She tried everything in her might, she hid in lockers, in toilet stalls, behind the bleacher. She wore wigs and shades as she attended the football games. Anything to catch even a whisper between the other girls. She continued to stay away from her house during her usual cheerleader practice time because she was not going to let her mom find out she had been kicked off the team, until she knew who was the master mind behind it.
As she waited in the bathroom stall, in the locker room, after practice on that dreadful Tuesday she was delighted to finally hear the girls mention her name. She knew it was time for her to find out who had done this dreadful deed. As the conversation continued she began to shake and get very nervous. After all of this drama she was ready. Suzy said to Mary, "I always knew Beverly was not Cheerleader material. I mean after all have you ever seen her try to do the to get up to the top of that pyramid? It is a joke!"
Beverly knew now, it was Suzy.
Then Mary said to Kaneesha, "Ya, if you think that is bad you should have seen her practice her high kicks and her pom pom throws, it was disgusting."
Beverly was confused, she thought it was Suzy, but now Mary was in on it too. She thought to herself, what am I going to do it was a conspiracy!! I can't very well get back at the whole darn cheerleader team! She began to cry silently as she imagined telling her mother that she got kicked off the team beacause evryone of those girls conspired against her.
Just as she began to get some toilet paper to wipe her tears, she heard Kaneesha say to both Mary and Suzy, "Hey you two, she may not have been all that great, but we are Juniors and she is only a freshman. If I remember right, both of you got cut from the team as Freshmen, because you were not so great yet! Maybe you need to think about that and watch out, because if she does some practicing over the summer and comes back again next year, she might just come back and make the both of you look REAL bad!"
Just as Kaneesha finished talking a huge crash came from one of the far bathroom stalls. They were all very startled and just looked to see what would come of the noise they had heard. Moments later out cam a very flustered Beverly, with a some tissue in her hand and a wet sneaker. She had fallen in the toilet as she imagined herself coming back next year and showing that stuck up Mary and Suzy just what she had to give! They all looked suprised but as Beverly began walking towards them she held out her hand. She walked up to Kaneesha and shook her hand. As she continued to walk out of the room she said, "Well girls, you better watch out, because I am coming back next year, I am going to be better and I am going to give the both of you a run for your money. Oh, by the way, Kaneesha maybe you and I can get together this summer and do some practicing!"
She left school on that day feeling better about herself, knowing that she had it in her, but she just had to keep working at it. She went home that night and told her mother all about what she had done for the last week and that she had been cut from the team. Her mother just looked at her and said, "Beverly, you can do anything you put your mind to. I will look forward to going to watch all of those football games next year, because I know you will be out there doing your best!"
The author comments, "Pretty bad hey?? I know it will win!!"
Kids for some reason reach that terrible period where they are too old to be
babied on family vacations and are too young to move out. The standard for this
age group is ten through twenty-two. Most kids would rather be left home
than go on vacation; it is a natural function of life, yet, for some
inexpicable reason parents just don't get it. Brandon and Carrie were no
exception."Why do we have to hold lobsters, Mom?" asked Carrie. "Because it's a family photo that we'll be able to cherish forever, so shut up and smile" was Mary's heated response. Mary was the mother. She and her asshole husband broke up two years after the birth of their first child, Carrie, and only six months before the birth of Brandon, the second and obviously last child to come from the Fantons.
The two kids were driving Mary nuts since vacation began two days ago. In truth, they had been driving her nuts since day one. They slept less than an old insomiac, ran around all day and mangaged to destroy, or at least knock over, everything in the house on a daily basis. They were driving her nuts.
"They're crabs, not lobsters, stupid." That was little Brandon. At age six he was already reading at a third grade level. He was sharp, all right, but he was so mean to his sister. The sentiment was returned from Carrie, who often gave poor Brandon haircuts in the middle of the night. That drove Mary nuts.
"I remember when my girl got crabs. Boy, did they itch. I remember back in the twenties, or roaring twenties as they were called in those days... I guess they weren't so roaring compared to nowadays, anyway, she was a real peach, I mean a Georgia Peach, not some rotten peach that I used to get on the corner of Fifth and Frenmont, that's where I grew up, on the South side of San Mateo...
"Mommy, who's the crazy old man? He won't shut up," Carrie whined. Whoever he was, he recalling his early days before the war, whichever one that was. Mary was annoyed, but she wanted to hear about the crabs.
"Mom, can we please take the picture? I want to go home! Now!" Brandon began to jump up and down in a tantrum that Mary knew all too well. "Hold on, sweetheart. Mommy just has get the crazy old man out of the shot. "What was her name? Her name rhymed with something my Grandmother used to make..."
