-Samuel Goldwyn
It was still dark outside when the little girl’s eyes popped open. She flung the leather jacket off of her. It smelled like peanuts and cigarettes. After only two seconds of shivering and goose bumps rapidly dotting her twiggy arms, she snatched it back and wrapped it around her again, whatever the smell. This house was freezing.
She looked up. There was a fly stuck in the blinds of the window above her. It sounded kind of like a cell phone on vibrate. The girl blew out her cheeks. This was boring. She sat up on the sofa that was more or less blue. The carpet was grey. Tentatively, she stuck her foot out and reached it to the floor. How weird! She’d slept with her socks and shoes on! And her day clothes! Funny!
The room she’d woken up in looked like halves of two separate rooms glued to each other. The half she was in was like a living room, while the other looked like a diminutive form of a kitchen that didn’t even have a dish washer! The idea!
Bored again. With the jacket still wrapped around her like a leather blanket, she crept off the couch and to the empty doorway that was h. She went through. To the left was a hallway, and the right was a door. She’d thought she’d try the door first. She turned the tarnished handle and—hooray!—a bathroom. It was tiny. The sink, toilet, and shower were crammed together; a person wouldn’t have to even walk to get from one to another. But right now, that did not matter. She was just relieved to find the bathroom first.
Next order of business: find the rest of the house. Off she scampered, no longer worried about noise. She had warmed up plenty with energizing curiosity, but still towed the jacket like the wake of discovery. She was disappointed, though, when she came to the end of the short hallway.
It was another door, which in of itself was promising enough, but the room behind it was a let-down. Same grey carpet, same white walls, all of which were bare, and the only furniture was a cross between a bed and couch. It was a table with one drawer beside it. The bed/couch had a bare mattress and no pillow. Dull.
The hallway went nowhere else, so she went back to the kitchen/living room hybrid. In one of the walls of the living room half, next to the sofa she’d slept on was a door she’d overlooked. It was only an empty closet. Bored again.
Then, before her, was the most incredible contraption. A little box with two wires coming out of the top was sitting on a table like the one in the bedroom she‘d found. The box had a screen, and definitely looked like a TV, but it was far too thick and not long enough. She sot out the remote and discovered it sitting on top of the TV-like box. She was experienced enough to turn it on—she could tell because the little red light came on—but she couldn’t find the channel buttons on the remote. So she turned it off.
The broken TV made a blip noise that was louder than she expected. A snort came from the direction of the kitchen. She turned around, her eyes wide with a mix of curiosity and terrible fear. It was the big man from last night. She remembered him giving her that hotdog and the peanut butter.
Jason woke up to two little fingers poking his nose. His eyes flickered open and followed the fingers till he saw those enormous green eyes. Surprised, he yelped and reeled back in the kitchen chair he fell asleep in last night. He crashed to the floor and the girl flew off. She dashed to the couch and clutched the ugly rabbit she’d abandoned there earlier.
Grumbling, Jason got up and righted the chair.
“I…er…sorry, I just…” he mumbled, “You got up early…” Jason added, noticing the timer on the oven read six-forty-five. “Really early.”
There was a pause. Unable to take it anymore, the little girl finally blurted, “I’m hungry.”
Jason perked at this. At first he thought, She can talk, and then, Breakfast. What do kids like for breakfast? He found leftover takeout, something green and smelling of eggs, a Salisbury steak TV dinner, and peanut butter. Further investigation of the cupboards produced three more unopened jars of peanut butter, one-and-a-half boxes of granola bars, and, by some miracle, an unopened box of plain cornflake cereal. No milk. Oh well.
The little girl didn’t seem to notice the scanty, slap-dash manner of the meal, only that it was real. Her tiny hand reached for the cereal, but Jason, as a last-minute decision, withheld. He had to do something the only way he knew how,
“You want me to give you some corn flanks?” he asked.
The girl frantically nodded.
He said, “Then you need to do something for me.”
Her eyes grew even larger, which Jason took to mean she was listening. “I need you to answer one question for me, and then you can have some breakfast. Ok?” The girl nodded.
“Alright. What’s your name?”
