This is the Way We Always Do It
by Bronzed
This is the way we always do it. We all filter into the room, sitting at the seats we always sit at, sitting with the people we always sit by. A few conversations between a few individuals pervade the room for a few minutes before the professor speaks. Most of us just sit silently, either reading the piece that we put off until now, typing half-heartedly at our laptops, or simply staring at something very far away.
This is always followed by the professor standing and speaking. The few conversations die down with little prompting, as the class is prompted to free-write about the prompt we are prompted with. Whatever it may be, whatever randomosity we contrive to see, we sit and write and type away, the beginning of the end of day.
This is the way we always do it. Bad things happen, and they seem to happen in waves. You can't have one suicide attempt without another. Is it the season, is it the air? Is it the way you think no one cares? You're trying to leave behind all those you know. What can we say to convince you not to go? I get distracted and depressed, even about the things I love the best. What is refreshing on any other day is suddenly melancholy and dull...
A game I do not wish to play.
Spilled Milk, Broken Windows
by Maggie Laurie
Fortunately, I was never one to spill milk–break windows, sure–but never spill milk. I’ve broken our front door window with a soccer ball. I broke my friend’s neighbor’s window with a basketball. I assisted Tierney in breaking the garage door window with a softball though I like to blame her for it. I even managed to break my other friend’s window with a bike. When the bike falls sideways, the handlebars do the job right. And then the window in our basement has been broken twice, once by me, and once by my dad.
For some reason my parents were never really bothered by all these broken windows though. The neighbors whose windows were broken were not so happy. But I guess windows don’t leave stains on the carpet, even though milk doesn’t really stain and windows can leave scars. When I broke the window, it was with a tennis ball. When my dad broke the window, it was with his fist. If he was thinking clearly, he would have used a ball or bicycle as well, I’m sure.
My mom would decide to lock him out of the house quite regularly. One day, however, he got upset as he had no place to stay. He rang the doorbell a couple of times and then knocked at the door. Fortunately, he was drunk, so his thought process far exceeded his typical level of both ingenuity and judgment. He simply walked around to the back of the house, punched his fist through the window next to the back door, and unlocked it. Sure, his hand was bleeding but that could be fixed with a rag.
I wasn’t really upset because, as the saying goes, there’s no crying over spilled milk. I simply picked up the pieces (at my mother’s request), she cleaned up the blood, and then we got the window fixed. This is how it is in my house and I like to think that it works to my advantage. I mean, I was never thrown across the room by my father.
Untitled
by Scotty Drighton
That really tickles me.You know, I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be a stand-up comedian. I wonder what I would wonder: think what I would think I would think, I think. But I would always be curious more about whether my thinkings and their thoughts were funny. Would I be laughing to myself day after day? Or would I be the least funny of them all? Would everything be funny or would there be a gem every now and again I would have to frantically write down? Would I be frantic, or do the gems come soon enough that I can let one slip by? Are they then gems, or semi-precious stones? And what If I’m only funny to myself? I guess I’m not cut out to be a comedian in that case then. And when is funny enough, funny enough? Is there a number of jokes I need for me to be funny? Or can I tell one good one I’ve practiced a lot? I’ve thought a lot about this you see, because funnily enough, funny is fun to think about.
Six Word Stories
by Eddie Willers
It is essentially and utterly over.
I saw his shoulders crashing down.
Never seen color like this before.
Silence. I thought it out loud.
A long history of nearly nothing.
Sweet, savory revenge against the man.
Flying monkeys. Please buy an umbrella.
You are missing the point – dragon.
Photo booth pleasures; tumultuous split-screen harmonies.
Her face waits to be unwrapped.
How To Wake Up
by Ra Bohey
I. You’ll most likely be lying in your bed (in the most comfortable position you’ve been in all night) when you encounter one of three wake-up calls.
1. The first option is that your internal clock awakes you to slowly open your eyes to see light escaping from the blinds or curtains that it was supposed to stay behind until you allowed its entrance into your bedroom. You peek out from under the covers, thinking that you have at least ten more minutes until you must awaken, so you roll over, snuggle deeper into the covers, and close your eyes to shield them from the intrusive light.
2. The second choice is that you’re softly woken by another. Either their movement to get out of the beyond-comfortable bed, or a nudge for you to rise and face the day. With one or the other, the awakener will most definitely give you more time to rest your eyes before you must get up for real.
