Stories and POEMS!

ALL STORIES AND PEOMS ARE COPYRIGHT MATERIAL AS OF 2007 


Mad Lab
I hear the synthetic pulsing, duplicating every moment, I close my eyes but I can still see, I see the dim blue room, I see the red blob covered in pulsating glowing veins, The constantly bleeding tube spilling dense white liquid, I open my eyes. Nothing. Gone all of it. I close my eyes, hard, harder. It all comes back the lab is now dark green, no more pulsing, just green. A flash another, I fall to the ground, flesh burned to a dark brown crisp. I hear something. A voice: “Brotherhood of eternal darkness I long await thy return” It’s coming from me. It’s a hum, an ember, nothing.
A sickening shade of blue eats away at the wall, I feel energy pulsing through the walls, through me. Slowly, a group of white tubes reach for me gradually picking up speed. They reach their destination and suck.
My vision blurs out into a bright blue glow, and then, instinct takes over. “Release me master.” I say. A mephitic white gas fills the room. I Fall. Crippled. Blind. Dead. Un dead.
I stand and somehow force the gas away. It turns into a a swirling, twisting, spinning vortex of uncontrolled darkness, once again instinct takes over. I bow to master.  In the deepest corner of my mind I wait for him.
Consumed by everything and nothing, I wait for master, the hood of darkness the blade of death.
Some call it mind wash,
Others, mercury wash
I, I call it mercy.

Darkness by the Gallows
    Flashy lights and shadows danced around what would probably be mistaken for a lump on a couch in front of a tv. In reality the lump was an atrabilious person before a big glowing box known to him as the tv.  That would be me. Sitting beside me was a cheerfully singing sister. Jaluka put her minuscule hands to her minuscule mouth and giggled wildly at the thought that her brother got to baby-sit her!
    “What am I supposed to do for four hours?” I wailed.
    “It’s New York, New York! What do you mean nothing?!” my mother demanded, clearly irritated.
    “Explore the apartment” my father added.
    “No!” came a skittish response from a skittish mother.
   

    Four hours of nothingness.  Four hours I can look back on in my later years as a blank void in my life. As if my life were a Richter scale and someone had  to replace the batteries and it took them four hours. In that time period a huge awesome earthquake could be going on in San Diego, and I’m stuck here in New York, New York, waiting for a battery change.

    You’ve heard the saying “New York Minute.” Well, New York is big and it’s big enough to hold places where minutes seem immeasurably fast and places with “Montana Minutes.” My apartment is one of them, lined with dog poop, fortified with ancient bricking, and fenced with what was essentially rust. The fence has dirt brown “grass” coming from old concrete. So really what I’m saying is that I live in a dilapidated run-down old place, defaced by graffiti and vandalism. The building was a blight upon New York.

    “Jaluka, come on!” I yelled. 
    The apartment interior was a stark nihility, colorless wooden floorboards, an indefinite decadence.  Throughout our seemingly eternal walk to the elevator, strange people would often poke their heads out and their brows would furrow into cynical disbelief. Finally, the steady fresh air blended with my skin. It felt almost glossy.  I handed Jaluka the keys to the room; she loves shiny objects.
    “What have you done....” A melancholy voice came from nowhere.

    There was a girl at the end of the sidewalk whose yard was in ashes completely.  All that remained of what was once a young girl’s domicile were charred miscellaneous scraps of metal, wood, and rubble that littered a yard.
    “Someone in that apartment is an arsonist.” an ominous yet mournful girl said, pointing directly at my apartment.

    “And that someone’s action cost another certain someone their parents.”
    “What?” I asked half bemused due to what she said, and half because I could not imagine in an arsonist being in my apartment, or that a girl would have her parents kidnapped by the arsonist that I could not imagine in the first place.
    I looked for words, What? Why? How? Who? Um... ok. Eventually I settled on three words and three words only. “Are you O.K.?” Before she had time to answer, I added a few more words.

    “How do you know the arsonist came from my building? What right do you have of accusing any of us in that building? Look, there are three uniformly identical apartments right next to mine!” I said, voice exceeding regular talking volume by quite a bit.

