When you are only seven years old, and you are locked out of the house during a gigantic blizzard, it is entirely normal to freak out. Then again, you do not really have to be seven to go into an all-out panic mode in that situation. “Wow, it’s a blizzard, mommy!” I sprinted out the door to play in the snow. My dad was on a business trip in Orlando and my mom was shoveling snow. Unbeknownst to me, the door was locked, and as I closed it, I ultimately sealed my mom and my fate to freeze.
“Weeee!” I yelled, as I plopped down into the snow that had such high drifts it looked like mountains of powdered sugar. As I jumped and frolicked through what was a winter wonder land, I dove into snow and giggled and chuckled, because of the pure enjoyment I was having. After making a grand total of 37 snow angels, 49 snow balls, and 3 snowmen, I was ready to head in the warm, toasty house with snow still grabbing at my flesh. As I go to turn the knob, I suddenly felt a sense of panic. “Mommy!” I yelled, “The door is locked!”
She replied with an equally as nervous, “What?” “The door… it’s…it’s locked.”
So there we are huddling to stay warm for almost an hour. Then, as if God wished to help, the house across the street lights turned on. My mom bravely headed over to use their phone to call another neighbor who had a spare key to our house. The chilling wind was pushing my mom left and right as I sat at the door and watched in silence. As my mom came back, I got up and followed her to meet with our savor. We had to meet the second neighbor half of the way between her yard and our yard since the drifts were so high. It was almost impossible to meet with one another with the howling wind, but we managed to still get the key. I guess a spare key is key.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
A Very John Dunn Christmas by John Dunn
On December 24, 2007 I was on my way to the worst kind of Christmas party. Not one with family, one with friends, friends of my parents. With strangers, who were, for the most part, are over three times your age, rubbing elbows with you in every room. I was looking forward to a night of awkward boredom. My parents made the usual claim: “There will probably be kids your age there.” Yeah sure whatever you say, mom, I thought. This did little to lighten my spirits for two reasons: one, she was lying and I knew it; and two, even if this was true the outcome would be inevitable: nine-year-olds making a pitiful attempt at making small talk.
There was no snow on the ground, as I remember it, but plenty of ice. I was dreading the night ahead, but the car unconsciously sped down the road regardless of my wishes. The only thing keeping me going was the promise of delicious food. We arrive at our destination and the car slowed before stopping in front of the house.
“We’re here.”My mom said in a cheery voice.
I was sitting in the back and was the last one out of the car. I lingered behind, staring up at the unwanted holiday festivities. I was wearing heelys, which were considered cool at the time. The wheels were in, but I wasn’t rolling, nor did I see the ice ahead of me. I was just about to point my toes upward, lean back, and put weight on my heels, and glide across the stone walk-way that led to the stairs which, in turn, led to the front door of the house. My feet came out from under me incredibly fast, but when I was falling, the whole world seemed to be traveling in slow-motion. I was in the air for around three seconds before the pavement greeted me; I closed my eyes just before impact. My open hand was the first thing to hit the ground, and, therefore took the impact. When my whole body was on the ground, the world snapped back into real time. I felt pain in my right wrist and simultaneously let out a subtle gasp of pain. I was, give or take ten steps from the stone steps that led to the front door of the house ahead. I rose, tightly clutched my wrist, and ran inside. I can still hear the pitter-patter of my feet on the stone walk-way.
I entered the warm house and the smell of delicious food was overwhelming. I was in pain and breathing heavily. My dad, who was the closest one to me, did not notice.
“Ooooow” I said in an exaggerated voice in attempt to gain my dad’s attention.
He turned around and saw my dominant left hand clutching my broken right arm. He looked very worried.
“What’s wrong?” He asked in an equally worried voice. “I fell and my arm really hurts.” I say. He sits me down on a chair in a room adjacent to the door.
My family fills in. My parents ask me the standard questions: “Where does it hurt? How bad is it?” And the Elephant in the room”Is it broken.” I answered the first two questions, but my nine year old mind refused to accept that I had broken my arm on Christmas Eve. Finally, my dad conducted a test that he called “The old hockey test.” He lightly took my injured right wrist and asked me to pull away. He wasn’t even really holding on to my arm, my arm was just resting on his hand. However, this was enough. I made a very brief, half hearted attempt that resulted in a failure that no rational person could even consider close to being a success. My arm didn’t even move.