3. The last alternative is that you are violently woken up by some loud, obnoxious noise. If you live on a farm it might be the sound of a rooster, if you live in the city it might be the sound of zooming cars and the horns they’re made with, if you live in a small college dorm it might be the frightening alarm you set the night before so that you would make it on time to class. With this last possibility, you will more than likely have experienced the first two.
II. After snoozing your alarm, sleeping for an extra half hour, and/or sending your awakener away, you now have less time than expected to get ready, and you remember now that you did not wash the night before. Opening your eyes, and looking at the clock, you literally jump out of bed and head to the bathroom. While you’re taking your morning leak and brushing your teeth simultaneously, you hear someone getting into the shower you were just going to use. Now you’ll be 45 mins late.III. Of course you won’t be fully awake until you have your morning coffee or some food in your stomach, and since you’re already running so late for your day, it probably won’t be until noon that you can get either of those things. Now you’ll be drifting through the top of your day in a sleepy haze, unable to give your full attention to anything or anyone.
Why Do I Blog
by Ra Bohey
Well, there are obvious reasons for getting a blog. First off to express yourself, but that's the same with any socially-connected internet phenomenon. I blog because I like showing people things that I think are cool, in hopes that they will think the same things are cool, and we can bond on the coolness. It may partially be for recognition, because I surely get excited to see I have a new follower of my blog. It’s not necessarily to be “tumblr famous”, but simply to be identified as someone with some kind of sense, of worth, of significance to someone. I blog because I can. Because I’m allowed to say what I want and post what I want without being seriously punished. Sure, every so often an anon (anonymous questioner) will angrily chastise me for an opinion that I have about something, but what is their opinion to me especially when they won’t even show their face? The point isn’t to hurt people, to make fun of someone’s experiences, beliefs, or being, but to express the way I feel without political correctness. It’s a blog. It’s not that serious.
A Modern Modest Proposal
by Aileen Sheedy
by Aileen Sheedy
A topic that crops up everywhere nowadays—on public billboards, in political debates, and even as part of a unit in theology classes—is one that everyone has an opinion on: global warming. While some skeptics give it the critical eye, the general consensus seems to be that, if it actually exists, it has extremely detrimental effects on our planet, which in turn leads to the decreasing quality of human life. Global warming directly influences the climate and causes natural disasters that can wipe out populations, but it also has more subtle effects on humanity’s well-being as a species. Without nature’s inspirational beauty, art and literature become virtually meaningless. Therefore, I humbly bring forth an idea that has been slowly ripening in the back of my mind, a simple solution to the problem of global warming that will, in many ways, assist humanity in improving their collective lives.
Children have long been admired for the energetic nature their youth provides, and this unexplainable energy could potentially provide a source of power to replace the fossil fuels that are being burned at an incredible rate across the globe. According to The Oregonian, a high school boy was able to create a machine that could power a cellular telephone with the energy produced by a hamster running on a wheel, so it seems a realistic feat for scientists to build a similar device to harness the energy of children running in place. Youthful liveliness and willingness to please would also make children satisfactory pack animals. Instead of using large, gas-guzzling SUVs and trucks to haul home Christmas trees or other heavy cargo, one could simply command a personal herd of children to hoist up any burden and carry it away. Human children heal easily and quickly, so if injured on the job, they would soon be back after a minimal amount of rest and recuperation.
Children have long been admired for the energetic nature their youth provides, and this unexplainable energy could potentially provide a source of power to replace the fossil fuels that are being burned at an incredible rate across the globe. According to The Oregonian, a high school boy was able to create a machine that could power a cellular telephone with the energy produced by a hamster running on a wheel, so it seems a realistic feat for scientists to build a similar device to harness the energy of children running in place. Youthful liveliness and willingness to please would also make children satisfactory pack animals. Instead of using large, gas-guzzling SUVs and trucks to haul home Christmas trees or other heavy cargo, one could simply command a personal herd of children to hoist up any burden and carry it away. Human children heal easily and quickly, so if injured on the job, they would soon be back after a minimal amount of rest and recuperation.
The general health of the younger generation would also improve; instead of sitting in front of a television or playing video games, they would get exercise, and obesity could all but cease to exist. In the event that some are overworked and suffer irreparable damage from the physical stress, it will only serve to foster natural selection and make the human race the strongest it can possibly be. Using children may result in a decrease of total usable energy, for humans will most likely never be trained to the efficiency of machine-produced power, but this will only promote a slower lifestyle among those relying on their labor. Life may even return to the way it was centuries ago, with people focusing less on materials and fast-paced advancement and more on the simple enjoyment of life, and in the long run, people will grow to appreciate their lives more.