    A tickle on my left hand interrupted my thoughts, which were at the time trying to figure out why the girl had such harsh accusations.
    “I don’t.” she sobbed.
    “I don’t I don’t! I don’t...”
    “All I have is a hunch.” I walked over to the traumatized girl who looked about nine, a year younger than I was. I was determined to help in any way I could.  But what? A feeling in my gut told me I already knew.

    I had three hours to find an arsonist with an eight year old’s parents.  The sky was a bright glowing blue with perfect white clouds and a happy sun providing light onto the happy New York citizens.  The ground was a grotesque brown dirt color covered in smoldering ashes. The first clue, recent attack.
    Then I saw the girl, who right now wasn’t quite the picture of beauty.  Her pale almost beige sclera accompanied by burning hazel-green eyes illuminated the dirt on her face.  I was just about to speak when something caught my eye. Amidst of the desolate remnants of what used to be home to someone was an object I had seen only once before in real life.  What was it? It was a single blinking ball smoking and shaking violently, but this was white smoke, not black like fire smoke.  For three seconds nothing happened, The girl, weeping silently on the sidewalk did nothing, and then I realized what it was.
    “GET UP!” I screamed.
    “GET UP!!”
Instantly, a blinding and deafening blast of cast iron shrapnel exploded from a planted fragmentation grenade. I blindly threw my arms to protect myself and the girl from the cloud of fire, fragmentation, and a billow of smoke the size a football field, or at least it seemed.  And then, one thought.
    “JALAUKA!!” I screamed desperately.
    “YOUR SISTER!!” came a cough reply, “SHE LEFT YOU BEFORE YOU GOT OVER HERE!!!!”
    And then, I remembered.  My tickled hand.  Dust whipped and stung my face. I was bleeding, I was sure. The girl! I thought, “WHERE ARE YOU?!!” I screamed throatily into the spray of sand, dust, ashes and metal, which was ripping cuts all over my face.
    “I DON’T KNOW!!” she screamed.
    I came to a fearful realization. I was flying rapidly through clouds of dust. I spun out and slammed violently into something and my body looked as though it was having a very limp spasm. as I fell to the streets.  In a traditional explosive murder scene, my ears would be filled with cacophonous uproar of shrieks and cries for help. Nope, not this time. 
    The shattering pain of the impact caused unbearable agony, I could not let this happen to an eight-year-old. I ran visionless, teary eyes veined from fear, crying, and dust. I saw her drop and I began to cry. I had missed my only chance. Maybe it could be all over right now, after all, there couldn’t be more than one bomb, could there?

    I was right. No more bombs. I walked over to the girl who laid limp and motionless on a manhole. I breathed a deep breath of  relief as she began  to raise her head. Big mistake. The sweet smell of chloroform filled my nose, but how? Such a volatile substance could never sustain liquid form in New York. But there was absolutely no time for that. A yellow form was approaching in my slowly blackening blurred vision, and I realized who the priority was at the moment. The girl was still on the manhole, clearly she had been severely chloroformed. I ran toward what I thought was a taxi rapidly approaching. It was a dream, my vision went in and out, and the girl was still three yards away, and the taxi was five yards. I knew that without heavy anesthetic I could not outrun a taxi, or run toward a girl and pick her up and get her off the street. 
    I had a risky, vague plan. I ran toward the girl with every ounce of conscious muscle strength I had; I picked her up and threw her off the road. I was rapidly losing consciousness, I knew the taxi was too close to me to be able to jump to a side; my only option left was to jump up.  I leaped as high as I possibly could, but it just wasn’t enough. My legs buckled in pain as my feet hit the grill of the Ford Victoria, and  my head smashed onto the prism on top of the car and fell off of the back. I was knocked out, but I was able to wobble over to the sidewalk just in time.

