Troglodyte by Mer PZ

Amorphous and dark, seeming full of fear rather than evil, that strange being existed swallowing every imaginable thing: thoughts, lives, words, future actions. It also swallowed times, and possible worlds and loved ones. Day by day it kept on growing, occupying more space and complicating the passage of curious passers-by. Until one day it exploded.

According to newspapers, among the remains was found, inert, a girl. “I knew her” a friend told me, “always in silence, she lived in her head the lives she didn’t dare to start. Her world became so big, it could no longer fit her body.”

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The bag, the jar, the box by Rachel Tremblay

The list was long
As soon as you ran out of one
You added another
Seeing the bottom of the bag
The jar, the box
Shelves clean and empty
Ready to be clad
But that clang in your pocket
Was just rocks
And your bowl was full
At least once a day
With grain and hot water
You should be glad
You told yourself
Instead of bemoaning the way
Life kept you whole
Despite the holes
That drained you
drained you dry
But you still have a list that’s long
You still have your endless desire

And that’s worth something

Just getridofit by Vincent J Bracco

It was spoken that swiftly, as if he’d said it a million times before and she, having heard it that often, continued walking as if someone might take their favorite cafeteria table. The eavesdropper wondered, just what did he want her to get rid of? Certainly not that.  No one was that heartless. What then? Evidence of some kind? Drugs? Intriguing, but they weren’t the type. And what type were they? Normal, like everyone else. Bad habit then, pack of smokes bought out of weakness.  Crème donuts.
“I’m sorry,” said eavesdropper to their astonished, waiting looks, and, without explanation, left.

March 21st 2013 by Keith Wood

The rabbit brush begin to show tiny green nubs along still grey stems. Soon the native garden at Bluff Lake will sweetly stink from tiny yellow flowers. Bore holes will appear in the galls. Who will emerge? I’ve suspected rabbit brush beetle but am not sure. Before today the galls were white–yogurt covered raisins. Now some have turned into wasabi peas. I clumsily split one with my nail finding a rice sized larva. The day holds a chill and the small beast rears ever so slightly from my thumb. The adult? Research reveals small “picture winged” fruit flies: Aciurina bigeloviae.

Wine by Craig Towsley

“Do you ever kind of wish your house would burn down?” Mouse asked.

Rabbit sat beside her on the dock, their toes dipping in the lake. She swallowed a mouthful of sweet wine and turned to her friend.

“What?” she said.

“Oh. Nothing,” Mouse said and waved the words away against the night sky. “Maudlin drunk talk, that’s all.”

They sat there and finished the wine and listened to the sound of the lake in the dark.

“I guess, I just have so much useless stuff I drag around,” Mouse said. “It would be nice to get rid of it.”

Art by Craig Towsley

I watched a man bleed out and die in my kitchen. I mean, yes, I shot him. I Killed him, I suppose. Eventually, he died. It wasn’t quick like in the movies. He flopped around for a long time. Tried to crawl away. I watched. Horrified and at the same time wishing I had a bowl of popcorn. I watched as his blood ran out of him and seeped into the raw wood floor.

My kitchen floor. It’s a conversation piece. People say it’s morbid, macabre and gruesome even. I say, isn’t all art really, and chuckle along with them.

Truth by Claudia Leger

There is no escape; only endurance

Panicked but continuing with daily routine

Seeking peace but loading ammo

The planes, the bombs, the death

Will life continue for the crying babe

Struggle to feed, to work, to learn, to teach

The madness swirls, the world watches

An old woman peeks from her curtain

Tattered and crippled she limps to the curb

Alms workers dive into the rubbish

The old woman is drawn down with them

Alarms, sirens, screams, cursing and prayers

Mingled together, mistaken for normal

Pride and anger stretch mentality to unknown limits

Questions unvoiced, answers never expected.

Suddenly by Claudia Leger

My brain still functions the same now as in my youth. Yet I am different; I do not look the same or believe as I did but I am still me. Still planning, waiting, hoping, and dreaming but now there is a disclaimer statement attached to all I say, do or think. I sense the innocent recognition that there has been an alteration in my very being. My ‘’forever” is suddenly narrowed; my personal timeline is more carefully threaded. I brood over the fact that life is short, reality fleeting and my contribution to this world trifling yet buoyant.

Giving Up The Tyrant by Ricardo Calzada

My life has revolved around a vision I developed in my childhood. A
mature boy, I made my vision objective and devoid of overly
speculative details. The wider the target, the straighter the arrow.
The future me and how he would form my life was well envisioned. This
formulation was an escape from bounds suggested by my predecessors.