She swallowed before answering in a small but clear voice, “Jenny.”
Jason smiled with success. “Ok, Jenny,” he replied while retrieving a bowl and spoon, “have some cereal.”
Jenny and Jason dug in heartily to a breakfast of plain cornflakes and granola bars and washing it down with a spoonful of peanut butter each.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Monday, March 8, 2010
Four Stupid Pigs and a Big Bad Wolf
Keep an eye out for awkwardly written sentences and technical issues. Thank you.
Once upon a time,
In a galaxy not so very far away but still a long time ago, there lived four messy pigs; a Ma pig and her three stinky sons: Alan, Jack, and Peter. One day, the disgusting fumes in the house were so strong and the mess so big (it looked like a pig-sty, believe it or not) that she had no choice but to send them away. She shed only the tears caused by an irritated nose as her children left and breathed a sigh of relief when they were only dots on the horizon. She thought she would have peaceful days from then one.
She was wrong. Within twenty-four hours those little pigs had wee-wee-weed all the way home. Ma Pig tried to live with the smell for a week but could eventually stand it no more. This time when she sent them away, she decided, once and for all, that her sons were never coming back. And she wasn't just hoping either; as soon as they left, she phoned the worst, most feared, and greediest bounty-hunter in all the land: The Big Bad Wolf.
"Yo?" he answered.
"Is this The Big Bad Wolf?"
"Yes Ma'am."
"I need you to kill my children."
"Much obliged. Might I have the honors of knowing why?"
She quickly explained.
"Ma'am," he growled after quietly listening to the predicament, "I swear to you that by yonder month, all of those piglets will be hidden deep within my belly." What he didn't say, was that he intended for the same thing to happen to Evil-Ma-Pig.
After eating a light feast, he pulled his rifle, his old army cap, and a tattered jacket out of the closet and got ready to go. He would have gone on his horse, but every time he bought one, he got hungry and ate them. They were all tasty, so it was, of course, worth it.
Meanwhile, Alan, the youngest and dumbest of all the pigs in the whole county was searching for a place to live. A place where he could wallow in his own waste. As he rambled down the dusty old road, a wonderful smell wafted its way to his nose: MUD!!!!!! Without thinking, he ran and dived in.
Now, before I can explain anything else that happened, you must know a little bit of an ancient yarn that folks in that town believed: they believed that a nasty-smelling, rude, mud-glob lives in a nearby swamp. This tale is so frightening that many a weak heart has failed in the night while passing the swamp.
Anyway, night came, and Alan was the happiest, stinkiest pig in the world. Before too long though, another smell came tingling at his fleshy pink snout: STRAW!!!!!!!
He jumped out of the mud and bumped a poor turtle carrying a barrel of straw into the dust.
"May I have ALL of the straw?" asked Alan.
Seeing a rude, stinky, mud-glob, the turtle screamed and ran off. Alan didn't even think to say thank you.
The next day, Alan had a fully constructed house made out of mud and straw. (The house was a pile of mud and straw, nothing more). 'Fore too long, Mr. Big Bad Wolf arrived hiding a rifle behind his back. He walked up to the door (if you could call it a door) and knocked. "Mr Pig, Mr. Pig, did you by this here property?"
"Why does it matter?" came the snide reply.
"'Cause if you didn't, the law enforcement is going to come huff and puff angrily 'til this house comes on down."
Just then Mr. Big Bad caught the whiff of straw, which he was allergic to. So he huffed and he puffed and sneezed the house right on down.
"Yikes!" Alan shouted. He ran in a serpentine pattern, screaming at the top of his lungs that he "didn't want to die."
Now, The Big Bad Wolf could have shot him down right then, but he decided it would be best to get them [the pigs] into a concentrated area and make it look like an accident to the local authorities. So, he let the little pork on legs go, and tracked him.....
Jack lay stupidly, wallowing in some muck and drinking beer. In his drunken state, he thought that maybe a stick house would be nice. Very nice. So, after midnight, he wobbled out of the mud, gathered sticks and built a scanty home to sleep in. The next morning, he headed straight for the Casino, hoping to make a little more money than he already had so that he could buy whiskey.