    As soon as I had the slightest bit of consciousness I knew I had to get up. I didn’t remember why, but I knew it was important.  Then I remembered slowly, the girl, the fragmentation grenade, Jaluka.  I jogged in place to get the feeling back in my legs.  I was amazed nobody seemed to notice two unconscious kids lying on the sidewalk. Fearfully I looked at my watch: 5:30, which gave me around three hours to find Jaluka, a girl’s parents, and most possibly an arsonist.  I ran down the sidewalk to the girl, now twice as dirty, and was barely awake.   
    “Get up!” I said.
    “We’re finding your parents,” I said confidently, offering a hand. “And Jaluka.” I added.  “I’m Claire Villaduro .” She said. 
    “Hi” I said lamely. “I’m Jeromey,” I said, “you can call me... Jer...um...me-y.” I was hoping to come up with some cool exotic nickname, but I just ended restating the obvious.  I thought about her suspicion with the apartment residents. “Let’s talk to the apartment people,” I offered.
    I made sure to stay away from where I thought we had been chloroformed.
    “What?!” Claire shrieked.  “What are you talking about?!?” She demanded, “CAll THE POLICE!!” she said as she knocked me on the head.
    “Why didn’t you do that when your house was on fire and your parents were being kidnapped by an alleged arsonist?!” I asked.
    “I’ll let you think.” she said.
    Pretty harsh for an eight-year-old.
    “We don’t have any proof! We don’t even have proof that my sister, or your parents were kidnapped!” I said.
    “Then call your parents!”
    “I don’t know their cell phone numbers,” I replied quietly.
    Claire winced.