“OK it’s definitely broken.” My dad said in a rushed voice as he stood up. Being nine years old I knew deep down that he was right but still silently stood by my original argument that it was not broken. As much as I would love to go into detail about my hospital adventure, that’s a whole different story about a very John Dunn Christmas.
There was no snow on the ground, as I remember it, but plenty of ice. I was dreading the night ahead, but the car unconsciously sped down the road regardless of my wishes. The only thing keeping me going was the promise of delicious food. We arrive at our destination and the car slowed before stopping in front of the house.
“We’re here.”My mom said in a cheery voice.
I was sitting in the back and was the last one out of the car. I lingered behind, staring up at the unwanted holiday festivities. I was wearing heelys, which were considered cool at the time. The wheels were in, but I wasn’t rolling, nor did I see the ice ahead of me. I was just about to point my toes upward, lean back, and put weight on my heels, and glide across the stone walk-way that led to the stairs which, in turn, led to the front door of the house. My feet came out from under me incredibly fast, but when I was falling, the whole world seemed to be traveling in slow-motion. I was in the air for around three seconds before the pavement greeted me; I closed my eyes just before impact. My open hand was the first thing to hit the ground, and, therefore took the impact. When my whole body was on the ground, the world snapped back into real time. I felt pain in my right wrist and simultaneously let out a subtle gasp of pain. I was, give or take ten steps from the stone steps that led to the front door of the house ahead. I rose, tightly clutched my wrist, and ran inside. I can still hear the pitter-patter of my feet on the stone walk-way.
I entered the warm house and the smell of delicious food was overwhelming. I was in pain and breathing heavily. My dad, who was the closest one to me, did not notice.
“Ooooow” I said in an exaggerated voice in attempt to gain my dad’s attention.
He turned around and saw my dominant left hand clutching my broken right arm. He looked very worried.
“What’s wrong?” He asked in an equally worried voice. “I fell and my arm really hurts.” I say. He sits me down on a chair in a room adjacent to the door.
My family fills in. My parents ask me the standard questions: “Where does it hurt? How bad is it?” And the Elephant in the room”Is it broken.” I answered the first two questions, but my nine year old mind refused to accept that I had broken my arm on Christmas Eve. Finally, my dad conducted a test that he called “The old hockey test.” He lightly took my injured right wrist and asked me to pull away. He wasn’t even really holding on to my arm, my arm was just resting on his hand. However, this was enough. I made a very brief, half hearted attempt that resulted in a failure that no rational person could even consider close to being a success. My arm didn’t even move.
“OK it’s definitely broken.” My dad said in a rushed voice as he stood up. Being nine years old I knew deep down that he was right but still silently stood by my original argument that it was not broken. As much as I would love to go into detail about my hospital adventure, that’s a whole different story about a very John Dunn Christmas.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
The Yard by Danny Bagley
Mrs. Sinclair our neighbor was dead. She had died during the winter of a stroke; not one of us really knew much about her except that she was sort of creepy. She always just sat in a rocking chair in her yard just watching the street. Everybody had a spooky story about that yard. Now it was summer and we decided to go into the yard that had been haunting us for a long time. As we went into the yard my friend Kirill told my brother, Luke and me the story of Jimmy, the lawn gnome.
“Jimmy was my dad’s friend” he said
“He wandered into the yard one day and never came out, but then a few days later there was a gnome outside her door that looked oddly like Jimmy”.
Then Luke started telling a story,
“There used to be kids in the house next store, Mrs. Sinclair hated them so much she turned them into flamingos and when their parents came out she did the same.”
He said that was the reason they had five flamingo statues next door. The gnome was gone though, and so was the rocking chair. The yard was covered in overgrown weeds and had a pebble driveway that was pale gray. (There were little bits of strange things everywhere.) There was a broken china pig, a plastic duck and a few fish bones with mold dancing on them. There were a few tall pine trees and a bunch of thorns everywhere. There were many statues including a cement bird bath and two crow statues. At the left of the yard there was a wood that you could barely see into. The house was ordinary except for some shingles falling off and a broken window in the back. If you stood in a certain part of the yard you could see inside the mysterious house. It had blood red wall paper with green flowers painted like there were vines growing on the wall. We walked around a bit more and found at least five no trespassing signs. We started to wonder if we shouldn’t be there. Then I heard a snap.
“Sshhhhh” I whispered.
We all stopped and it was there again the snap. Someone or something was coming.
“Run!” I yelled.
“Hop the fence in the back, go faster!”
We went over the fences which lead a group of condominiums (called Beachfront) were people rent, and the people sitting outside their condos were staring at us. We just ran to my house as quickly as we could and we didn’t look back.