This seems to me the ideal solution for those who cannot seem to summon the willpower to take other measures against global warming. Gone would be the daily inconveniences of remembering to turn off lights or cutting down on recreational energy expenditure. Putting children to work creating energy would reduce greenhouse gas emission and conserve our remaining fossil fuels. All we have to do is simply hand our work of saving the environment over to the younger generation, and who better to carry on the task than the ones who are going to enjoy the benefits of a clean earth in the future?
This seems to me the ideal solution for those who cannot seem to summon the willpower to take other measures against global warming. Gone would be the daily inconveniences of remembering to turn off lights or cutting down on recreational energy expenditure. Putting children to work creating energy would reduce greenhouse gas emission and conserve our remaining fossil fuels. All we have to do is simply hand our work of saving the environment over to the younger generation, and who better to carry on the task than the ones who are going to enjoy the benefits of a clean earth in the future?
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created by Aileen Sheedy
Girl Next Desk
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Lettuce
by Leslie Warren
I hate lettuce. I hate lettuce on sandwiches and lettuce on burgers. I hate lettuce in salads and salads of lettuce. Lettuce is for herbivores, and I’m no rabbit.
People tell me lettuce has no taste. I disagree, and they regard me strangely- what planet is this being from? But I know lettuce tastes like paper. I ate paper as a kid. It was a step up from the sand in the sandbox.
The texture of lettuce is the worst. When I chew, it turns into a thick, cloying mass. I gag and spit it out, a slimy green pile on my plate. Now nobody can eat. My friends should have listened to my warnings- feeding me lettuce is like feeding a dog chocolate. It don’t end well.
I should start the anti-lettuce movement. I can stretch the facts: lettuce has no nutritional value, lettuce contains opium, lettuce wastes land that could be used for real food, lettuce causes cancer (well, what doesn’t?).
Then the anti-lettuce movement would take over the world and lettuce would be annihilated. What a wonderful word that is- annihilated. It rolls off the tongue so nicely.
Lettuce. Annihilated. Forever.
Now, that would be a cause for celebration. Forget Christmas and New Years. I’d throw a rockin’ party for the end of lettuce.
Truly Hateful Things
by Anthea Rady
One is in a rush to get to class and there are no shuttles anywhere in sight. One stands at the shuttle stop tired and freezing, accompanied by fellow slaves of academia. Their incessant chatter amongst themselves over the current situation is less than desirable. We stand and we stand; we stand and pace about the stop for 25 minutes waiting to go - anxious, for none of us sleep-deprived overachievers finds tardiness tolerable. Oh- wait, what is that? A shuttle has finally shown its white facade at the top of the hill, what joy! But what is this? The entire shuttle and the one to follow are filled to maximum capacity from just a couple of stops ahead of mine?... The situation is hateful indeed!
One starts to type one of the most detailed and extensive emails or papers that one has ever dared to write. One is “in the zone” and the words just flow from one’s fingers to the keys in an almost serene manner- and realizes after one’s masterpiece is complete… the cursor was never the typing space.
One starts to type one of the most detailed and extensive emails or papers that one has ever dared to write. One is “in the zone” and the words just flow from one’s fingers to the keys in an almost serene manner- and realizes after one’s masterpiece is complete… the cursor was never the typing space.
Someone comes to one’s window at the Box Office on the day of one of the most popular games of the season. Mind you, these particular games sell very quickly and far in advance of game day; those who are considerate buy ahead of time for games such as these, to not do this… it’s just distasteful. The person runs to one’s window, all red-faced and stressed, afraid that they will miss the most important play of the evening if they don’t receive their ticket immediately. With an air of anxiety and desperation they yell, “I need 8 tickets together, center ice!!” Then when one tells them that obstructed view is all that is left, they have the audacity to curse aloud in frustration in a most unfavorable manner. Once they have calmed down a bit and have decided to pay for the tickets, they disdainfully throw their credit card through one’s window. When one notifies said person that it is a cash only window (as the slightly enormous sign overhead that reads CASH ONLY in fire engine red print clearly states), and they proceed to grow furious and unleash their unnecessary rage upon one’s tired ears, the situation is the most painful variety of hateful.
People who wear shorts to class in the dead of winter.
People who wear shorts to class in the dead of winter.