    We began our journey into the beautiful sunset skipping happily to a luxurious apartment.  No, actually we were sadly awaiting the unwelcoming arms of a grossly derelict apartment questioning possible arsonists, kidnappers, and now that I realized it- potential murderers.
    There were 20 rooms in the apartment building. Of course I wasn’t planning to knock on each door and say “Are you an arsonist? And have you killed anyone in the past week or two?”
    And at that very moment a steel blue pick-up truck pulled in. An old man hopped out of the truck. He wasn’t nursing home old,  he just looked very old. The man was very squinty, as if there was a bright light constantly in his eyes.  He had hair resembling that of Doc from the Back to the Future series.    
    “All he’s missing is the DeLorean,” Claire whispered into my ear as if reading my mind.
    “That is quite a predicament over there.” The man said, squinting and pointing to the wreckage that was once a slightly less miserable wreckage, which at some point was an abode to a girl and her parents.
    “You don’t know anything about that, do you?” I asked picking my words carefully, trying to sound as innocent as possible.
    “Nope, I’d just gotten back from Chicago,” he said, patting the hood of his pickup. I was expecting the hood to fall off, or the windshield to break or something, considering the car’s condition.
    He laid back on the hood of his car. “Well, it was nice meetin’ you two.” he said, offering an arm with exactly three different tattoos which could be easily told apart.   
     I shook his hand firmly.  His hand was cold and bone dry; it almost felt decrepit, which told me he was older than he looked. We bid goodbye to the old man as he walked up the stairs and entered the apartment building. When he was gone Claire and I exchanged identical looks of uncertainty.  I was thinking about the tattoos on his arm. The one closest to his hand appeared to be a black half circle with the flat edge facing toward the hand. The middle tattoo was a completely black full circle.  The farthest tattoo was another full circle, but this time it was only outlined in black.
    A thick person walked out wearing intensely dark shades, which was strange because the sun was barely coming out from behind a cloud.
    “Hi,”I said casually.  “You don’t know whose house that is, do you?” I added, hoping to spark a conversation on the house. 
    “I don’t, but I can tell you who used to live there,” the man said.
    “No thank you. Bye.” Claire said, forcing a smile.
    “Look,” I said finally, “let’s just go back to... the...” I began.
    “The... what? toy store? Museum? Mental Institute?” Claire said sarcastically.
    “Jeez! I ugh. I gave the keys to the room to Jaluka!” I groaned.
    “Hmm....” She said, clearly distracted.   
    “Okay, I have some other people I’d like to talk to about my parents,” she finally said.
    Claire led me to a bleak white structure 100 meters away from my building.
The structure was clearly a total blight upon the area.  “A grocery store?” I asked incredulously.
    “Yup.” She said. Obviously she expected me to ask that.
    “Every time we used to shop here the manager would go out of his way to try to cheat us out of our money, criticize whatever it was that we were buying,  or  accuse us of doing some insignificant crime. Like if the cashier would miss the barcode, he would send us to the back of the line, or even kick us out. He deliberately expresses hostility toward us with threatening letters, and other stuff my parents won’t even tell me!”
    We cautiously walked into the grocery, where Mr. Worstnightmare was sitting on a bench eating something, needless to say, on break.  He had long black semi-curly hair and had a mustache.
    “Hey! You! Manager guy! Yeah you. I know you had something to do with my house burning and parents kidnapping!” Claire Villaduro began angrily.
    “I didn’t do nothing to your stupid house, but I wish I did,” the manager said.  “Nah get out before I call the police!”
    He spoke with a heavy Spanish accent and a slur. 
    “Shut up Sergio!” Claire shouted.
    I was amazed at her bravery.
    “Well? What are we supposed to do?” I whispered into her ear.
    “I’m not sure, but I sorta, believe him,” she said guiltily.
    “Why?!” I asked, almost laughing at the fact that just a moment ago she was cursing eternal punishment upon the alleged “Satan’s father.” (I deliberately left that part out.)
    “I’m not sure, just maybe intuition.” Claire said.
    “Whatever, I have less than two hours to figure this out, and we only have two and a half people we’ve questioned.”
    We walked solemnly back to my apartment. My mind was thoroughly absorbed in the man’s strange tattoo. I stared at the two doors for a long long time. “CLAIRE!” I said with the brightest, most priceless spark of intuition in my voice.
    She jumped. “Wha? What?!” 
    “The TATTOO!! The exact same markings are on each door, and on THE SEWER!”  Obviously she hadn’t been reading my mind. “That old guy’s tattoo!”