Carrie howled "Mom! Tell Brandon to shut up! He's being a butthead!"
"Don't call your brother a butthead."
"Yeah, doofuss, don't call me a butthead!"
"Both of you shut up right this instant! I want you two to apologize and smile. Excuse me, sir, could you please step aside while I take a picture?"
But he was ignoring her. He kept right on talking about his grandmother on the farm and how his old girlfriend's name rhymed with something. Leather? Heather? Balogna? Toni? Asparagus? What rhymes with asparagus? I think that's the word. And so on. He was driving Mary nuts.
The kids had since then made up and ran off in other directions.
"You're it!"
"No, you're it!"
"No I'm not, butthead!"
"Yeah you are, butthead!"
"Am not!"
"Are too!"
Beside Mary: "Gus? Hus" Struss? Maybe it was Gus?"
"Shut up!"
The childrens' voices had reached ultrasonic by this point. Mary could feel the tension piling, the familiar pulsating in her neck.
"That's it you little monsters. Get your little behinds over here now so we can take a picture. Neither of you are it! Now get over here!"
"Or was it Amanda?"
Mary whirled on the old man. "Who are you, anyway? Get out of here!Get away from me you old bat! You're really beginning to fuckin' piss me off!"
The children froze. Once they had heard their mother swear, but she had said damn, but on the totem pole of swearing, that was pretty low. But they had never, ever heard her say that word, the king of all swear words, the word that they, as old and as grown up as they thought they were, would never dream of saying that word for fear of death.
Mary noticed that the children had stopped, and so had the old man. He just stood there with a frightened look on his face.
"I'm... I'm sorry" she heard herself say with a stutter. "I... I didn't mean to yell. I just lost it for a second." She calmed herself and breathed deeply. The look on her children's faces sent a pang of guilt down her belly.
"Kids, let's just take a picture, okay? Then we can go home."
"You don't have to yell at the old man, mommy" Brandon said gently.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart." She looked at the old man. "Would you like to be in the picture, sir?"
The old man paused. "If it doesn't bother you any" he said sheepishly.
Mary gathered herself and positioned the kids and the old man, each with a crab in hand.
On three; one, two...
"I got it! Jelly! Jelly and Kelly!"
Mary had to smile. Even after such a tense moment the old man and the kids had forgotten all about it. They lived each moment independently, no regrets. She wished she could do the same.
"Three."
"Yeah?" I spewed. "And? So?"
Seemingly nonplussed by my nonplussedness, Gia swaggered over to the desk, flipping her swishy dress in a belligerent yet strangely seductive manuever that sent my heart skipping around the room. "Yeah?" she mimicked me back. "Hey, I'm sure I'm the best looking dame you've ever laid those dreamy emerald jewels you call eyes on! "Show some respect to my beauty. You should be panting like a cartoon dog."
"Yes," I admitted ruefully, "You're right. You come in here and drop a gator on my desk and I should be panting. Panting like a fox!"
"I don't understand," she said quizzically.
Of course, I didn't understand either. Not that I would admit it to her! But I did know one thing. Man, was that gator smelling up the place, and I don't mean in a rich, heady bouqet sense either. I mean, this broad had just funked up my desk, funked up my office, and before I got through with her, I'm sure she would, with extreme prejudice, funk up my life.
The author comments, "This is the schlockiest schlock I've ever schlepped. Enjoy! :)"
She couldn't. Beverly chewed on the handle of her pom-pom, and after careful consideration, decided that the only way she could continue her now shameful existance was to move in with her best friend Kitty, change her name, dye her hair black, and speak with a British accent.
Britania Stewert was sitting at the "geek" table during lunch.
"Ple-ayse poss me a nappe," she asked one of the geeks.
The geek offered her a crumpled, crusty kleenex and said in the traditional geeky sounding voice, "Are you from Wales? I detect a hint of Walish in your vocalizations."
She glared at the geek and snarled, "Git awa frumme me."