As I steer towards becoming the man I created, the vision gets grainy.
The surety that helped me bud in the poorest soils is no longer there.
The tyrant that propelled me beyond life’s joys is no more and I am
free.

The Library by Charlotte

Handing the librarian my thick plastic card, I can’t seem to discern that she remembers I was in here two days ago. If she’s impressed at the stack of books I’m returning.

I want her to be impressed. I need a partner, a cheerleader in this race I’m in. Only a lifetime to read all these books. And who knows the dimensions of this life I’ve got.

What have I left behind, in this book? Fingerprints, eyelashes, the crumbs of my lunch, a bit of my soul. Will its next reader think to look for the traces I left behind?

Untitled by Kimber London

The nano micro organisms chillin in my dirty kitchen beg me to unlearn the lessons from my less than pure perception of a sweet, demure projection r’membrances of daily lessons, that i learnt so earnestly by courtesy of thanks, and please, and “mother, may I” fantasies.

As I stop to think about it, mama never had to shout it, clout the rod over my head, all she had to do instead was lead the life she knew I’d choose, if I could learn to wear her shoes.

Even to this very day, I clean and think and act her way.

Next by Claudia

It is that unexpected happening that throws us for a curve
Insane moments we surmount and move through
Then frightfully have them suck the air from our cocoon
We watch disease riddled final days from a safe distance

Life happens
Then it halts with grinding force

And yet we seldom anticipate it until sorrow claws into us
Remorsefully we are then ashamed at our behavior
We beat ourselves up for not calling, not listening
Not being supportive or present
Not witnessing the wave upon us
And in the horror of the night, we wonder when it will be our turn.

To Each His Own by Claudia

I stepped into the elevator just as the doors were closing
It was 6:35am; the elevator full of coworkers
The doors snapped at my shoulders
No one shuddered, flinched or uttered a giggle
As people exited, one coworker told me ‘good morning’
Good grief he had not reacted to my being squeezed by the doors
‘Too early’, he mumbled
Was it too early to be concerned? To notice? To react?
What does it take to feel compassion? Blood? Loss of limb?
Have we arrived at the threshold of discarding feelings for others?
Perhaps I should consider taking the stairs tomorrow.

Timeline by Claudia Leger

65million BC Meteor creates Firestorm
2800BC the Great Flood annihilates
Sept 22, 1850 500,000 Chinese die in earthquake
Sept 8, 1900 Hurricane claims 6,000 in Galveston
Sept 1, 1923 Great Kanto earthquake in Tokyo and Yokohama claimed 143,000
Dec 5-8, 1952 4-day London smog poisons 4,703 people
Mar 27, 1964 9.2 Alaskan earthquake in Prince William Sound kills 131,125
April 26, 1986 Chernobyl nuclear disaster kills 200,000
Dec 26, 2009 SE Asia 9.0 earthquake kills 230,000
2010 Gulf explosion, 10 die, drilling and sea life jolted
2011 Wars and Natural Devastation abound
2012 Dire Predictions loom
World without End, Amen?

For V: Turmoil by Mary-Ann Ortiz-Luis

She stared out the window with unseeing eyes, a cigarette between her fingers, suspended in mid-air.  Someone touched her shoulder.  She turned. “Oh hi, M.” She managed a wan smile.

“Hi, kiddo.  How’s it going so far?” M tried to sound cheerful.

“Well,” she paused, “I guess this is what crazy people like me have to do.”

“You’re not crazy. Stop saying that.” M admonished her gently.  “We all miss having you around.”

She struggled to find the words, while thoughts raced through her head in circles. “I’m so confused.”

M smiled reassuringly at the stranger who was her friend.

For V: The Catalyst by Mary-Ann Ortiz-Luis

“I don’t understand why you can’t. Or won’t.” She whimpered, acutely aware she sounded desperate.

He shrugged.  “I don’t believe in it.  You know that.” He continued looking intently at his laptop.

“But we’ve been together for 11 years now.  Why can’t we?”  She persisted.

Silence.  Outside, the distant drone of evening traffic hummed along.  The air seemed thick around them.  She felt trapped.  It was becoming hard to breathe.  She continued to stare at his immobile face.

Finally, he turned and gazed at her steadily.  “Look, if I ever wanted to, it wouldn’t be with you.”

“But I’m pregnant.”

