a eleven year old soul writes.
I wonder what my dog is thinking. I wonder what my dad is thinking. I wonder what my mom is thinking. I wonder what I am thinking, sometimes…
If I were them…
—
Peanut’s point of view:
It’s morning. I see Brad walk out the door. He waves at Dad. Good. He’s gone. One more to go. Continue reading ‘A Morning Story’
I wake up. I brush my teeth. I eat. I bike to school. I go to my classes. I eat lunch. I go to my classes. I bike back home. I eat something. I swim. I eat dinner. I write. I learn math. And then I sleep. Repeat.
Routine is great. Most of the time. But sometimes it is just so boring.
So you could imagine my joy, the hundreds of students also standing in the biulding, and the teacher’s dismay when the power went out.
The long hallways had their lights turned off. The ones at each end went first, and it was like somebody was clapping their hands together: when they were finally in the middle, all the lights had gone out.
It wasn’t very dark. There were a lot of windows in the school, and I happened to be standing on the second floor. I didn’t even realize something had happened. But then yelling came from below the hallway. And then somebody screamed on the second floor.
And then the whole school rumbled.
This could not be happening.
It could not be true.
I was refusing to believe that hundreds of my mom’s written articles were gone. They had disappeared eternally by a press of a button.
So this is what happens, I thought to myself. This is what happens when a backup goes wrong. This is what happens.
My mother could sense my feelings. She looked at me with worried eyes. I could see suppressed tears.
And I wished I could help. Continue reading ‘Gone’
The other day I was late.
It was an accident. And it was only partly my fault.
See, first of all, I woke up late because it was too comfortable under the covers, where my feet were nice and warm, my body snuggled tightly against my blankets, and my mind still in dreams. So I hastily whacked a random button on my alarm. It was the “alarm off” button, not the snooze button.
Fifteen minutes later, my dad woke me up. “What are you doing?” he asked me, “It’s 8:10 already!” School started at 8:50. I needed to get to the meeting spot with everyone else (I biked with a few other people) at 8:25. I had fifteen minutes to eat, brush my teeth, ready my backpack, and be out of there. Continue reading ‘I Hope Nobody Noticed That’
Note: This is a revised version of “Dressing Perfect”.
Our school has a strange policy: all the players from our football team must “dress out” every time there is a game in suits and ties. It’s monstrous people who normally dress in purposely tattered shirts and pants that look like they’ve been through a paintball game that are most interesting. People on these days suddenly dress up in suits and a nice organized tie as well as long pants, and it looks very different. Continue reading ‘Dressed Perfect (revision 2)’
Being perfect, in a metaphorical sense, is impossible. It is impossible to be perfect. But one can try. I think one of my friends have reached this level: he has perfectly dressed.
People have many definitions of dressing perfectly. Someone in my school may define dressing perfectly as having crazy hair, a messy shirt (but a perfect messy shirt). But his definition: a buttoned shirt, jacket, and clean and orderly hair.
So every day, my friend would come dressed up in a perfect t-shirt underneath, button up whatever he happens to wear that has buttons, make his collar perfect, and go to class.
People are quite particular actually about what they wear. For example, another interesting topic would be the ID cards. Continue reading ‘Dressing Perfect’
I was hunched over a diving block, bending my head back. I could see the blue water and the blue sky. Everything seemed to be blue.
“Take your mark,” a voice somewhere said. I knew precisely it was from the right side of the swimming pool, but now, it seemed like it had been from right behind me.
I hunched even more, and got my foot ready for a kick.
A beep.
A launch.
And then I was in the air. Continue reading ‘No Time to Think’
I really do love my bed. It’s something I retire into every night, when I am tired. It’s a place where I dream, where I think, where I pray, and most importantly, where I sleep. I spend a huge portion of my life in my bed.
So every night, after I tuck myself in, and turn off all the lights, I just stare at the ceiling, thinking about random things, eventually falling into a stupor. I really like it when it rains outside, because the pitter-patter on the sidewalk is one of my favorite sounds.
What I really like doing though, and one I usually won’t admit to my parents, is something maybe a little bit bad, depending on your definition of “rest”.
When all the lights downstairs turn off, I grab one of my larger pillows and put it on top of my desk. My desk is mashed against the wall underneath my window. Continue reading ‘Sleeping by the Window’
Every night, it is one of our long-held family traditions to go for a walk. It wasn’t written in some sort of coat of arms, it wasn’t a requirement, but my dad just liked going for a walk after dinner. As a result, because of his constant vigilance, we feel weird if we don’t go on the walk.
Even better than the walk would be a bike ride. My mom sometimes can’t stay at home very long, so when that happens, and it is just my dad and me, we like going for a nice bike ride. We usually take a ride around my school, then circle around back home the long way, and ride through a gorgeous park.
So today, I was riding down the street towards a trail behind our neighborhood when a dog suddenly started chasing my dad and I. To be more precise, that dog was chasing my dog Peanut, and he was scared into hysterics. Continue reading ‘A Dog is LOST!’
Middle school is big. Not “big” as in I-don’t-know-where-things-are big, but big in comparison with elementary school. Elementary school is small. Middle school is big. Elementary has one bike rack. Middle school has ten.
Every morning when I get to school, it’s always near-empty or full. If it was empty, I would find an empty spot. If it were full (which isn’t to-the-top kind of full) then I would squeeze I in somewhere and head into the school.
And now, every time I go into the school, I hope something doesn’t happen to me, my friends, or my stuff. Particularly my bike, since it’s in the open. Everything else is worried about until it’s safe in my locker, where the only thing I have to worry about is my water bottle attacking my homework.
There are many reasons why I’m worried now, not that worrying will do me any good, what-so-ever. But it does give you something to think about when you’re sitting in class, bored.
But let’s get on topic. The other day I walked out from school and I noticed that my friend’s bike was on top of mine.
views since Aug. 2007.
Recent Comments
WatchYou / Gone:
Poor you…
jeffrey / Hurricane Ike: What Happened:
I don’t know if you know or not but there was something unique on the...
Brad / Sleeping by the Window:
Isn’t it so beautiful?
Maomao / No Time to Think:
what kind of dinner do you like. perhaps we’ll have a dinner together this saterday.
Maomao / Sleeping by the Window:
“I really like it when it rains outside, because the pitter-patter on the...