    “Wow! tattoos and old guys? Sounds thrilling!” emulated Claire.
    “The same markings are on each door in this apartment, and on the one of the sewers directly across the street!”
    “Okay, let’s think. If each door has the same markings as the man, then obviously he is associated with something in the apartment,” said Claire.
    “I think he’s lying about something,” I said.
    “Alright,” said Claire, as if rolling the idea around like a clay ball in her mind.
    “Let’s go over what he said. Um... he said he went to Chicag-” I started.
    “He patted the hood of his car!” Claire finished.
    “And it would have burned his hand if he really went to Chicago!!” I said, heart pumping.
    “This is great!” she said.
    “Okay, okay, keep thinking! The other guy. He had really, really-” I began.
    “Dark shades! And the old guy was all squinty!” Claire finished once again.
    Did I talk too slow, or was Claire finishing my sentences because of some profound romantic passion we share in which shared love dines upon the ambrosial fruits of ecstasy forged by two peoples’ eternal brilliant friendship set ablaze and- “You know, you talk really slow,” Claire stated.
    “That could either mean that they both have severe deficiencies, or are both accustomed to the dark!” I said forgetting the whole “profound passion” thing or whatever.
    “Alright, how ‘bout the sewer thing that you were talking about?” she said.
    “We could go check but I don’t see your point,” I said, rather bemused.
    Claire and I raced over to the sewer and the sweet smell of chloroform once again came into my nose. Instinctively I grabbed Claire. “The sewer! Chloro- chloroform sewer....” my voice trailed off.
    I got off the road okay, but it was too late. I had already breathed in the chloroform. I only had an hour an thirty minutes until my parents would get home.
But now I knew the sewer had something to do with Jaluka. Something.... Thoughts went in and out of my mind, Claire, kidnapped, parents.
    I woke up, to Claire pacing around me biting her nails. “Claire....”
    “Jeromey! Thank God!” came a relieved voice.
    She sounded like someone had just taken an obese flaming elephant with highly contagious leprosy off of her shoulder, my unconsciousness being the corpulent, flaming leper elephant.
    “I’m almost sure both of our loved ones are in the sewer. The squinty people are accustomed to the darkness of the sewer and I believe are somehow associated. The tattoo is a symbol that depicts an eclipse, and I think there is a second chamber where-”
    “But why would they kidnap my sister and your parents?” I interruppted.
    “I think that my house was just to get you to either blow the only people not in this ‘gang’ apart, or kidnap them.” Claire said, amazing me once again.
    “But if what you say is true, how in only one hour and fifteen minutes,  supposed to open up a sewer, and get through a chamber of chloroform, and if these people are at all as smart as they’ve proven to be, we will have to get through some sort of barrier to get to our loved ones,” I said, drawing a deep breath afterwards.
    “Got any ideas?” Claire said pathetically.                                     
    “I have no gas masks. You?” I said almost instantly regretting it.
     I got the “You really are stupid!  My house was burned down, and on top of that whatever remained was blown apart by a frag grenade!!” look, which people rarely give me.
    “Hey, uh... Claire, how, it being New York, did the fire not spread?”
    She went pale almost instantly.  I could tell something was being kept from me. “I don’t know.” she said smoothly.
    It amazed me how she regained complete control of her voice like that.
    This was an opportunity I couldn’t miss. I was going to hate this but I had to dig into this.  “Really,” I said slyly.
    “Any ideas?” I said.
    “Let’s stay on topic,” she said.
    “O.K.” I said.
    I could tell she was getting suspiscious, so officially, I dropped it, but I wasn’t going to drop it for long.
    “We have only have an hour now,” I said, glancing at my watch.
    “How long can you hold your breath?” A mischevious wicked look came across her face- not just ear to ear.
    To think that just three hours ago I was complaining about boredom.
Shivers.
    “No way, Claire,” I said plainly.
    “Look, if you hyperventailate you can hold your breath longer, and it’ll-” she began,
    “Trick your brain, you can still damage it.” I said.
    “Well, you can worry about a few out of incomprehensible amounts of brain cells, while I worry about my parents’ and your sister’s lives!” Claire said.
    She had a very eloquent way about her. I detested and at the same time enjoyed that.
    “Wait, aren’t manholes welded to the street?” Claire asked.
    “Only during street races,” I replied.
    “How are we going to get the manhole off? They’re like 150 pounds!” I said, realizing the hole in our plan.
    “Can you lift 75 pounds?” Claire inquired.
    “I guess, can you?” I said.
    “I’ll try,” She responded.
Two minutes of short and abrupt breaths and I hoped we were ready. 