I Hate Surprise Sudden Noises by Merissa Ren

It’s not a sign of weakness, I don’t think, because I’m generally really brave. Things I am not afraid of: spiders, snakes, blood, guts, (seeing or eating), falling or flying, the dark or heights. Geese used to freak me out, because I thought irrational fears were fun, but I mean how scary can something that delicious truly be? Failure has become less loom-y and staying static sounds pretty comfy, if there are pillows involved. The same goes for death (depending on the pillow stipulation of course). But man, I am as jumpy as a crackwhore on the fourth of July.

Awakening by Mary-Ann Ortiz-Luis

Consciousness gradually fades in as he slowly becomes aware of his surroundings, one sense at a time. The smooth sheets, the warm embrace of his body’s heat sequestered by the blankets. In the distance, a bird flies by. His eyes sense the daylight through closed lids. They slowly flutter open. He stirs, ever so slowly. Then the body stretches and unfolds, a muscle at a time. He looks around the room and takes a long deep breath. He rolls on his side and his eyes rest on her as she quietly sleeps. Her even breathing. How peaceful she looks. He knew instantly that the day would be all right.

The Idea by Mary-Ann Ortiz-Luis

The apartment remained unchanged since I last visited her. Magazines and books were haphazardly stacked on coffee tables. On one corner were reading glasses, pens, some change, and old receipts. The paintings, model ships, sea shells. Still untouched.
“Have you considered clearing these rooms? Might be good to have your own home theater here, you know.” And your own things.
She looked at me tentatively. “Yes, I’ve been thinking of doing it. Lately, I’ve taken an interest in Indie films.”
“Great! Get your kids to help.”
She nodded slowly. But I knew, the idea would remain just that. An idea.

Night-flying by Sadie Zapata

I’m Shotgun or Bitch, but I like it both ways. Our four ears are greedy, bottomless pits of slow-burning candle wax and radio waves. Look into any ear with high-beam or blinking turn signal, you’ll see through to our souls. Dancing! In the dark, the cement overpass we ride is the back of a blue whale; our speakers are blowholes. When she drives, I fly in the night. Blood welcomed into neglected places. I’m not a body, I’m the infinitesimal knots in the chain of white gold she wears around her neck. Clingy and delicate, blood clot dried black. Dancing!

Untitled by Mary-Ann Ortiz-Luis

I see a mere shadow of the person you once were.  Flimsy and fleeting. Wishy-washy.  Procrastinating. At times, almost catatonic.  This is not the person I grew up with, shared my room and toys with, played house and “Simon says.”  We planned the parties.  We paid the house bills.  We could not make enough cakes and pastries because everyone wanted them.  How could time erode all of who you are?  More importantly, how could you have allowed it?  Have you sold your soul to the devil to hang on to a farce?  Take it back.  Take yourself back.  Come back!

Blown Head Gasket by Dick Hampton

“So I’m driving along full-tilt. I don’t know if I feel a loss of power or what, but suddenly my gauge is in the red, and I think SHIT! I limp along white-knuckling it, trying to get to help, knowing every second I’m doing permanent damage. So then I find out it’s a blown head gasket! Inside there’s black sludge that smells like a purse on fire, and they’re telling me it means a total rebuild.”

“Oh my God,” Dina says. “Car repairs are so expensive! How much is it going to cost?”

“Car? Who said anything about a car?”

Motion by Claudia Leger

Within each of us is a calling. What that calling is effects every direction we take. When we chose to use that calling; our inner self resonates. Should we ignore it; our compass will spin wildly and we are flung helplessly aside.

As we regroup, we find the strength to recall the need, stretch the source and install our action. All is not lost but all is not completely established. We struggle with jigsaw pieces, fighting to place them into the proper alignments.

We mystically prompt ourselves to covertly capture that segment before it manifests and mutates without explanation.

Like Frodo by Claudia Leger

I am fascinated with electronic gadgets…and pretty little boxes…and shiny, sparkly, fluffy, tiny accents.

I have the tastes of an over-teched, frenzied child. I study the gadgets’ consumer reviews and their manuals like it is my job; my final selection is a decision based on fact but driven by pure lust.

Little boxes pop up in flea markets or arrive as gifts; I display and fill but never re-gift them.

All wee things that glitter or flutter appear on my scarves, frames, pillows, lampshades, and gift bags. I am seriously considering adding them to my checks. Will that be allowed?