Of course, the Big Bad Wolf was waiting for him. He was mighty hungry after a whole day without food so he had to try really hard not to eat Jack and fail the mission. That would be bad. He slouched down in a chair with some other questionable characters and began playing dice. Jack, of course, could not resist, so he joined in and lost the game. As soon as Jack had run off, The Big Bad Wolf began to track him down....
Peter worked day and night and finally finished a brick fortress. Not a very big fortress, mind you, but it would have to do. He wasn't exactly bright, so he forgot to put a lock on his door to keep intruders out and his brothers were able to come screaming in during the night, scaring him half to death, and making him madder than a mad hatter.
Not long after that point, the Big Bad Wolf arrived and knocked politely on the door. Jack and Alan refused to answer the door, even after intruding, so Peter had to go down, a pistol in hand.
"Little Pigs, Little Pigs, let me come in!" said the Biggest Baddest Wolf Ever.
Peter didn't.
Now the wolf was awful hungry by now, so he wasn't in the mood to play games. He tried to get in through the door to kill the pigs but sadly, the weight of Peter was too much. So, another devious plan came to mind. Not his idea really, but Santa Clause's. He jumped onto the roof and clambered down the chimney, licking his lips and rubbing his tummy.
Police have investigated the area but have not been able to determine what happened after that point. All they know is that four pigs disappeared and one wolf got really fat. They aren't the brightest police, so they ain't suspicious. But as for me, I know what happened because...I AM THE BIG BAD WOLF!!!!!!!!
THE END
Once upon a time,
In a galaxy not so very far away but still a long time ago, there lived four messy pigs; a Ma pig and her three stinky sons: Alan, Jack, and Peter. One day, the disgusting fumes in the house were so strong and the mess so big (it looked like a pig-sty, believe it or not) that she had no choice but to send them away. She shed only the tears caused by an irritated nose as her children left and breathed a sigh of relief when they were only dots on the horizon. She thought she would have peaceful days from then one.
She was wrong. Within twenty-four hours those little pigs had wee-wee-weed all the way home. Ma Pig tried to live with the smell for a week but could eventually stand it no more. This time when she sent them away, she decided, once and for all, that her sons were never coming back. And she wasn't just hoping either; as soon as they left, she phoned the worst, most feared, and greediest bounty-hunter in all the land: The Big Bad Wolf.
"Yo?" he answered.
"Is this The Big Bad Wolf?"
"Yes Ma'am."
"I need you to kill my children."
"Much obliged. Might I have the honors of knowing why?"
She quickly explained.
"Ma'am," he growled after quietly listening to the predicament, "I swear to you that by yonder month, all of those piglets will be hidden deep within my belly." What he didn't say, was that he intended for the same thing to happen to Evil-Ma-Pig.
After eating a light feast, he pulled his rifle, his old army cap, and a tattered jacket out of the closet and got ready to go. He would have gone on his horse, but every time he bought one, he got hungry and ate them. They were all tasty, so it was, of course, worth it.
Meanwhile, Alan, the youngest and dumbest of all the pigs in the whole county was searching for a place to live. A place where he could wallow in his own waste. As he rambled down the dusty old road, a wonderful smell wafted its way to his nose: MUD!!!!!! Without thinking, he ran and dived in.
Now, before I can explain anything else that happened, you must know a little bit of an ancient yarn that folks in that town believed: they believed that a nasty-smelling, rude, mud-glob lives in a nearby swamp. This tale is so frightening that many a weak heart has failed in the night while passing the swamp.
Anyway, night came, and Alan was the happiest, stinkiest pig in the world. Before too long though, another smell came tingling at his fleshy pink snout: STRAW!!!!!!!
He jumped out of the mud and bumped a poor turtle carrying a barrel of straw into the dust.
"May I have ALL of the straw?" asked Alan.
Seeing a rude, stinky, mud-glob, the turtle screamed and ran off. Alan didn't even think to say thank you.
The next day, Alan had a fully constructed house made out of mud and straw. (The house was a pile of mud and straw, nothing more). 'Fore too long, Mr. Big Bad Wolf arrived hiding a rifle behind his back. He walked up to the door (if you could call it a door) and knocked. "Mr Pig, Mr. Pig, did you by this here property?"