It is truly unpleasant when an older woman asks if one is single, and when one replies “yes” it becomes her newfound right to try and console one for not being in a relationship. “It’ll be alright dear, you’ll find someone!” she says as she strokes one’s arm, as if one was upset about the lack of significant other, but in reality one is just in shock that she is so very blatant and oblivious of the fact that one is satisfied single. More hateful than this, when one is with a group of friends, all of whom have a special someone in their lives, all become aware of your “single-ness” at the same time and look at you with that most awful concerned sympathetic face and tell one “You’re single? Don’t worry, we can find someone for you!” One was not aware that being single was an ailment or defect. As if being single is some vicious disease that needs to be cured immediately. How hateful.
Expected Things
by John Doe
There is a current impression that it is unpleasant to be alone on Valentine's Day.
I believe people look at this with the wrong angle. Being single is nice, you expect to be alone. Anything to the contrary is a pleasant surprise. You're not supporting giant corporations feeding off people's need to feel loved. Or the connection between love and material expression of it. If you have someone it becomes a much bigger deal than it should be. You spend money based on other people's judgments of your commitment to your relationship. As a single person you don't end your night waiting by the phone. You don't realize that the one person who is supposed to care about you, doesn't. You aren't left with flowers to care for. The length of their life apparently being directly proportional to how much you care. There isn't a garishly pink stuffed animal sitting on your bed years after you have any right to own stuffed animals. By being alone, if you can handle it, you won't gain 10 pounds in cheap chocolate. You won't constantly be calculating tip in your head at an overcrowded restaurant. That's only if you got past the stage where you learn you *needed* a reservation tonight and unless you want to make your date wait 2 hours for a seat you should probably hail another cab. By embracing your status there's no sharp decline in bank balances as you look for the perfect dress, the perfect shoes. Whichever nonsense ritual you go through to please someone who's already attracted to you. Each holiday wish from a friend is that much more special since it's all you've got. You don't have to worry about them dumping you for not doing everything just right. Valentine's Day would be perfect if people just accepted the joy of being single. The only bad part about being single on Valentine's Day is having to listen to all the bitter people complaining.
I believe people look at this with the wrong angle. Being single is nice, you expect to be alone. Anything to the contrary is a pleasant surprise. You're not supporting giant corporations feeding off people's need to feel loved. Or the connection between love and material expression of it. If you have someone it becomes a much bigger deal than it should be. You spend money based on other people's judgments of your commitment to your relationship. As a single person you don't end your night waiting by the phone. You don't realize that the one person who is supposed to care about you, doesn't. You aren't left with flowers to care for. The length of their life apparently being directly proportional to how much you care. There isn't a garishly pink stuffed animal sitting on your bed years after you have any right to own stuffed animals. By being alone, if you can handle it, you won't gain 10 pounds in cheap chocolate. You won't constantly be calculating tip in your head at an overcrowded restaurant. That's only if you got past the stage where you learn you *needed* a reservation tonight and unless you want to make your date wait 2 hours for a seat you should probably hail another cab. By embracing your status there's no sharp decline in bank balances as you look for the perfect dress, the perfect shoes. Whichever nonsense ritual you go through to please someone who's already attracted to you. Each holiday wish from a friend is that much more special since it's all you've got. You don't have to worry about them dumping you for not doing everything just right. Valentine's Day would be perfect if people just accepted the joy of being single. The only bad part about being single on Valentine's Day is having to listen to all the bitter people complaining.
Vermont
by Padraig Cairbre
Welcome to Vermont, the greatest state that you have probably never heard of. Why is it so great you may ask, well, as a resident Vermonter I have the answer to your question.
First of all, we have the best maple syrup around. That fake stuff just don’t cut it in this state. And those people across the Connecticut River (aka New Hampshire residents) may think that they know good maple syrup and it’s alright, but the good stuff, VT maple syrup, is good as gold.
Next, in Vermont we have some of the best skiing and snowboarding in the Eastern US. We love our mountains and we will ski them anytime, in any type of weather, as long as we have snow. It don’t matter to us. We will be up there freezing our asses off in the dead of winter, mid-blizzard, having the time of our lives. Or on the other hand, we will be out on the slopes in April with shorts and a T-shirt on, trying to avoid patches of dirt as we carve through the last bit of snow. Every year, a few mountains will even host a slush cup, where skiers and boarders slide through a giant pool of slush to see who can make it the farthest without falling. Simply awesome!