“Jimmy was my dad’s friend” he said
“He wandered into the yard one day and never came out, but then a few days later there was a gnome outside her door that looked oddly like Jimmy”.
Then Luke started telling a story,
“There used to be kids in the house next store, Mrs. Sinclair hated them so much she turned them into flamingos and when their parents came out she did the same.”
He said that was the reason they had five flamingo statues next door. The gnome was gone though, and so was the rocking chair. The yard was covered in overgrown weeds and had a pebble driveway that was pale gray. (There were little bits of strange things everywhere.) There was a broken china pig, a plastic duck and a few fish bones with mold dancing on them. There were a few tall pine trees and a bunch of thorns everywhere. There were many statues including a cement bird bath and two crow statues. At the left of the yard there was a wood that you could barely see into. The house was ordinary except for some shingles falling off and a broken window in the back. If you stood in a certain part of the yard you could see inside the mysterious house. It had blood red wall paper with green flowers painted like there were vines growing on the wall. We walked around a bit more and found at least five no trespassing signs. We started to wonder if we shouldn’t be there. Then I heard a snap.
“Sshhhhh” I whispered.
We all stopped and it was there again the snap. Someone or something was coming.
“Run!” I yelled.
“Hop the fence in the back, go faster!”
We went over the fences which lead a group of condominiums (called Beachfront) were people rent, and the people sitting outside their condos were staring at us. We just ran to my house as quickly as we could and we didn’t look back.
The Circle of Death by Andrew Byrne
I woke up that morning hoping that I wasn’t where I was. The air was a moist cloud. My tent was too dark for a summer morning. I sat up on my cot and wrangled out of the mosquito net. The tent flaps were tied unbelievably tight and I almost wanted them to stay that way. I reluctantly squirmed through the small opening into what looked to be an ugly day. What comforting weather to have on a day that would match. I heard Hav, Mr. Jamal, and all the other adults yell,
“ Everybody get up!”
They were replied with a thunder of groans and yawns. I walked over to the makeshift clothesline and grabbed my bathing suit and my towel. I walked slowly to the shower house and changed into the clothes I thought I might die in. As I walked back to the campsite, I almost was run over by a couple of bikers rushing to the rifle range. I trudged to the picnic table and sat down waiting for three of my friends who might my torture. Henry, Sam, and Nolan burst from their tents smiling, laughing, and were happy. Happy for what?
I said to them, “ We should head to the waterfront soon.”
We mounted our bikes, zoomed down Goose Hill, and 5 minutes later arrived at Adams’ Waterfront.
I went to my lifesaving group and the others went to their swimming group. I was the smallest in the group. I was only thirteen while the others were 16 or 17 (one was twelve but was HUGE). I was exhausted. This lifesaving course was tough; on the first day we swam 500 meters without a break. Today, we were going to be going through the “Circle of Death.” Just the name gave me goose bumps. I was scared, but the instructors were having a blast. Jared, the instructor, explained to us,
“ Today, you will be going through the “Circle of Death.” He said smiling. “ This exercise tests your ability to avoid being drowned. When trying to save a conscious, drowning victim without a guard tube, they might try to push you under, so they can stay up. What you guys will be doing is jumping into the pond, treading water, and shutting your eyes. What we will be doing is trying to drown you, 3 times. I you are having any difficulty at all, tap, hit, or punch while you are under and we’ll bring you back up.”
My stomach started to twist. Jared, an extremely fit state ranking high school wrestler, and Nick, who’s two and a half times my size, led us out to the docks and had us jump into the water.
I was talking to myself, “Should I jump in? Should I go through with it? Did I pay enough attention in the class before? Am I over thinking this? Whatever, 1…2…3!” Splash!
I swam towards the center, closed my eyes and started to tread water. I heard sudden splashes and then silence, then sudden splashes then silence. All of a sudden I stopped thinking, breathing, and moving for 2 seconds. I opened my eyes and saw a huge arm around my neck. I tried to tuck my head under and out of his arm as they instructed to do. But I couldn’t. I was squirming, loosing air, and then I tapped out. I was quickly lifted to the top and was facing Jared.
“ Are you alright?” he asked.
“I’m gonna rest a for a couple of minutes.”
I swam to the docks, breathing heavily. I clung onto the docks trying to calm down. I waited 5 minutes: watching the others, one by one, disappearing and then resurfacing 10 feet away. Then the first kid had passed. He climbed onto the docks and sat right next to me. We both didn’t say a word to each other. I was still too scared to talk. Then another, and another, and another… A line of victors started by a little kid.