"Aloysius, do close your gob," warbled Lady Julia, plucking imaginary dust off her
brocade. The tea had been served late, if you could call the weedy leaves (which smelled
suspiciously like the ornamental lawn cabbage she only yesterday noticed missing from the
Victoria rose garden) they served during rationing time tea. Lady Julia felt a
headache coming on. "You carry on so, you're likely to be mistaken for a open post box
into which Jenkins is liable to shove the evening Times. Really, do come round,
won't you?" she wheedled impotently.Aloysius swiveled his heavy head around to look at his sister, missing the mark by a few inches, forcing him to over-correct his pickled gaze, like the Edsel rounding a tight curve on their ash-lined driveway, with the right tires significantly flatter than the left ones. "Wash the matter with pecan sauce?" came the slow, thickened speech. "'Ere, 'aven't you ever heard of going native?" He lowered his voice slightly. "Bloody tonkers, trying stop progressh. It's enough to make a deshent man into a dirigb...dirigle...diri...into a balloon, by bloody jingo. 'I will show you fear in a handfull of dusht,'" he mumbled. He took a deep, uncertain breath, and shouted, "Where in knickers sake is my sherry!?" With a final hiccough, Aloysius' head finally dropped into his plate of kippers and orange marmalade with a thud that rattled the china and overturned a glass of currant juice. Flecks of plaster, disturbed from their slow, mouldering rest, gently wafted downward like an early snow, coming to a peaceful rest in Aloysius' hair.
"Aloysius," she choked, stricken. "I could simply vomit!" she spat, swallowing every unstressed syllable of her perfect trochaic trimeter. "Vomit!!" she wailed.
And she did.
The author comments, "Cricket anyone?"
As the creature came abreast of the doorway it's ears picked up the sound of a soft crying coming from inside. The cry came from the mouth of a small child and it was because of this child that the creature was here. It was as if a hand had reached out and grabbed the creature physically pulling it through the doorway towards the sound of the crying child. As the creature came through the doorway the crying grew louder and the creature was drawn to the back of the room. The creature focused its eyes and there in the corner was the child that it had sought for so long. The child of prophecy.
The author comments, "I did my best hope you like it. I would like to continue it sometime. I like your site! It is great! Keep it up!
Thank You,
Angel D. Harper"
With awe drawn on his face he entered in not noticing the cracking marks he made on the dust layered floor. Reading about these had been one thing but to stand in one.
'A lost space temple' as many people liked to call them. Structures that were built for people to live in, all plans and maps of them lost in the wars that followed. Such a mystery that man would ever need to move from the lush planets he lived on. Burnt books told tales of men living in tiny ships for weeks seeking other planets to live on. Yet no one knew how the groups banded together and managed to build such great floating cities.
Only two had been found but broken records showed over fifty, where were the rest ? Why was this one only an empty platform when the other two were full ghost towns ? Who gave them the plans and materials for the space domes ?
"Too many questions ..." Colbin shook his head to clear it a bit and tryed to examin one of the fine carvings on a support beams, "... I wonder what material this is made of ?"
A creak behind him made him spin around with his torch darting over the eery scene.
"Empty ... sure I heard some thing." He almost stuttered with fear in his thoughts.
Sure enough the platform was only supporting him, this was the first time he had ever knew that one had made a noise. But the shape of the whole structure was diffrent than the other two, more oblong.
"More like a huge ..." stumbled back into the support beam trying to take in the whole scene with his flash light beam, "... space ship."
The author comments, "Unfinished ... this is a full short story in the making :) I'll keep a copy and merhaps' finish it some time."
Beverly, huddled under the bleachers, sniffed back a tear. Kicked off the
cheerleading squad! All of her mother's dreams for her, dashed! How could she
even go home now?It wasn't her fault she'd slipped on that puddle of Mr. Pibb. True she shouldn't have been drinking there in the middle of the gymnasium during practise, but the coach had been late and like every other day she had skipped lunch so that she could work on her science project. An ingenious invention really. She had worked diligently for weeks now and was almost finished. She'd been doing some last minute calculations in her head and must have absentmindedly spilled the pop. It had to be then or the next moment when Shiela had stumbled into her from behind. It wouldn't surprise her if one of the other girls had pushed Shiela into her on purpose. They all had it in for her, never liking her ever since she'd made captain and not one of them. The "popular" crowd. The "elite", with their fake nails and false smiles. Surprising that none of the boys on the basketball team had ever been blinded by their dazzling irredescent caps. They thought they had it so rough, the "preppies". Yeah, it must be soooo hard deciding what to wear the next day and who to be seen with so they would be invited somewhere trendy or to some lame party. There was only so much pizza and pop a person could endure, I thought. And four years of the same ritual Friday and Saturday night seemed a waste of a golden opportunity to discover the relationship of bee pollen and tree sap when immersed with high grade fructose. Which brought me back to my immediate issue of slipping on soda during practice and endangering the lives of the team members, most specifically Angela, the current top to our latest attempt at a new pyramid idea. If we mastered it we would no doubt shine at the National Cheerleading Competition, but my clumsiness would get us laughed off the stage.