    My arms strained in sharp shooting pain.  We pulled it barely an inch above the ground and pushed it to the side and ran off to the sidewalk to catch a breath and begin to hyperventilate again.
    “Claire,” I said smiling, “we don’t have to hold our breaths.”
    “Why?” She asked, breathing heavily.
    “If it is as diluted as it smells, it should evaporate within minutes!” I enthused.
    After three minutes of our precious time, I went to go check on the sewer.  It still smelled sweet, but not strong enough to knock us out, just enough to weaken us a little.  I signaled for Claire to come over. “You ready?” she asked.
    “No.” I said forcing a smile.
    “Gross!” Claire said.
    “I’ll go first,” I said, attempting to be brave.
    I sat on the edge and dipped in and fell about three feet. I expected to feel the bottom instan
tly but all I felt was diluted chloroform. I kicked and screamed wildly.
    “CLAIRE!” I choked wildly.
    “NO- BOTTOM!” I shouted up.
    It was a vague call, but she got the message.
    “I’M COMING!” she screamed.
    “HYPERVENTILATE!!” Claire cried down.
    “I CAN’T!!” My heart was going to explode.
    “FIND THE SECOND CHAMBER!” she screamed.
    At the risk of sounding like Harry Potter, I could not find the secret chamber.
“THERE IS NONE!!” I screamed at the top of my lungs.
    “CAR!!” Claire exclaimed.
    She jumped down almost landing directly on me. Just in time as well because as soon as she hit the water the shadow of a van loomed over us, creating a huge sound.
    “Maybe,” she started and then choked. “you - have to swim cough down!” Claire said choking rapidly.
    My heart did a drum roll. But to save energy I just did as she said. The water seemed impossibly dark except for the shaft of light from the opening.  I scraped my arm on the rough concrete. I couldn’t swim down. Especially not in such a small space, but I had to. I dove down forcing water out of my way. I was sure that I was bleeding in at least six places. 
    Incredibly, Claire was right in the murky darkness. I could feel some sort of opening to the side.  I violently kicked and flailed until I got to where the water and air met.
    “YOU-cough- WERE RIGHT!!” I cried, pulling Claire down and drawing the deepest breath anyone has ever seen or heard. I swam down, feeling the wall for the opening I had felt before.  It seemed like eternity before I felt an opening. We both swam in and began to swim up.  I vigorously flailed about, and finally we reached air. There was a faint candlelight. Claire was already pushing up on the concrete when I pulled her down and covered her mouth.
    “Stay down!” a strained hoarse whisper came, which I barley recognized as my own.
    Two pairs of eyes peeked to see the most horrible sight imaginable. On the back wall was the giant symbol from the man’s arm, confirming our theories.
    Two desperate faces, and one clueless face were both awaiting a hanging.
I was screaming a hopeless empty cry of total despair inside. Suddenly I felt extremely claustrophobic and constricted. The area seemed tighter than anything I could ever imagine.-Tighter than trying on a younger sibling’s hand-me-down clothing that you wore three years ago. Tighter than that.
    The room was empty except for Claire’s parents and Jaluka.  They were still standing on the gallows.  I didn’t realize it, but we were both crying. In fact the whole room was crying, except for Jaluka who probably thought this was an adventure.  A thousand blades and needles landed in my heart.
    “What can we do?” I asked.
    “You’re right. We need to think, not mope,” Claire said.
    “What am I supposed to do? Jaluka can’t hold her breath for that long,” I said.
    There was a pause. Claire popped her head up and mouthed the words “HELP YOU.” Her parents seemed to understand because their eyes lit up. More mouthing words. I didn’t know why they couldn’t just talk.
We had thirty minutes to do this so we both pushed up and scrambled on to the concrete. We hurriedly began to untie, starting with Claire’s father, who we hoped could untie knots. He gave a silent nod of gratitude. Next, Claire and I began to work on Jaluka, which did not take long, though it was hard to  balance two people on the gallow. Claire’s parents were free, and so was Jaluka. Claire and I nodded to each other and I picked up Jaluka. Claire whispered into her parents’ ears. I slowly eased into the water and held one hand over Jaluka’s mouth until we were in the water. I raced through the water as soon as I had an arm free, I saw upward toward the beautiful light. I pushed Jaluka up out of the sewer, and then I pushed myself. Next came Claire, her mother, and finally, Claire’s father. I felt the releif of 30 corpulent flaming leper off my shoulders. There was a huge exchange of releif, thank you’s, and forceful bear hugs. We bid a goodbye that seemed to last a lifetime. I didn’t think Jaluka still had the keys, so we waited by the apartment for the black Volvo to arrive. There would be a lot of explaining to do.
 