Stars by Claudia Leger

I am confused. Where do we get off dictating that a celebrity continues to be in the same character forever? Even when the dramatic vehicle has long ago stopped playing? Why do we assume any character we love is forever and a day beloved by the actor playing that character? Hollywood cranks out thousands of roles and only a handful truly become memorable. Somewhere in the mix, it appears we demand a character to remain in costume forever. It is neither fair nor realistic but with (non) reality shows being the entertainment of choice these days, why am I surprised?

Two Wheeler by Claudia Leger

Bicyclists need a place to ride. And not in front of my car during heavy traffic hours. I am weary of observing their tiny little spandex covered butts and trembling, firm muscled calves wobbling at neck breaking pumps to keep up in either morning or afternoon traffic. I do admire their tenacity of tackling such a feat, however, my evil twin silently whispers to me, “Take him out”. Current headlines reflect those that act on those impulsive thoughts. I am horrified that I conjure such a thought but shout, “Take the Bus” as I pass, perhaps a tad too close.

Make My Day by Claudia Leger

I’ve endured yet another grocery shopping experience. I recognize that money is tight and food prices are soaring but why is it necessary to act like an uneducated idiot while shopping? Shopping baskets block aisles; children are screaming and/or chasing each other all over the store while parents/caretakers are chatting on a cell phone, texting, making a ‘love connection’ or berating clerks. Come on People! Act like the adult; curtail the socializing and take time with your child; teach them how to act in public and/or how to shop. That would be a novel idea…to improve both adult and child!

Beam Me Up! by Claudia Leger

Elevators are my entertainment each workday. I work on the 29th floor and typically have at least 6 or more riders ascending/descending with me. My fellow riders were always staring at the floor; mumbled a floor number when unable to punch in their floor number but seldom made eye contact with other passengers of accent or descent.

I found it boring and inhumane. So the ‘smile and make eye contact’ mission was born. It amazes me still after 10 years of playing this little game how shocked and responsive people are. Recognition of a real live person finally means something.

Untitled by Mary-Ann Ortiz-Luis

The days have passed and still I carry this heavy sense of foreboding, all the time. You shatter my reality by appearing on my last day.  I hesitate to come near you.  You try to smile and reassure me things are just fine.  On the way to the airport, I ask, “So what’s your plan?”  You pause and  look at me, expressionless.  “I guess I have to stay and take care of things.”  And I reply, “I see.”  I step out and say good-bye.  And that’s when it became clear to me: I will not wear your ring anymore. Adieu.

All the conversations we’re not having by Poncie Rutsch

I filled the little box for the next line in our conversation. I delete each letter. I fill it again. Delete, delete, each squiggle vanishes again.

The line turns into a paragraph, then disappears back into the abyss. The paragraphs start evolve into a story, some are copied and saved into documents and drafts of emails, never to be sent.

If I leaf through the folders carefully enough, these half-life statements reappear from the void behind this glowing screen.

Never do they make it across cyberspace to your doorstep.

Flood Biodiversity by Poncie Rutsch

Today Australia is underwater. The university I called home about two weeks ago is closed, and cars float down rivers that used to be dry creek beds.

I looked at jellyfish under a microscope. I imagine Noah’s ark, and collecting two of each animal. Did Noah remember the cnidarians? Each species of mollusc? Did he appreciate the way a glow worm lights up a cave exactly the same way as stars in a sky?

I take each flatworm, each insect, each parasite, each stinging cell on the jellyfish, and place them in pairs alongside the elephants and giraffes and horses.

Love Song by Poncie Rutsch

Cheap Trick had it all right. Others say the Beatles knew it best: I want to hold your hand. It’s true, sometimes you want nothing more than a hand to hold. Across species, animals choose the mates that are nice to them. Not the attractive, not the strong, not the rich.

I want you to want me.

This is the root of the love song: simply yearning for the care of another. It’s not a hand for you to hold; it’s a hand to hold you.

Impersonal Poem by Poncie Rutsch

shiny sand hair flips out at the edges
her nose stuffed up
cuts a clear trickle-water voice short
echoless in an empty room

the daisies relax when she opens the door
he places their stems in a jam jar
for a sip of water before their faces bob again
chiming in a chorus of hellos

he wants to make ammends
she doesn’t believe in impersonality.
the daisies nod their witness
to the simmered circumstance

at a certain point, she says
everything is personal

Moonrise on an island in the middle of the sea by Poncie Rutsch

Crushed coral prickles the backs of my crossed legs. I see nothing, no shine on the water, no horizon, nothing except the spackling of stars. I can hear where the land ends – small waves breaking softly just in front of where I stand – but I see only blackness.