Vermont, the green mountain state, only state in the country with green license plates, also has some of the most incredible picturesque views in the nation. These sites are made more beautiful because of one simple law: no billboards. Yes, that’s right; it is illegal to advertise via billboard in the state of VT. These scenic mountains are also great for biking, hiking, and other fun outdoor activities in addition to skiing. However, here in Vermont there isn’t always a whole lot to do other than the various outdoor activities. That won’t stop us from havin’ a good time. We love hangin’ out around a nice big bonfire, enjoyin’ a few nice local microbrews, possibly more than a few in some instances. We enjoy the simple things in life. We’ve even been known to take bets on where cows will crap. True story. My sixth grade class raised a lot of money doin’ that. We sold small plots of land in a field; put some cows in there and whoever had their square crapped on, won a prize. Good stuff, right.
In short, wicked awesome state. We are a one-of-a-kind group of people. We are relaxed, friendly and we love where we live. Gotta LOVERMONT.
Stromboli
by Selsdon Mowbray
Stromboli. Its greasy goodness dripping into my beard, and the fistful of paper towel that pursues it in a vain attempt to soak up the pepperoni puree. I can feel myself gaining weight as I thoughtfully masticate the part pizza, part ambrosia, Italian burrito anomaly. I've never wanted or loathed anything more; I am a paradox.
I don't eat stromboli very often, and there is proably a good reason. You know the feeling you get in your mouth after taking a nap? That's how I feel after eating strombolli, except all over. I feel putrescent after consuming one, like taking a mere shower won't help; I need a chemical bath.
Unfortunatly for me, stromboli is delicious. Not only is it the second most wonderful thing known to the tastebuds of man, but it's remarkably unbinding. I've never felt a freer sense of self than the experience following a strombolli consumption.You might be more disgusting than you have ever been, but isn't that part of it? Isn't being a dirty son-of-a-bitch the real reason you groped for the stromboli at the market, your pudgy fingers grasping for the cheese-filled baton of freedom?
I don't eat stromboli very often, and there is proably a good reason. You know the feeling you get in your mouth after taking a nap? That's how I feel after eating strombolli, except all over. I feel putrescent after consuming one, like taking a mere shower won't help; I need a chemical bath.
Unfortunatly for me, stromboli is delicious. Not only is it the second most wonderful thing known to the tastebuds of man, but it's remarkably unbinding. I've never felt a freer sense of self than the experience following a strombolli consumption.You might be more disgusting than you have ever been, but isn't that part of it? Isn't being a dirty son-of-a-bitch the real reason you groped for the stromboli at the market, your pudgy fingers grasping for the cheese-filled baton of freedom?
Untitled
by Veronique Lafleur
Something interesting about my household is that we don’t wear our shoes inside. It’s awful, completely unhygienic. It’s one of the rudest things you could do upon entering a guest’s house. Even when going into a friend’s house, one who has no problem with you wearing your shoes in their house, I still take mine off, due to habit. Because the alternative would be to keep them on, and that is about as rude as stealing something from their house. It’s just not done!
While on that topic, one time a girl stole something from my house. It was a little butterfly ring that I loved, and I didn’t realize that she’d stolen it at first. Because I have the tendency to blame myself for things, I thought that it was my fault the ring was gone; I thought I had simply misplaced it. It was only until I saw the ring ON HER FINGER that I realized she was to blame. Needless to say, we don’t really talk anymore.
Did I mention that this girl also didn’t take her shoes off when she came into our house? I had to
Did I mention that this girl also didn’t take her shoes off when she came into our house? I had to
remind her! Several times! It was absolutely abhorrent. She obviously was never taught manners. Not taking your shoes off is one thing, but stealing? And then doing both? Really, what kind of a person does something like that?
Answer: one with absolutely no manners, and one that I’m pleased to no longer have in my life.
Busted
by Timmy Turner
“Oh my you’re beautiful,” he said, looking around to make sure no one was around.
She smiled coyly like she’d been instructed.
“Are you sure you’re fifteen?” he asked for the umpteenth time. He grabbed a fallen bunch of her hair and pushed it behind her left ear.
“No. But I am sure you’re under arrest,” she said, pursing her lips.
She smiled coyly like she’d been instructed.
“Are you sure you’re fifteen?” he asked for the umpteenth time. He grabbed a fallen bunch of her hair and pushed it behind her left ear.
“No. But I am sure you’re under arrest,” she said, pursing her lips.
Not So Obvious
by Liz Pepper
In my pants there is the ring that holds the keys to my house. Four identical gold keys with inscriptions on each so that the owner does not stand at the front door and try every single one before gaining entry. Simple yet effective, or so you might think. My housemate’s keys are apparently backwards, which took her a little while to figure out. Seriously, why would you repeatedly try the Down key into your 1st floor apartment when you have already established, not just with yourself, but with everyone you come into contact with, that your keys are switched?
