you dessert.


It's the cake's fault. It was sitting there all warm and gooey, and I could smell the buttery chocolate love from its little ramekin. I really meant to bring it to you, but before I knew it, I had the spoon in my hand and heavenly deliciousness in my mouth. I don't know how it happened.


But aside from that, aren't I a good daughter?

gutter

"Whoo, you need me to call 911? Because you're smoking hot, girl!" He winked at me but got distracted by his drink before I could give him the finger. I rolled my eyes and just turned around.


See, this is why I hate parties. Slimeballs seem to live and reproduce at these things because everywhere you turn, you find another one who's drooling in your face. And to think I could've been home finishing this weekend's homework...


Freya suddenly appeared next to me, panting from probably dancing. "Having fun yet?" She laughed at my expression and patted me roughly on the back. "You have to go out there and dance! Loosen up a little." I shook my head, but she took my hand anyway and began to drag me to the next room.


"Did you hear what that creep said?" I yelled loudly to her over Kanye's auto-tuned voice. Why would anyone want to blast his music at a party is beyond me. "How can I be having fun when there are people like that who actually exist?"


Freya laughed and swung me into a mass of sweating, stinky people. "Dance!" she said, bumping my hips with hers. "Forget him! Just make sure you're having fun!"


I grumbled to myself, but I couldn't help smiling back at my friend. "Dance!" she urged again, nodding her head in encouragement. Rolling my eyes, I began to move my body and tried to feel the music.


A body knocked into our way, and suddenly I wasn't facing Freya anymore but a tall guy with black hair. "Sorry," he coughed out. He glared at someone before turning back and smiling at me in what he probably thought was a charming way.


I snorted and began to move away from him. "Hey wait," he said. "Do you want to dance?"


I sighed loudly and tried to find a way out from the mess of bodies. Geez, it's hot. "Go crawl back into your gutter," I said without turning around.


A hand touched my shoulder and turned me back, making me shriek in surprise. "I'm not trying to do anything," the guy said, smiling at me. "Just want to dance, that's all."


I crossed my arms defensively. "And I just want to leave."


"Oh." We awkwardly stood there in the throng of dancing bodies, looking oddly at each other. His eyes darted to the side. "Um, just one dance?" he asked unsurely.


"Who are you looking at?"


"No one!" He scratched the back of his head and began to turn away. "Er, uh, sorry..." he said dejectedly, trying to move between a couple dancing.


Maybe it was how sad he looked or maybe it was Freya making weird faces at me, but something inside me made me blurt out, "Wait!" He turned around uncertainly.


"Uh," I stammered, looking at Freya's encouraging face. "I'm a pretty bad dancer," I admitted. "I dance like a penguin."


His eyes crinkled as he chuckled. "And I'm from the gutter, apparently. We'll just make do, I guess."


I laughed a little and began to relax. "Yeah, I guess."

gooey

Sometimes I feel emotionally connected to foods.

When I am hugged, I feel squeezed like a lemon.

If someone told me something nice, I would feel warm and gooey like chocolate chip cookies.

On very hot days, I feel like a melted ice cream cone in the sun. But blisteringly cold days freeze me like a popsicle.

I can go bananas for something delicious, but if I eat too much then I could feel like a big watermelon.

Are you getting hungry too?

escape

The best escape route requires an expert disguise that no one can penetrate. For example, imagine if I were in my room by myself, doing something normal like reading a book. Suddenly, I hear a slam downstairs and strange men's voices. Naturally, my first instinct would not be to go down and offer them some tea. I would try to escape - but how?


Ah ha! I open the closet door where it appears to be a shallow room with mounds of clothes stuffed inside. I push aside all these clothes to reveal in the corner a small hole. Did you see that coming?


It's a small hole, but I'm a small girl. I go inside legs first and pull the clothes back to cover the hole. Of course I have a small flashlight in the hole waiting for me, but I have to move backwards because there is not enough room to turn all the way around.


I push along the small tunnel which curves and leads to other small tunnels. I have to trick whoever dares to enter my secret escape route, so I memorize left, right, right, right, left and slowly move around the house until finally, I am below ground. I know this because my feet feel the end of my escape route. Now how do I get out?


If the flashlight is on, I should be able to see a trap door concealed on the left on top of my head. The only way anyone would know there's a door there would be if the flashlight shined on a particular spot where I put a tiny piece of reflective tape.


I push open the trap door, and ta da! The sun is in my eyes and I am in my backyard near the tree where my dog likes to do his business. The escape route successfully leads me out of the house safely!


Let's just hope no one is waiting for me when I get out.

chimney

In this day and age, not many people use chimneys anymore, and with good reason. The dust and ash come out from the tops and pollute the clean air that people breathe, making the use of chimneys not only environmentally unfriendly but also aesthetically unpleasing. They aren't even necessary to build anymore, but some people just like the idea of having a chimney in case a big fat man in a red suit decides to jump down and give out presents. Did you ever notice he never comes though, at least not through that way? Even he knows his legendary counterpart that no one has discovered yet, and perhaps this is why the Chimney Monster (as it is called) lurks undetectable there.