A streak of whiteness appears across the sparkling crests of ocean. A small forehead peers at us over a glassy curtain. It grows to a full face, turns orange, and crosses through the hanging clouds to start a nightlong journey across the sky.

Not Just Another 1 by Kimber London

The engine is purring, I rub my hands together for warmth.
A few fireworks misfire off in the distance. It is still 7 minutes until the clock strikes. Snow has fallen and lays crisp beneath my booted feet. A sigh passes across my breath.

The countdown begins.

Somewhere, someone is laughing with their lover.
Somewhere, a child is up past their bed time.
Somewhere else, an old man gazes at an old photograph.

Here I stand, on the edge of this cliff, stamping out the last traces of light which linger on my cigarette.

Welcome, 2011.

Boxing Day by Kimber London

Where are the boxers?
Where are the boys who wear the boxers?
Where is the booze for the boys in the boxers,
Bring them to us, for it is Boxing Day!

If the boxers aren’t boxing,
And the boys aren’t boozing,
Then we will be blazing till morning is nigh.

If blazes aren’t blazing,
And boozers aren’t boozing,
Then we will be blazing till morning is high.

The blackout is burning,
My brain cells are turning,
My stomach is churning.

The beats aren’t bumping.
Boys aren’t boozing.
And boxers aren’t boxing.

What the hell is this holiday for?

Christmas Dessert Rules by David Rurik and Emily Russell

1- Rule concerning the proper size of your slice of pie-
-the overall volume of pie should not outweigh the volume of icecream.
2- Rule concerning mixing pie and other “add-ons”-
-the pairings MUST be approved by resident dessert experts (e.g. grandparents, Eric…)
3- Rule concerning dessert placement and organization on your plate-
-icecream must overlap (rather – completely cover) any and all pie, cookies are limited to the outskirts of the plate.
4- Rule concerning proper appreciating of the dessert-
-Dessert must be completely consumed or still in the consumer’s mouth when complimenting the texture, taste, and/or the chef.
ALL RULES FINAL

The Gravy Boat by David Rurik and Emily Russell

This little tale of this gigantic gravy boat is one the buttery potato-y sea would not like you to hear, because the role the sea plays is that of the villain. Over the hills and through the woods was the seashore, where the gravy boat was moored until that fateful day. It was a dark, dreary day. The buttery potato-y sea was slowly churning, and the gravy boat was tossed around like a toothpick in the midst of a savory tempest of jalapeño olives. The thick gravy sloshed around and much of it fell overboard. Even gravy boats have limits.

Computers Make Us So Lazy… by David Rurik and Emily Russell

Computers make us so lazy… What if we decided to go back to typewriters for one day? Would the whole world slow down? Impload? Reverse? Who only knows? What else makes us lazy? Grocery stores and cell phones and convieniently located icecream stores. Let’s go back to gardens, telegraphs, cows (churning butter, or whatever that’s called) developing film (that shiny plastic stuff with pictures on it) in chemicals… PRINT! Oh wait. The printer is broken. WHAT DO I DOOOOO??!! Write a real handwritten letter? That’s weird, that’s why I’m still using this old typewriter. Wait!! Computers are great!! I think…

Once Upon A Walrus… by David Rurik and Emily Russell

Once upon a walrus (whose name means underwood typewriter in Finnish) there was a predicament. It so looked like an alien battle that had scoured the milkyway; but in fact was hyperactive yetis who like to eat fish tacos and yams. When one writes a story on a walrus, the connection to yetis seems improbable, but in this case it makes sense. When your walrus has one too many, he begins to lecture on the probabilities of the spoken of hungry yetis. Hyperactive yetis are a new breed, and must be clearly distinguished from other folkloric creatures. Yams are scrumptious!!

I am the Solution / Dissolution by Dick Hampton

In my recurring dream I floated through a Petri dish of gray. Indistinguishable objects sped toward and past me on zip lines from everywhere. Things, people, flitted out of my peripheral vision before I could focus, leaving the impression that I should know what they were.

Once, when I was sick, I saw the end.

In my dream, everything fell into place like squares on a Rubik’s Cube. I had the solution to everything. I marveled at me. Then adjacent ideas began to activate each other; a chain of reaction grew, as everything, everyone in the world disintegrated into chaos.