Option 1: Remember it this time and stick the fucking Up key into your apartment’s front door and move on.
Option 2: Act like you can’t find your keys and wait for your roommate to fall into your trap and cough up hers.
I see how it is.
Option 1: Remember it this time and stick the fucking Up key into your apartment’s front door and move on.
Option 2: Act like you can’t find your keys and wait for your roommate to fall into your trap and cough up hers.
I see how it is.
Sharing is Caring
by Peanut Butter
“Sharing is caring...” sang the kindergarteners. We made our peanut butter sandwiches, passing around the butter knives and peanut butter jar. I played my part, but I was really one of the most selfish brats alive. I was slightly spoiled, I’ll admit. Well, it’s hard to say... I was partly “spoiled” because I was my daddy’s little girl. (I had two brothers, both older by four and five years.) Then there was the fact that I was a straight-A student. My mom believed that I earned what I received, mostly.
She was quite annoyed, however, when my dad would buy me chewing gum. “It’s bad for your teeth!” I loved the stuff. Especially the sour Bubbalicious rolls. Anyways, I was selfish. Whenever I’d have something in my possession and someone asked for it, I wouldn’t let go. “Mine.” I would not even share with my own brothers. My own blood. I was terrible. Also, I had the audacity to ask things of others whenever I wanted something for myself. It wasn’t that I didn’t have a good example; my dad always shared with me, as did my mom. I probably assumed myself entitled to anything and everything. I thought myself better than others, and in turn believed that I deserved whatever I got and asked for. Didn't I deserve it all? No one told you to get anything less than 100's.
She was quite annoyed, however, when my dad would buy me chewing gum. “It’s bad for your teeth!” I loved the stuff. Especially the sour Bubbalicious rolls. Anyways, I was selfish. Whenever I’d have something in my possession and someone asked for it, I wouldn’t let go. “Mine.” I would not even share with my own brothers. My own blood. I was terrible. Also, I had the audacity to ask things of others whenever I wanted something for myself. It wasn’t that I didn’t have a good example; my dad always shared with me, as did my mom. I probably assumed myself entitled to anything and everything. I thought myself better than others, and in turn believed that I deserved whatever I got and asked for. Didn't I deserve it all? No one told you to get anything less than 100's.
Tree Things
by Ben Gold
I found this in a tree near my home in Massachusetts five years ago. I only know how long ago it was because that’s when I posted this picture online. The tree was and still is next to the mailbox of a house on the street before the one I live on. I have no idea what this is. When I first saw it, I was captivated because it looked so cool and foreign, but then I gradually became disturbed by it. Is it some kind of sensor or maybe a camera? Is this an evil robot tree? Will it hurt me? Should I touch it?
I was riding my bike when I discovered it. This was a while ago, so I don’t really remember, but I guess I spotted it out of the corner of my eye and rode over to investigate. After starring at it for a long time, I thought of how suspicious I probably looked gawking at someone’s tree. Since it was next to the mailbox, it might have looked like I was tampering with the mail. I wasn’t interested in being accused of committing a felony.
Eventually, it dawned on me that the people who live in the house might be from another planet and they were using this tree thing to spy on me. It’s embarrassing to think I was a freshman in high school when this happened, but I was really freaking myself out. I peddled as fast as I could up my street and into my garage, where I jumped off my bike, threw down my helmet and ran inside.
I was taking a break from my medication at the time, which was a terrible idea in retrospect. Also, the tree things are most likely reflectors so that snow plows don’t crash into the tree or the mailbox.
I was riding my bike when I discovered it. This was a while ago, so I don’t really remember, but I guess I spotted it out of the corner of my eye and rode over to investigate. After starring at it for a long time, I thought of how suspicious I probably looked gawking at someone’s tree. Since it was next to the mailbox, it might have looked like I was tampering with the mail. I wasn’t interested in being accused of committing a felony.
Eventually, it dawned on me that the people who live in the house might be from another planet and they were using this tree thing to spy on me. It’s embarrassing to think I was a freshman in high school when this happened, but I was really freaking myself out. I peddled as fast as I could up my street and into my garage, where I jumped off my bike, threw down my helmet and ran inside.
I was taking a break from my medication at the time, which was a terrible idea in retrospect. Also, the tree things are most likely reflectors so that snow plows don’t crash into the tree or the mailbox.