THE MAN IN THE MOON

I Never believed in the man in the moon, until I became him.        It started on a hot Sunday morning; I was messing around in a tall field and satisfaction  filled my mind when I found a chrome box, glistening in the hot sun. And of course there was a “DO NOT TOUCH” button. Why do they even put those on things? Naturally I pressed it.  Nothing. I pressed it again, still nothing, so I kicked it. I do that with most things that don’t work. This time, however, it was a bad idea. The box blew up. Metal shards flew with tremendous speed, flames were instantly emitted.  The strange thing was that none of the debris touched me. The flying shards just went right through me. It took me a while to process that I was being steadily lifted off the ground. I tried to fight the force carrying me, but I was literally immobilized.  It was as if I was in a strait jacket. By the time I had gone higher than the birds I must have looked like a squirming worm far out in the distance. For some strange reason, whenever my ears would plug up, something would pull at them, and somehow unplug them. I was still squirming when I realized I couldn’t see. For at least fifteen minutes my focus was on just seeing.  And then,  FSSHHOOOOOOOOOOO......PLOP
I landed on the moon.  Well I thought, it figures,  you mess with alien stuff you get what you deserve. It just so happens that the moon is made of car oil BLAAGH! Well if you see me, try not to let anyone land on me.

SNAKES

    I love buying things.  especially  at gift shops. Well, I made a big mistake. It started when I bought a cool and real snake skull.
It had intricate design of unending swirls. I put it in my soft pocket.    I was just thinking about every infinitesimal design when I felt a sharp cramp in m thy Ouch!  I walked out with my Mom, my brother Colie. and my Dad. Everyone was happy. We were on the best vacation yet. And last, b ut certainly not least a quick splash in the hotel’s pool. The water gleamed in the sunlight. The  best part was the underwater stereo system- we got to listen to  some awesome music. There were even fake waves made from the “Wave maker 2010 edition” installed into the outdoor luxury pool. This was the LIFE!  I thought.  And then for the second time I felt A sharp pain that jogged my shallow memory,  I still had the snake skull I bought! I pulled out of my swim suit, yow! it hung on to my hand, by then I knew something was very wrong. I tried to pry the jaws open but they just snapped back on. There was a small circle of dissolving red around me, and then, I knew what to do. Not taking any chances, I dove down under water. I tried not to pay much attention to the possessed thing I mad the mistake of getting.
So I decided to note the blue water, the dancing light, the magical bubbles, slowly reflecting more and more blood,  I was running out of air, and consciousness, slowly my world  blurred and turned more red with every beat of my heart. And then I realized the snake was dead, I saw a faint gray blur floating down. I pushed may self hard, all out hard I forced the energy out like I was about to spew. I kicked until my world seemed to be made of spinning white bubbles, I got to the ledge of the pool where my parents were waiting , they stared incredulity at the water, apparently they only saw the last part. 

Sheep on the Brink
    They were just sitting there. All three of them, on the gently rolling hills of Aberdeen Scotland. Right behind that blasted white fence. Tina Harold, and Veronica. Occasionally one of them- usually Veronica -would flick their tails to shoo a pesulant from their wool. “Shouldn’t we be jumping?” Harold asked, breaking a sheild of utter tranquililty around the sheep.    
    “No don’t!”  Veronica hissed urgently.
    “When we start jumping, the boy will fall asleep!” She said.
    “We’re on the brink of nonexistence people!” She hissed once again.
    “Ooh, that sounds awful, do ya think they have good meadows there in nonexistia?” Tina asked, then chomping on a clump of grass and bahing finally with satisfaction
    And then, harold jumped. High, soaring over the white fence. Veronica sqealed violently and uncontrollablly. “See?! nothing absolutely noth-” Harold was interrupted by a deep snoring resonating, following the poof of wool and sheep.
   

 

 Loser
I had a staring contest
With the mighty sun,
Believe me when I tell you,
I really almost won,

I had a counting contest,
with a noisy clock,
I lost at the three-millionth tick-tock,
With all the contests I may chose,
Nine out of ten I’ll bet I’ll lose

ALIEN CONTACT
We sent a primer into space,
It told about our humanoid race
As the aliens read,
They nodded their head,
As they laughed at such a disgrace

Look up in the sky!
Look up in the sky! Is it a plane or a kite?
It’s GREEN  it’s WHITE!

AAAAGHH Take Cover!
SPLAT!

The Unpleasant Surprise
The unpleasant surprise,
It nearly burned off my eyes,
It came from an egg,
with a cord for a leg,
Even lacking an arm,
This creature means harm,
This corpulent freak,
Makes me violently shriek,This twisted beast makes my life o so gloom, not only that but it has sealed my impending doom.

The Happy poem

Oh boy what a sight!
It started in the midst of my afternoon delight,
I watch as it grew,
Grass can be cool! who knew?