"Why does it matter?" came the snide reply.
"'Cause if you didn't, the law enforcement is going to come huff and puff angrily 'til this house comes on down."
Just then Mr. Big Bad caught the whiff of straw, which he was allergic to. So he huffed and he puffed and sneezed the house right on down.
"Yikes!" Alan shouted. He ran in a serpentine pattern, screaming at the top of his lungs that he "didn't want to die."
Now, The Big Bad Wolf could have shot him down right then, but he decided it would be best to get them [the pigs] into a concentrated area and make it look like an accident to the local authorities. So, he let the little pork on legs go, and tracked him.....
Jack lay stupidly, wallowing in some muck and drinking beer. In his drunken state, he thought that maybe a stick house would be nice. Very nice. So, after midnight, he wobbled out of the mud, gathered sticks and built a scanty home to sleep in. The next morning, he headed straight for the Casino, hoping to make a little more money than he already had so that he could buy whiskey.
Of course, the Big Bad Wolf was waiting for him. He was mighty hungry after a whole day without food so he had to try really hard not to eat Jack and fail the mission. That would be bad. He slouched down in a chair with some other questionable characters and began playing dice. Jack, of course, could not resist, so he joined in and lost the game. As soon as Jack had run off, The Big Bad Wolf began to track him down....
Peter worked day and night and finally finished a brick fortress. Not a very big fortress, mind you, but it would have to do. He wasn't exactly bright, so he forgot to put a lock on his door to keep intruders out and his brothers were able to come screaming in during the night, scaring him half to death, and making him madder than a mad hatter.
Not long after that point, the Big Bad Wolf arrived and knocked politely on the door. Jack and Alan refused to answer the door, even after intruding, so Peter had to go down, a pistol in hand.
"Little Pigs, Little Pigs, let me come in!" said the Biggest Baddest Wolf Ever.
Peter didn't.
Now the wolf was awful hungry by now, so he wasn't in the mood to play games. He tried to get in through the door to kill the pigs but sadly, the weight of Peter was too much. So, another devious plan came to mind. Not his idea really, but Santa Clause's. He jumped onto the roof and clambered down the chimney, licking his lips and rubbing his tummy.
Police have investigated the area but have not been able to determine what happened after that point. All they know is that four pigs disappeared and one wolf got really fat. They aren't the brightest police, so they ain't suspicious. But as for me, I know what happened because...I AM THE BIG BAD WOLF!!!!!!!!
THE END
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Chapter II
I think there may be some subject-verb disagreements or confusion in a few of my sentences, so If you guys could help me out with that...
He took the usual way home: around the drugstore at the corner, over three fences, and into the alleys. Jason squared his shoulders and popped the collar of his leather jacket. He pocketed his hands so one of them could keep the nestling pocket knife company.
By day, the narrow corridors behind every small business in town were harmless trash-heaped, hobo-dwelling passages. As soon as the sun sunk behind the distant mountains, however, the beggars sleeping behind garbage cans are replaced with the crepuscular creatures emerging from underground dens where they were safe from the scorching sun by day. Now they creep out, the experienced ones stalk their prey solitarily and the younger beasts form into packs, marking their territories with crude, shocking, unoriginal graffiti. When the sun was high, people left their garage doors up and windows open, but after dark the nearby neighbors sank into shadows and anything beyond the threshold was evil.
Only hours before, Jason was apart and shunned, feared and hated. Now—in not the dead, but the life of night—he could wander wherever he chose (provided there wasn’t a dog) without pointing fingers and glaring eyes.
He was still avoided by street rats and gangs. The difference was, when muggers and thugs stayed on the other side of the street, it meant respect. That kind of courtesy would have been the swagger of any other night crawler except Jason.
He didn’t know why he got such attention, day or night; it wasn’t as if he liked the nightlife, it just happened to be the only time he felt like he could hold his head high. Jason didn’t like the alleys he frequented either: he couldn’t find his own head out in the open, while the alleys were like the ABC’s to him. However, Jaosn was all too aware of how dirty they were with dead things. Decaying opportunities, lives, families, and animals were the usual decor of this maze morgue. Jason may have strongly disliked this rotting skeleton of the city, even though, oddly, he felt safer there.