A Paned Decision by Kimber London

Music. Pounding through the caverns of my ears. Beats. Throbbing through my body which pulses to the rhythm. Stoplight. I glance out the window and notice my moment of solitude is not so solitary as I thought. A man is waving to me from the car over. I place a finger on the button which will lower the glass barrier between us.I hear two voices in my head and see two images. What if he needs directions? A map. What if he is a murderer? A gun. He looks in my eyes. I roll down the window.

Paradoxical by Jory Vaucher

He explained to me that I wasn’t allowed to talk/touch women as he carelessly walked to the side of the road and urinated on the growing foundation of trash. Less than 10 feet away, two women laboring their asses off so their husbands could intoxicate and the kids get basic nutrition for tonight. He zipped up and we were on our way again. Weaving through the chaos, encountering the enslaved beggars, the deities of cow and dog on the hunt for scraps of edibility all the while we were pestered by salesmen ravaging the human sprawl for the coveted rupee.

After the Swerving by Sadie Zapata

Front bumper bent and banged up on this side. Looks like a snarl from left profile, smirk from the right. License JK30E8, to kill. Har-har, almost convincingly. The wood they knock on is an official clipboard. Tongues loll along the parameter like caution tape. Yup, molten headrest, tie-dye dashboard. Another day, another two ways they can look at blood. Meanwhile, there’s a white tiger yawning somewhere, imploding a marsupial with his paw. Somewhere else, some kid in Benton, Illinois pauses at a traffic light and gets a nose bleed. It is sticky and, he thinks, saltier than split pea soup.

 

The pack mules came in one color – I forget which – but the packs, the packs came in thirty-five. by Sadie Zapata

Some men died, others didn’t survive, waiting in line for the next man to make up his mind. Didn’t matter what they stuffed in their packs or whether they were heading anywhere.

Fathers stammered the story: Don’t you understand? There’re 35 different dreams of man, go get in line- find the best one you can!

Which one?! 2.9% chance at the best one!

Yellow, the man on his back, next in line, whispered into a lizard tail- or was it the antenna of a snail? This is the one I always wanted, as the pack zipped shut around his body.

Unanswered Questions by Sydney Emard

Why is the world round?
Why are we able to see?
Why do People eat people?
Why, why, why?

Why Dont we know who we love when we see them???
Why cant we all live in peace without wars?
Why Do we die?
Why, Why, Why?

Why cant we stay immune to anything?
Why dont we Live in the forest?
Why do I ask you all these questions?
Why, why, why?

Why do you stare at me like that?
Why dont you talk to me like you do other girls?
Why cant you be nicer?
Why why why?

Why cant you?

Blue Eyes by Heather Dobbins

Her eyes stared at me, her big round eyes. I crossed her territory. Her babies lay shivering in the frigid snow with only a blanket to keep them warm. Warm enough that is. Her home was only a circle drawn out in the snow. She started to cry, her tears freezing on their way down to earth. I could see the anger in her eyes. She turned to her babies. They were now turning blue to match the color of their mother’s eyes. She quickly snatched them up. Their eyes were closed…no more heart beat. She buried herself…she gave up.

Snowy by CJ Herzberger

Today there was no school along with next day because it was snowy. I think that snow will last. It did. But then it rained very hard and the snow melted. I was sad. But snow is only snowy for so long. But it will come back . Someday it will be snowy. It will be so snowy that it will last for weeks. Even if it rains the snow will still be there. Even if it gets to 70 it will not melt. It will be so strong that people barely see anything. It will snow!

 

It will snow!

 

Party by Sydney Wilson

My little brother had a birthday party he just turned 4. He had our neighbors over and friends and family. Our neighbors have little kids one is 3 and the other is 4. We ate a Spiderman cake and it had a little toy and you pressed a button it would say
“Happy birthday from your friendly neighborhood Spiderman”

 
And he had a SpongeBob balloon, if you hit it will start to sing and the little kids kept on hitting it so it got REALLY annoying. We opened presents and he got GatorGolf, Hungry Hungry Hippos and so much more.

Fight by Tony Schmidt

Well it started as a normal day, George and I were walking home from school (did I mention that snow covered everything?) when we decided to attack Joe with snowballs. We started as soon as we got to my house, George started stalking up ammo, while I made the fort. My house is on a hill so we had the advantage. I went inside my house and got some binoculars while George put the ammo in the fort. I came out and went in the fort where George was ready to attack at any moment. He’s here! The fights on.