Tuesday, June 12, 2007
A cloud of dust rolled across a vast wasteland. For miles all that could be seen was dirt, lifeless dirt, except for the dust cloud. In the dust cloud rode a nine-year-old boy on a tricycle.
He had been riding for a couple hours now, and his water supply was running low. He stopped to take a rest, and have a drink as he looked on across the wasteland. He knew there was an encampment a few clicks in the direction he was heading. He slung his machine gun on his back, hopped on his trike and headed on towards his destination. A few hours later he was within sight of the camp. They had been expecting him; he was bringing a supply of ammunition.
“You made it,” Craig said as Steve hopped off his trike.
“Of course I made it, I didn’t make it past six because I’m stupid,” Steve responded. “Is Wendy around?”
“She’s in her tent. She’s not doing so good Steve. Her age is catching up to her, and the war with the Chipmunk tribe isn’t helping any.”
Steve nodded and headed off towards Wendy’s tent, the largest tent in the camp, while Craig signaled some others to unload the trike. Steve cautiously went into Wendy’s tent, and he saw her lying in her bed. She was fourteen, the oldest one in the tribe. The only way to reach that age is a lot of food, and luck or skill to keep from getting killed by rival tribes.
“Welcome back Steve, how was your trip?” Wendy asked.
“It was quick and easy. I killed a couple desert rats for you between here and the city.” He took two dead rats from his pack and set them on a table by her.
“Thank you. Any word on the Chipmunks?”
“They bought a large quantity of bullets from the city, so I think they’re planning something soon.”
“Then we should get ready. Make sure the walls are secure, arm everyone, and get the infants underground. Cover the well as soon as it looks like we’re in for an attack. I’ll stay in here, I don’t think I have much longer.”
“I’ll do as you say.” Steve turned around and went out the door. He started carrying out Wendy’s orders immediately.
Within two days, the walls were secure, the infants were in their new nursery underground, and the well could be locked and sealed in a moments notice. Their food supply was running low, and they only had enough to last them three more days. The hunting party was supposed to be in within a day or two, but the oncoming attack might cut them off. Wendy ordered rations to be cut in half until the hunting party makes it back, which should last them six days.
The next day a lookout spotted a dust cloud on the horizon. As it came closer it appeared to be a dust cloud followed by an even bigger dust cloud. “Steve!” he yelled.
Steve ran to the tower and looked with his spyglass. It was the hunting party, being followed by what looked like the entire Chipmunk army. “Open the gates!” Steve ordered.
“But we wont have enough time to close them before the Chipmunks get here!” the lookout said.
“We’ll make time.” Steve armed himself with his machine gun, strapped his knife on his bicep, and held up his gun. “Get to your positions. I want snipers buying as much time as we can to get the hunting party in the gates. I want people on the doors to shut them as soon as we can.”
His orders were carried out as he made them. The snipers were taking out as many Chipmunks on two-wheelers as they could, to buy the hunting party more time. The hunting party could easily out run anyone on trikes.
After several seconds, the hunting party flew though the gates and the team assembled to shut them started pushing the massive iron doors as soon as everyone was in. They didn’t have much time to get them shut; some Chipmunk scouts were closing in. Fortunately the gates were closed in time and the scouts smashed into the spiked exterior of the wall.
The battle lasted all of twenty minutes, and was mostly snipers taking out Chipmunks, and vise versa. The walls were never breached. Wendy died from age related reasons during the battle, and Steve was made the new chief. They were safe once again in their encampment, for now.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
I woke up to a perfectly regular morning and had myself some ALF-Os, the official cereal of ALF and my favorite cereal. I went out the front door to get the paper, and low and behold, there was a cat up in my tree and a little boy trying to talk it down. Being the fabulous person that I am, I offered to get the cat down. Once the cat was in the boy’s arms, he was full of joy and thanked me plenty. He skipped off up the street telling other kids about me being a hero and saving his cat.