Still, confident as he felt, he’d rather avoid the unsavory scenes he was witness to. He used to try to help those poor unfortunates who happen to get caught outside after sundown. But he stopped after a week ago. What happened was this:
There Jason was, meandering between two of his usual haunts, when he happened upon vultures picking at a carcass. Shorter than any of them, he was twice as thick and had no problem shooing the gang off the man. They buzzed off, not even daring to cuss Jason as they ran, and left the balled-up loser still screaming and swatting at absent attackers. The victim was wearing Bermuda shorts, socks with sandals, and a pink t-shirt. He seemed to Jason the average, just-passing-through tourist mistakenly on the look for local nightlife. Stupid, Jason thought.
The man unwrapped his arms from around his balding head, chanced a glance up at the leather jacket that was wearing Jason, and scrambled out of the alley, showing more nerve than his assaulters by threatening Jason with police. Jason thought the man had better run faster and get to his hotel quick or he won’t get much further.
So he didn’t help the poor unfortunates anymore. Except for that boy who tried to get into a gang. In order to join, all applicants had to stab someone in the back and present the bloodied knife to the ringleader. Those stupid gangs are trying to get them younger, Jason had thought at the time, and dirtier. Jason had done the kid a favor by relieving him of his weapon and threatening to knife him unless he went home immediately.
Then there was that girl this afternoon. Why had he even bothered with her? She wasn’t being attacked. And what was with the random hotdog? She hadn’t looked half as starved as some of the urchins in the trashcans. Maybe it was because she didn’t scream. She didn’t point, run, or use pepper spray. No, he thought, it’s those eyes! They were huge! He thought about those green eyes. The girl may have looked healthy and pink, but her eyes looked starved. It was how they looked so hungry that made Jason want to give her something.
He reemerged from the alley into a back parking lot lit by an orange streetlamp. It was mostly empty, but there were a few cars sparsely parked. A white Oldsmobile, a silver Honda by the dumpsters, an army green Nissan with one red door in the corner, and the red Jetta.
That Jetta had sat at the opening of the alley forever, as long as Jason could remember, but it looked brand-spanking-new. There wasn’t a scratch in the blood-red paint, not one bug on the fender, not a chip in the windshield, which was so dark, Jason could only see himself in it. He used to wonder who would leave such a beauty in such a dumpy place; He noticed only two days ago that the Jetta had cinderblocks where wheels should have been.
Tonight he paused as he always did for a few moments to admire its flawlessness, and shake his head sadly at the cinderblocks. He rubbed his bony nose and walked away.
The parking lot belonged to an apartment complex. Jason sauntered across the pavement and clomped up the first set of metal stairs and walked across the landing. He passed the door with the yappy dog, the one that always played loud music, the one with the eviction notice. Up another flight of metal stairs he banged. None of the sleeping neighbors’ lights flicked on. He crossed the third story landing and stopped at number 16. He grabbed the tarnished handle, and turned it as he kicked a peculiar stain on the door, because it was the only way to make it open at all, as he knew from experience.
He’d doing this every night since forever ago: the alley, the parking lot, the Jetta, the stairs, the stain. Everything had been the same for weeks, till now. Now, he was met by two very new, very large, very green eyes.
He took the usual way home: around the drugstore at the corner, over three fences, and into the alleys. Jason squared his shoulders and popped the collar of his leather jacket. He pocketed his hands so one of them could keep the nestling pocket knife company.
By day, the narrow corridors behind every small business in town were harmless trash-heaped, hobo-dwelling passages. As soon as the sun sunk behind the distant mountains, however, the beggars sleeping behind garbage cans are replaced with the crepuscular creatures emerging from underground dens where they were safe from the scorching sun by day. Now they creep out, the experienced ones stalk their prey solitarily and the younger beasts form into packs, marking their territories with crude, shocking, unoriginal graffiti. When the sun was high, people left their garage doors up and windows open, but after dark the nearby neighbors sank into shadows and anything beyond the threshold was evil.