In almost all the unused chimneys there lives a Chimney Monster, a dark, black shadow of a thing that is quite large but seems invisible to the eye. His skin is black and his hair is black, and his eyes are so black that they seem almost not to be there. The Chimney Monster has lived on to this day because he is so black that when people look up there chimneys, they may be staring straight into his eyes but think it is just the darkness and dirtiness of their own chimneys. Some of these monsters live up to old ages because no one uses their chimneys anymore, so they live on until another Chimney Monster crawls into the same chimney and eats the old one up. It's a dirty life for a Chimney Monster.


Most people probably don't know they have one. If you have a chimney, go check it. If you can see the bright light of the sky on the other side, then congratulations: a Chimney Monster has not yet found your chimney. But if the light is faint and hard to make out, then quickly get out from under the chimney and never look there again. The Monster will be ready the next time.

crumbs

"Lemon Pistachio, Pumpkin Bliss, Chocolate Razzle." My eyes greedily glazed over the colorful decorated sweets, all of which hold a kind of promise to them. "This place has everything!"

"I love cupcakes," agreed my sister. She casually looked over the labels and pointed at a cupcake with pink frosting. "This one's my favorite. Do you want anything?"

Her voice seemed a mile away. The cupcake was beautiful, sitting there so innocently behind the clear glass. It definitely was Love At First Bite for me.

An elbow poked into my side. "Uh, hello? Do you want anything?"

I shook my head, my mouth salivating at the thought of the soft cake inside my mouth. "I shouldn't," I heard myself saying. "I should be watching my weight."

My sister laughed and ordered one Pretty in Pink cupcake. "Just take half," she said, handing it to me as she paid the lady at the register. "I bet you'll like this one. I know it looks delicious, but wait till you eat -" Her mouth dropped open as she looked at my empty hand. "Where did it go?"

It was too late. The crumbs on my face gave me away.

innuendo

nintendo


you have to turn it on to play with it.

flamingo

When he looked at her, he thought she was beautiful. Beautiful hair, bright eyes, a great smile - she had it all. She even had nice legs, not that he was looking. He just happened to see them when he was admiring how she sat with that S-curve posture that girls always have.

He didn't talk to her very often, but they could be friends. She laughs at his jokes and doesn't turn away, so that's a good sign, right?

He liked to think that his little brother thought the same. Everyone could look at her and feel the same way, it's just that everyone expresses it differently.

At least that's what he tried to tell her when his brother toddled up to her and told her she looked like a flamingo.

spicy

If you want to put your mouth on fire,
Why not try something spicy?
Go on,
Throw in a red pepper and let it sit there.
The taste touches the tongue first,
And then it makes your nose run
And it makes your body warm
And you start to sweat
And pant
And then you're crying and your face is scrunched up in pain
And soon before you know it, you are dying of thirst.




When I think of spicy foods,
I think about all of this and ask myself,
Do I want to burn my tongue?
No, I do not.


But if I had to commit suicide,
It would be by eating ten peppers.

I wish I could put an evil face on this.

a crunchy target

A voice sounded over the radio. "What's the target?"


I held down a button as I said, "Twelve o'clock. In red." I narrowed my eyes in on the innocent victim and felt a trickle of uncertainty. What if it doesn't go to plan? What if she finds out?


"Got it. Is it a go?"


I took a deep breath. There's only one shot I'll get today, and I'm going to take it. "Yes," I heard myself say. "In three... two... one... Now!"


A tennis ball shot out of nowhere, knocking the target to the ground near where I hid. I looked around and ran out to take what was - is - mine.


"Hey!" a sharp voice ran out. "What are you doing?"


"Abort, abort!" I saw Daniel toss his walkie talkie before he ran off upstairs. Knowing I couldn't run for it, I sighed and faced my judgment.


"I'm hungry?" I offered as explanation. My mom just glared at me as she tore the cookie bag out of my hands.


"You're going to ruin your appetite for dinner! Go upstairs and wash up." She marched me to the bottom of the stairs and waited for me to go all the way up. "Wash your face," she reminded before turning away.


I grumbled as I watched her head dip down and heard her chewing something crunchy.

tin foil

It is not exciting to be a dog, especially a Maltese that stays at home all day without anyone else there keeping her company. She just sits there all day, watching TV until it gets old. She's only interested in the cop shows because they're interesting and have German Shepherds sometimes.


When the cartoons start playing, she knows it's time to turn off the TV. By that time, the sun's rays should be streaming through the window in the living room and creating a square of heat on the floor. That's probably the best time of the day for her, when she gets to lay out on the carpet and bathe in the warmth. She could close her eyes and pretend the sun was a blanket wrapped around her.


But today, it was raining and the sun wasn't coming out. The Maltese looked outside through the water drops on the window pane and saw something shiny walking down the sidewalk. What was it? It looked bright and silvery, not like anything she has ever seen before. It was being pushed along by the tall one with long hair, the one her owner called Babe. The Maltese barked and ran to the door just as it opened.


"It was raining and I didn't have an umbrella! I didn't want to get wet," the statue said.


The tall one was shaking her head, but she looked as if she were trying not to smile. She started peeling the silver wrap to reveal the little boy who the Maltese shared her room with. "Still! You didn't have to use all my tin foil."


"Mrs. Peterson thought it was funny," the boy said sulkily.


The two humans went to the kitchen, leaving the Maltese by herself again. She sniffed at the silver stuff left on the floor and backed away. It does not smell like a good snack. She ran to the kitchen to see if there was something better for her there.