I couldn’t do it.
“ Everybody get up!”
They were replied with a thunder of groans and yawns. I walked over to the makeshift clothesline and grabbed my bathing suit and my towel. I walked slowly to the shower house and changed into the clothes I thought I might die in. As I walked back to the campsite, I almost was run over by a couple of bikers rushing to the rifle range. I trudged to the picnic table and sat down waiting for three of my friends who might my torture. Henry, Sam, and Nolan burst from their tents smiling, laughing, and were happy. Happy for what?
I said to them, “ We should head to the waterfront soon.”
We mounted our bikes, zoomed down Goose Hill, and 5 minutes later arrived at Adams’ Waterfront.
I went to my lifesaving group and the others went to their swimming group. I was the smallest in the group. I was only thirteen while the others were 16 or 17 (one was twelve but was HUGE). I was exhausted. This lifesaving course was tough; on the first day we swam 500 meters without a break. Today, we were going to be going through the “Circle of Death.” Just the name gave me goose bumps. I was scared, but the instructors were having a blast. Jared, the instructor, explained to us,
“ Today, you will be going through the “Circle of Death.” He said smiling. “ This exercise tests your ability to avoid being drowned. When trying to save a conscious, drowning victim without a guard tube, they might try to push you under, so they can stay up. What you guys will be doing is jumping into the pond, treading water, and shutting your eyes. What we will be doing is trying to drown you, 3 times. I you are having any difficulty at all, tap, hit, or punch while you are under and we’ll bring you back up.”
My stomach started to twist. Jared, an extremely fit state ranking high school wrestler, and Nick, who’s two and a half times my size, led us out to the docks and had us jump into the water.
I was talking to myself, “Should I jump in? Should I go through with it? Did I pay enough attention in the class before? Am I over thinking this? Whatever, 1…2…3!” Splash!
I swam towards the center, closed my eyes and started to tread water. I heard sudden splashes and then silence, then sudden splashes then silence. All of a sudden I stopped thinking, breathing, and moving for 2 seconds. I opened my eyes and saw a huge arm around my neck. I tried to tuck my head under and out of his arm as they instructed to do. But I couldn’t. I was squirming, loosing air, and then I tapped out. I was quickly lifted to the top and was facing Jared.
“ Are you alright?” he asked.
“I’m gonna rest a for a couple of minutes.”
I swam to the docks, breathing heavily. I clung onto the docks trying to calm down. I waited 5 minutes: watching the others, one by one, disappearing and then resurfacing 10 feet away. Then the first kid had passed. He climbed onto the docks and sat right next to me. We both didn’t say a word to each other. I was still too scared to talk. Then another, and another, and another… A line of victors started by a little kid.
I couldn’t do it.
Monday Morning Blues by Eddie Merrigan
The annoying sound of my alarm clock yells at me to wake up; my groggy eyes peer open and I dread the upcoming week. Slowly, I crawl out of bed, trying as hard as I can to keep my eyes open. I shlep into the bathroom, as slow as a turtle. With my eyes half open, I squeeze out some toothpaste, and brush my teeth. I’m usually not in the greatest of moods on Monday morning either. I am about as grumpy as a crab. I rinse off my toothbrush, turn around, and turn on the shower. As I stand there waiting for the shower to warm up, I feel like I have just taken a whole bottle of Tylenol pm. I reach my shivering arm into the shower to check the temperature. If it is hot, I step in. The warm water brings a burst of energy through me, and I feel officially woken up. I stand motionless, while hot water comforts me on a cold morning. I usually take about a ten minute shower, cut short by my brother yelling, “You’re taking all the hot water!”
“Sorry,” I respond, twisting the notch of the shower to off as I speak.
After I wrap a towel around myself, I stroll back to my room. I then scurry through my drawers to find my school uniform. Once I get all my suff together, I sit down on my bed and get dressed. As I buckle up my belt I hear my mom call, “Eddie, Dads here!”
“Coming,” I yell back, as my mind begins to scramble.
I grab my backpack, and race downstairs, hoping we will not miss the train. Before I go out to my dad’s car, I whisper, “Oh shoot! I forgot my wallet!”