I went back inside to my ALF-Os and ate the rest of my breakfast and read my paper. I got dressed up for work, and headed off down the street. My job is blowing leaves with my awesome leaf blower. I got to Mr. Johnson’s house, and started blowing leaves. Shortly after I got there, Mr. Johnson came out of his house and congratulated me on the cat rescue. News of it had gone all over the block. I felt a little proud and continued my leaf blowing all through the day being congratulated by people every once in a while.
The next day I woke up, poured some ALF-Os, and went and got the paper. On the front page there was a headline that said, “Local Leaf Blower Liberates Lad’s Pet.” It wasn’t a big article, but it was still front page. I was feeling great after that. I went back to breakfast and read the rest of the paper. I got dressed, and headed off to work.
On the way to Mr. Johnson’s house, I noticed smoke coming from Mrs. Smith’s. I ran to the door and started knocking and ringing the bell. No answer. Mrs. Smith liked to cook, so I assumed she just burnt a cake or something. Then I saw some flames in the living room. I quickly opened the door to see the fireplace with a raging inferno all around it. I ran into the other rooms and saw Mrs. Smith asleep on a couch. I quickly woke her up and told her about the fire. I took her out of the house and ran to the neighbor’s and called the fire department. Soon after, the fire truck was there and the fire was out, I was deemed a hero.
When I woke up, poured my cereal, went to get the paper and once again I had made the front page. This time the article was even bigger. After I finished my cereal, and got dressed, there was a ring at my door. I answered the door to find a mob of reporters that started asking me all sorts of questions like, “How does it feel to be a hero?” and “How hot was the fire?”
I said, “I have to go to work, come back this evening and I’ll answer your questions.”
All the reporters left and I headed off for work. Work that day was just normal as could be, except for the trip to the bank I made to deposit the money I had made the previous month.
At the bank I waited in line until I heard the words, “This is a robbery! Everybody down!” I was scared to death; two bank robbers were robbing the bank! I along with everybody else went to the floor, while the robbers went about their business emptying the registers. As they were on their way out the door with their big canvas bags with money signs on them, I decided to do something. I was near the door so when they made their way to the door I tackled them at their shins and knocked them down to the marble floors, knocking them clean out. Everyone got up cheering and thanking me. Within minutes, reporters were everywhere asking me all kinds of questions, taking my picture, and telling me that I’m a hero. It was all real exciting.
For the next few weeks, I was waking up to big breakfasts, a big screen TV for news, the key to the city, a million dollars, a mansion, a rocket car, and an authentic three-dollar bill. Constant press conferences and interviews got old fast. I was asked to make appearances every day or so, which got old even faster. I didn’t have to blow leaves anymore, because of all the endorsements.
I lived out the rest of my life in my mansion, driving my rocket car, and unlocking various doors with my key to the city. It was happy for me, but I never thought of myself as a hero, just Joey Joe Shabadue, a leaf blower. On my deathbed, my last words were, “I miss my paper, and my ALF-Os.”
Sunday, October 15, 2006
The Christmas there was no Santa (True Story)
The Christmas there was no Santa (True Story)
The Christmas There Was No Santa
It was Christmas Eve, I must have been six or seven years old, and my whole family was staying in a cabin we had rented at
Dinner was quick and painless, and the pie was good. Then it was time for presents. My family opens all the gifts from family on Christmas Eve and then the big presents, the ones from Santa, we open on Christmas morning. After all the presents were in piles in front each person, the opening commenced. The only present I remember getting that night was a bunch of modeling clay I got from my grandma, and I remember getting mad at my cousins for using it as thumb tac to put up posters in their room. What a waste.
After we finished opening the gifts, it was time for my cousins and I to go to bed, but before bed, we had to make sure there were cookies and milk set out for Santa. Then upstairs we went to get in our sleeping bags. The boys slept on the floor, and the girls slept up in the loft with their precious posters and my clay. Like every Christmas Eve, we were told “The Night Before Christmas,” then we went to sleep. I was way too excited to sleep. I was up even later than the adults, but eventually I fell asleep.