Only hours before, Jason was apart and shunned, feared and hated. Now—in not the dead, but the life of night—he could wander wherever he chose (provided there wasn’t a dog) without pointing fingers and glaring eyes.
He was still avoided by street rats and gangs. The difference was, when muggers and thugs stayed on the other side of the street, it meant respect. That kind of courtesy would have been the swagger of any other night crawler except Jason.
He didn’t know why he got such attention, day or night; it wasn’t as if he liked the nightlife, it just happened to be the only time he felt like he could hold his head high. Jason didn’t like the alleys he frequented either: he couldn’t find his own head out in the open, while the alleys were like the ABC’s to him. However, Jaosn was all too aware of how dirty they were with dead things. Decaying opportunities, lives, families, and animals were the usual decor of this maze morgue. Jason may have strongly disliked this rotting skeleton of the city, even though, oddly, he felt safer there.
Still, confident as he felt, he’d rather avoid the unsavory scenes he was witness to. He used to try to help those poor unfortunates who happen to get caught outside after sundown. But he stopped after a week ago. What happened was this:
There Jason was, meandering between two of his usual haunts, when he happened upon vultures picking at a carcass. Shorter than any of them, he was twice as thick and had no problem shooing the gang off the man. They buzzed off, not even daring to cuss Jason as they ran, and left the balled-up loser still screaming and swatting at absent attackers. The victim was wearing Bermuda shorts, socks with sandals, and a pink t-shirt. He seemed to Jason the average, just-passing-through tourist mistakenly on the look for local nightlife. Stupid, Jason thought.
The man unwrapped his arms from around his balding head, chanced a glance up at the leather jacket that was wearing Jason, and scrambled out of the alley, showing more nerve than his assaulters by threatening Jason with police. Jason thought the man had better run faster and get to his hotel quick or he won’t get much further.
So he didn’t help the poor unfortunates anymore. Except for that boy who tried to get into a gang. In order to join, all applicants had to stab someone in the back and present the bloodied knife to the ringleader. Those stupid gangs are trying to get them younger, Jason had thought at the time, and dirtier. Jason had done the kid a favor by relieving him of his weapon and threatening to knife him unless he went home immediately.
Then there was that girl this afternoon. Why had he even bothered with her? She wasn’t being attacked. And what was with the random hotdog? She hadn’t looked half as starved as some of the urchins in the trashcans. Maybe it was because she didn’t scream. She didn’t point, run, or use pepper spray. No, he thought, it’s those eyes! They were huge! He thought about those green eyes. The girl may have looked healthy and pink, but her eyes looked starved. It was how they looked so hungry that made Jason want to give her something.
He reemerged from the alley into a back parking lot lit by an orange streetlamp. It was mostly empty, but there were a few cars sparsely parked. A white Oldsmobile, a silver Honda by the dumpsters, an army green Nissan with one red door in the corner, and the red Jetta.
That Jetta had sat at the opening of the alley forever, as long as Jason could remember, but it looked brand-spanking-new. There wasn’t a scratch in the blood-red paint, not one bug on the fender, not a chip in the windshield, which was so dark, Jason could only see himself in it. He used to wonder who would leave such a beauty in such a dumpy place; He noticed only two days ago that the Jetta had cinderblocks where wheels should have been.
Tonight he paused as he always did for a few moments to admire its flawlessness, and shake his head sadly at the cinderblocks. He rubbed his bony nose and walked away.
The parking lot belonged to an apartment complex. Jason sauntered across the pavement and clomped up the first set of metal stairs and walked across the landing. He passed the door with the yappy dog, the one that always played loud music, the one with the eviction notice. Up another flight of metal stairs he banged. None of the sleeping neighbors’ lights flicked on. He crossed the third story landing and stopped at number 16. He grabbed the tarnished handle, and turned it as he kicked a peculiar stain on the door, because it was the only way to make it open at all, as he knew from experience.
He’d doing this every night since forever ago: the alley, the parking lot, the Jetta, the stairs, the stain. Everything had been the same for weeks, till now. Now, he was met by two very new, very large, very green eyes.
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