Again, I frantically rush up the stairs, and head towards my room. My eyes quickly explore my whole room, panicing to find my wallet. I cannot see my dad’s car but I can picture the exact expressions on his and my brother’s faces: annoyance and exasperation. My older brother and I get annoyed with eachother very often for little things like being late, taking too long of a shower, etc. Most of our big arguments start by something small and meaningless like that. If we catch eachother in take the wrong moods, it can make for a miserable morning. We will begin to get mad at eachother for the smallest things that aren’t important, just for the purpose of one-upping eachother or getting the edge. It usually balances out on a Monday morning. I will oversleep, making him mad, and then he will take all the hot water, making me mad at him too. The grumpiness that natrually occurs on a Monday morning causes us to get mad at eachother for things that wouldn’t even be acknowledged on any other day, which is good, because our arguments on Monday mornings don’t really last long and slip away easily.
“What is he doing?” My dad probably says to my brother who is a much better morning person than I am.
“He is so damn slow!” My brother most likely replies.
When I finally reach the car, my brother shoots me a look of annoyance. I roll my eyes and strap in my seatbelt as my week has officially begun.
“Sorry,” I respond, twisting the notch of the shower to off as I speak.
After I wrap a towel around myself, I stroll back to my room. I then scurry through my drawers to find my school uniform. Once I get all my suff together, I sit down on my bed and get dressed. As I buckle up my belt I hear my mom call, “Eddie, Dads here!”
“Coming,” I yell back, as my mind begins to scramble.
I grab my backpack, and race downstairs, hoping we will not miss the train. Before I go out to my dad’s car, I whisper, “Oh shoot! I forgot my wallet!”
Again, I frantically rush up the stairs, and head towards my room. My eyes quickly explore my whole room, panicing to find my wallet. I cannot see my dad’s car but I can picture the exact expressions on his and my brother’s faces: annoyance and exasperation. My older brother and I get annoyed with eachother very often for little things like being late, taking too long of a shower, etc. Most of our big arguments start by something small and meaningless like that. If we catch eachother in take the wrong moods, it can make for a miserable morning. We will begin to get mad at eachother for the smallest things that aren’t important, just for the purpose of one-upping eachother or getting the edge. It usually balances out on a Monday morning. I will oversleep, making him mad, and then he will take all the hot water, making me mad at him too. The grumpiness that natrually occurs on a Monday morning causes us to get mad at eachother for things that wouldn’t even be acknowledged on any other day, which is good, because our arguments on Monday mornings don’t really last long and slip away easily.
“What is he doing?” My dad probably says to my brother who is a much better morning person than I am.
“He is so damn slow!” My brother most likely replies.
When I finally reach the car, my brother shoots me a look of annoyance. I roll my eyes and strap in my seatbelt as my week has officially begun.
Catching the Train by dePaul Miller
There are tons of people to my left and right as the train gradually approaches my frozen body. It is 6:18. The conductor is standing on the metal steps of the train, and jumps down on the yellow line that regular commuters like me aren’t supposed to step on. The train continues to move and stops with a loud screech. My ears hurt from the noise as I move with the crowd surging toward the stairs leading to the inside. By my side is Trent Chinnaswamy; I let him go on in front of me. He walks up very quickly, as fast as a speeding bullet. I am too tired to walk, and follow very slowly, like a sloth. It is warm inside as Trent and I try to find a three-seater. We walk up the stairs to the top of the car, and sit down on the purple seat. We put our bags, both the color black, in front of our legs. I pull my iPad out of my bag and stick my black on-ear headphones into the input jack.
He asks me, “Are you gona text Port today or should I.”
“Is your phone on?”
“Yeah.”
“Then you’re gona text him.”
Trent pulls out his worn-down, scratched-up, black phone and starts tapping on the keyboard. From experience I know the message most likely says something along the lines of “car 2 top”.
We pull into Walpole’s train station, and hear the conductor say, “Now arriving at Walpole, Walpole.”
We sit there and then all of a sudden Mike Portanova (Port) is by my side. I move over to give him space. He sits down, and the train starts moving, as if him sitting down is a cue to move. I hear a feminine, robotic voice come on the speakers to say, “Now arriving at Walpole.”
I know we are leaving Walpole though, and I turn my iPad on, enter in my four number pass code, and turn on some music. I lean my head against the seat in front of me, my headphones pushing into my head. The last thing I hear before I fall asleep is “This could be para-para-paradise.”
“Now arriving at Back Bay, Back Bay.”
