Long ago, in ancient pasts,
Now forgotten, lost in time
I waited, ever patiently
For the bit of dirt that would be mine.
Author: The Wattle (Page 7 of 8)
Softly float
Your gentle swellings
Ever rising and subsiding,
Whispering
Your ancient tellings.
This is the continuation of a story started earlier. Summary of previous action in the story: Olivia has always been popular at school. One day, she was seated next to a kid who offered to help her. Not wanting to seem very friendly (she had her own friends!), Olivia refused. The girl, named Audrey, accepted her refusal as an answer and smiled. Olivia and her friends—Sandra, Brittany, and Lisa—started pranking Audrey after that day. They were not being mean, they reasoned. Just funny. On the day of Olivia’s thirteenth birthday, Audrey was invited with the rest of Olivia’s class. Olivia does not want her there.
For the entire part 1 of this story and more information on what happened, go to: http://www.thewattle.com/2018/10/22/out-of-sync/
“Hey, Audrey!” my mom trilled as she saw the recipient of our pranks at the door. Continue reading
Memories are like drops of water,
Each spherical and underestimated.
A single drop of water
Holds life for a potted plant.
Many drops of water
And the plant flourishes.
Too much water
And the plant wilts as if parched.
Continue reading
Each spherical and underestimated.
A single drop of water
Holds life for a potted plant.
Many drops of water
And the plant flourishes.
Too much water
And the plant wilts as if parched.
Continue reading
Hazel stared fixedly into the darkness of her bedroom. The sinister ghoul’s face leered at her and stretched a deadly white hand towards her. His fingers quivered in wavering tendrils like tentacles. Blood oozed from a gash in his cheek and ran down his chin as his mouth gaped wide and grotesque. A few yellowed and rotten teeth were still embedded in his gums like small arrowheads speared into his skull. All the time his terrible hand kept reaching, reaching. He reached towards her and grasped her throat in his hand…
I was looking good. Like, totally. I was in a pink dress with puffy sleeves. I had my mom do my hair, and she piled it up in a bun and topped it with a shiny bow. My shoes were high heels–silver with pink and purple decorations. I wore a necklace and rings and big earrings. My looks were important, too. This was the day of my thirteenth birthday party, and I was prepared to have a blast with my friends. It was going to be so fun to hang out with Sandra and Brittany and Lisa. Of course, there would be other people coming too. My mom made me invite the whole entire class to the party. I was so mad at her for that! She said that she didn’t want any kids to be left out. I said what did it matter–it wasn’t like I would climb to the top of the school and yell out who was coming to my party! I said so, too. And do you know what she said? She said, “Olivia, it would be the polite thing to do.” And without even asking me if it was okay, she went ahead and invited everybody from my class. I guess asking the boys to come was okay, especially the cute ones. But then she invited everybody else. She invited Audrey.
Glob of jelly
Between some whole wheat—
Little purple Mount Everest.
Squish the bread
Down goes the jelly
Down goes purple Mount Everest.
Between some whole wheat—
Little purple Mount Everest.
Squish the bread
Down goes the jelly
Down goes purple Mount Everest.
I was drinking a glass of milk when I saw the very small object on the kitchen counter. Not knowing what it was, I set out to find the answer to this question. It was a very scientific question. I liked that. I am a very scientific person. The question was also challenging. I liked that, too, as I enjoy being challenged. Continue reading
Slapping and thumping, we play out there,
Four feet shod, two feet bare
There’s thorns, there’s prickles, there’s gnats in the air,
But we’re playing basketball. We don’t care.
Four feet shod, two feet bare
There’s thorns, there’s prickles, there’s gnats in the air,
But we’re playing basketball. We don’t care.
It wasn’t easy, being a squirrel. This came to mind while I was in the middle of a road, with a bicycle approaching on the left and a car coming in from the right. I needed a way to get out without getting squashed. My great aunt’s cousin’s daughter’s sister’s brother-in-law’s son was run over by a car. You could still see the print of the squirrel grounded into the street if you walk around the corner, stretched out like he was running at full speed. His family still leaves a rose petal on the place where it happened every Wednesday.
I did not want to end up like my distant relative.