I was awakened in the middle of the night by some sort of clatter downstairs. I was laying near the balcony, so I inched my way over to the edge. I was still adjusting to the light, but I could make out a round figure down by the milk and cookies. I first realized something was wrong when I noticed the figure wasn’t wearing red. Then I noticed something else, that person down there wasn’t Santa Claus, it was my aunt! What was she doing eating Santa’s cookies, and drinking his milk? I watched her continue to carry out Santa’s work, and I wondered why would she be doing Santa’s Job? I was still tired, so I fell right back asleep not even thinking about what I had just witnessed.
I woke up at about seven or eight, and of course my dad, my uncles and my grandpa were already awake, up with the sun no doubt. All the presents from so-called “Santa” were all set out, and I got just what I asked for. I got a little play McDonald’s kitchen. It was really cool. Since I was the youngest, I was the first one up, besides the dads, so I had some time to play before anyone could want to play with my new toy. Eventually everyone woke up and found their presents.
I never thought about the existence of Santa until that Christmas. I always knew he lived up at the north pole, had eight reindeer, sometimes nine, and he brought me presents every year if I was good. Then I had to wake up in the middle of the night and see the horrible, horrible truth. Santa was just an elaborate scheme designed to get me to be good all year long, and to fear his wrath of getting coal as a gift. Santa is still real to many gullible children, but not to me. I was ruined of that wonderful lie at a far too young age.
Saturday, September 30, 2006
HOUSE ON A HILL AT
A Scooby Doo script written by Zach Martin
Wolf can be heard howling in the distance. As a van pulls into the driveway of the house.
Zoinks, this place is like creepy.
Cool it you two, we have a mystery to solve.
Lets go inside this creepy mansion, and find that ghost that’s been scaring people away.
INT. HOUSE ON A HILL AT - NIGHT
Like who turned out the lights?!
Fred turns on a light switch, and the whole room lights up. Everyone sees a ghost that looks like a monster.
Then the ghost quickly disappears as lightning flashes.
Like what was that?!
What a couple of Hams!
Lets get to the bottom of this mystery. Daphney and I will check out the downstairs, while you three check the upstairs.
Like why do we always have to check the upstairs?
Because I said so, and I'm the boss.
UPSTAIRS. HOUSE ON A HILL AT - MOMENTS LATER
It sure is creepy up here eh scoob?
There is no response, just a quiet growl.
Are you feeling ok scoob you sound like you have a frog in your throat.
Shaggy turns around and sees the ghostly monster.
Popular 70’s music starts playing, and shaggy get chased from room to room in the upstairs of the house.
DOWNSTAIRS. HOUSE ON A HILL AT - NIGHT
Fred and Daphney are in the kitchen and they hear the popular music and the ruckus upstairs.
What was that?
I don't know, lets check it out.
They race upstairs just in time to get chased by the ghost like everyone else. Then Scooby trips and everyone trips over him, including the monster. The ghost is now knocked out so the gang ties him up and calls the sheriff.
The sheriff arrives and the gang explains everything.
So why am I supposed to arrest this ghost?
Because he was scaring people away from this house so he could have the gold that was piled up in the basement.
But how did you know?
This hankercheif I found earlier had gold on it, and flour, so I knew that the ghost knew about the gold.
But who is the ghost?
I'll handle this one.
Fred takes off the mask of the ghost.
Its old Mr. Whithers, the man who runs the haunted amusement park downtown.
I would've gotten away with it too if it wasn't for you meddling kids!
The sheriff takes Mr. Whithers off to jail.
INT. MALT SHOP - LATER
It’s a good thing this place is open twenty-four hours, or me and Scoob would never get food after our mysteries.
Shaggy then flips a sandwich into the air to catch in his mouth when Scooby gets it on its way down and eats it.
What a couple of hams!