My head snaps up, I am awake. I look out the window to my left and see darkness. I just sit and the train starts moving. The sun starts to shine through the window. The sun is as bright as happiness that radiates through each and every one of us. As the sun warms the car up, Trent slings his bag over his shoulder and jumps over Mike and me to run down the stairs that are behind us. Mike and I give each other looks and I can tell we are both thinking why is Trent so excited to get off the train, but we follow after him.
Mike takes his bag and slings it over his shoulder. He says, “Come on.”
I take my iPad, turn it off, and stand up while slinging my bag over my shoulder. I follow him down the stairs and wait for the train to stop. Trent is in front of us, so he opens the door once the train enters the station. When the train is stopped, Trent gets off. Mike and I follow. I know it is going to be a good day.
He asks me, “Are you gona text Port today or should I.”
“Is your phone on?”
“Yeah.”
“Then you’re gona text him.”
Trent pulls out his worn-down, scratched-up, black phone and starts tapping on the keyboard. From experience I know the message most likely says something along the lines of “car 2 top”.
We pull into Walpole’s train station, and hear the conductor say, “Now arriving at Walpole, Walpole.”
We sit there and then all of a sudden Mike Portanova (Port) is by my side. I move over to give him space. He sits down, and the train starts moving, as if him sitting down is a cue to move. I hear a feminine, robotic voice come on the speakers to say, “Now arriving at Walpole.”
I know we are leaving Walpole though, and I turn my iPad on, enter in my four number pass code, and turn on some music. I lean my head against the seat in front of me, my headphones pushing into my head. The last thing I hear before I fall asleep is “This could be para-para-paradise.”
“Now arriving at Back Bay, Back Bay.”
My head snaps up, I am awake. I look out the window to my left and see darkness. I just sit and the train starts moving. The sun starts to shine through the window. The sun is as bright as happiness that radiates through each and every one of us. As the sun warms the car up, Trent slings his bag over his shoulder and jumps over Mike and me to run down the stairs that are behind us. Mike and I give each other looks and I can tell we are both thinking why is Trent so excited to get off the train, but we follow after him.
Mike takes his bag and slings it over his shoulder. He says, “Come on.”
I take my iPad, turn it off, and stand up while slinging my bag over my shoulder. I follow him down the stairs and wait for the train to stop. Trent is in front of us, so he opens the door once the train enters the station. When the train is stopped, Trent gets off. Mike and I follow. I know it is going to be a good day.
Swimming by Austin Reillly
“Let’s go swimming,” said my friend George.
George, my friends, Jack, Jared, and I walked from George’s house to Jared’s house to go swimming. After about 30 minutes we started running around the outside of the pool until the water started swirling making a whirlpool, and every time we passed the ladder we would swim under it, because it was fun. This continued for about 10 minutes until we got bored. Just as we were about to get out of the pool my friend George said,”Let’s try to swim trough two rungs on the ladder.”
I agreed to give it a try, thinking it would be easy to slide through. I took a deep breath and started to move towards the ladder. I moved as slow as a sloth towards the rung on the surface and the middle rung. I made progress when suddenly half way through I stopped. I couldn’t move forward or backwards, my waist was stuck, and my head was stuck underwater. I could faintly hear laughter from my friend George.
“Just don’t break the ladder,” said my friend Jared.
I started to get scared and started to wiggle around. Suddenly someone grabbed my arms and pulled me to the surface. As my head broke the surface I was relieved to be out of the water, and saw that it was Jack who pulled me out. As I started to climb out of the pool I turned and thanked him.
“My turn” exclaimed George.
George, my friends, Jack, Jared, and I walked from George’s house to Jared’s house to go swimming. After about 30 minutes we started running around the outside of the pool until the water started swirling making a whirlpool, and every time we passed the ladder we would swim under it, because it was fun. This continued for about 10 minutes until we got bored. Just as we were about to get out of the pool my friend George said,”Let’s try to swim trough two rungs on the ladder.”
I agreed to give it a try, thinking it would be easy to slide through. I took a deep breath and started to move towards the ladder. I moved as slow as a sloth towards the rung on the surface and the middle rung. I made progress when suddenly half way through I stopped. I couldn’t move forward or backwards, my waist was stuck, and my head was stuck underwater. I could faintly hear laughter from my friend George.
“Just don’t break the ladder,” said my friend Jared.
I started to get scared and started to wiggle around. Suddenly someone grabbed my arms and pulled me to the surface. As my head broke the surface I was relieved to be out of the water, and saw that it was Jack who pulled me out. As I started to climb out of the pool I turned and thanked him.
“My turn” exclaimed George.
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