We'd no doubt go down in history as the best in our field for blunders. Maybe we could get a t.v. deal with bloopers and practical jokes, that is if I didn't kill anyone. It seemed unfair to me that I had been stripped of my captainhood because of a human error, but I had been negligent in my responsibilities to uphold a safe working environment, and my professionalism was in question. Still, Coach Brady could have let me stay on the team. She was friends with my mother. She knew this would kill her, and I'd never hear the end of it. "Lydia! After all I do for you! THis is not the way I raised you young lady! Now how will you ever fit in, and when will a boy take notice of you now? You'll never get a date for prom and you'll never get a steady boyfriend and get married. I'll never have grand-children and I'll be old and alone and you'll be in some 3rd world country trying to grow food with glucose and cure ailments with that weird jello conglomeration that is still growing in the 'fridge!" Ugh I could just imagine. She'd probably start crying and call Coach Brady complaining to her about my "strangeness". Mom would beg coach to give me another chance and I'd be forced to accompany her to bingo or something equally as horrible, like tupperware parties or makeovers. This thought made me cry out in anguish and I considered what it would be like to live the rest of my teenage years under the dusty bleachers. Cramped and confining,I knew.
I'd probably starve to death unless I broke into the cafeteria late at night after the custodian went home. I was not looking forward to my life as a hermit. I could still show my face after all. Sure the kids might tease me for a while, but after I won the award at the science fair I would be in my element. The world would be at my feet. I would be queen and they.....they wouldn't be elite anymore. I'd exile all the mean people who had ever bullied me and every cheerleader except the ones who bought my newest invention. Gravitational gum. I'd worked out the properties and added natural ingredients for flavor. The sugar based compound would generate millions and I'd buy the school and fire Coach Brady. I'd send my mom to one of those 3rd world countries and fund an orphanage for her there.
She could have as many "grandchildren" as she could handle. Me, I'd be free. I'd be flying. And I wouldn't be a cheerleader anymore because I didn't want to be one. If it had been up to me I never would have tried out in the first place. After all...the Laker girls looked okay to me in their tight shorts ...in their world, but in my opinion one man had them all beat with the use of only a single muscle. And no matter how attractive the population thought those women to be, I believed this man was a million times sexier. I'd lived my whole life wanting to follow in the footsteps of this great intellectual, and my first step was saying good bye to the regimented world of beauty queens and hello to the potentials of human possibilities. Mind over matter was all I had to remember. Hopefully I wouldn't slip this time. As I crawled out from my hiding place I sneezed and wiped the cobwebs from my clothes, willing the spirit of Einstein to guide me with the right conversions so that I might become a legend in my own time.
The author comments, " 2 E=MC"
But then she had met the handsome yet mysterious Billy. He had offered her fun, music dancing, and then more. But now it was all a dream. He had certainly offered her more, what was in that coffee, was it really Nescafe? The couple in the advert never behaved like this. They met, got married, had lots of sex, but Billy, ah her dashing Billy. Unbeknownst to our heroine, Billy was an alien sent from the planet USA. He had given her a white powder that made her believe she was Diana, a princess married to a duke she had never met. Oh well at least he was good in bed!
The author comments, "I was going to write more but I decided that sleep was more important than shlock!"
He had eagerly anticipated this moment for many years now. His grandfather had been a
fisherman specializing in shellfish. He would visit with him at his tent and gaze with
incomplete understanding at the collection of live creatures to be purchased, cooked and
eaten. He had eaten of his grandfather's shop before and each time was more delectable
than the last. He grandfather was not only a fisherman but an excellent cook. He sucked
the meat off of the legs of any crustacean afforded him and licked clean the shells of
mussels and oysters. Yet today was the day he waited for. There was something in the
moment of catching that he saw in grandpa's eyes but good never grasp. Now today
with his sister he would know that feeling, that sensation which had so engrossed his
grandpa that would make the old man say, "Fishing is good." For the first time in his life
he held it, he smelled it and knew. The hair on his neck stiffens. His hands trembled and
a cold sweat ran down his brow. Nothing would ever compare to the day when he caught his first crab.
Emperor Zog grimaced as another cold draft ruffled the wyrnyr-fur trimming
of his crimsom cape - a regal relic handed down through generations of
emperors. Looming over the council chamber, he perched upon a silver throne,
constructed of the swords gleaned from a long line of opponents not as
quick or ruthless as he, and glowered at the upstart cleric who dared
interrupt his train of thought. And with a knock upon the mahogony door, one that
had weathered centuries of entries and exits within the chamber of solitude, from the
empreror's great, great, great grandfather Zegger, and through the generations, the
emperor calls through the crack in the door,"Matters of the state? Do the Gars again seek to attack us? This had better be of import to bother me in my time of concentration!"
To which the cleric meekly attests, "My Liege, I simply ask your counsel to fulfill your immediate request... one-ply... or two?"
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