Homework Blues

  As I shuffled into the classroom, I knew that Mr. Van Camp would never believe me. I looked at my scuffed shoes and mumbled, " My homework is not done, Sir. I do have a good excuse though."
  Mr. Van Camp scowled as he looked up from the papers he was marking. "This is not the first time your homework has not been completed. Perhaps," he suggested, "it's time to speak with your parents."
     "Please, you have no idea what will happen to me if you phone my home," I moaned.
     "Well, let's hear your excuse. It better be good." I responded in a quiet voice, "Well, Mr. Van Camp, I was sitting at home, about to retrieve my homework out of my backpack to complete it."
     "This sounds like a waste of my time already!"
     "Just wait! It gets worse." I tried to explain, "All of a sudden, I was brutally attacked by a group of short, stocky Mexicans!"
  Mr. Vancamp just laughed. "I do believe that that could be the worst excuse I have ever heard in my life!"
     "But, Mr. Vancamp, you handsome teacher, it is the truth!" I tried my best to get back on his good side.
  He paid no attention to me. I was in a heap of trouble now. He looked down at me with a threatening look on his face and scoffed, "As I said, I will be emailing your parents about this!"
     "No, please! They will be so ashamed of me!" I coughed in a panic.
  He didn't seem to care. He was amused by my sense of terror. "Should have thought of that before then, shouldn't you?" He chuckled under his breathe, and started to walk out of the room. "Good day!"
     "Thanks a lot, Vancamp."

The Big Game

After Mrs. Mitty came out of the drugstore, they climbed into their automobile, Walter fastened his seat belt, turned on the windscreen wipers and carefully pulled away from the curb. As they drove out of Waterbury he noticed a sign as big as house advertising the big hockey game that night. His heart sped up. A few hours later, Walter walked into the arena, looked around, and it was as if time had stopped in its tracks. The game went well. Finally it came to the third period. Crunch time. There he was, Mitty, about to take the face off to start it off. Intensely, sweating like a pig, with the score tied up at 3-3. The puck hit the ice like a fat kid falling off his swing, and the play went on. The crowd was as loud as thunder making the atmosphere intense.  Skating furiously end to end, the ice cracking like wood being snapped under the skate blades. The puck was being tossed around like a baby fighting a tiger, bodies were being thrown to the ice like rocks hitting pavement. The game was as rough as Connors stubble on his face, sticks were being snapped like twigs. The clock timed down as if a bomb were to go off. A few hits, a few penalties, and a few harsh words later, and the game was finally over. Walter Mitty, star of the game, MVP, stood there, grinning from ear to ear. He had won, he was an allstar.

The 9/11 Attack

    Tuesday September 11th, 2001, started as just a normal day. It was around 8:00am when i arrived at work at the twin towers. The morning was slow in the office until 8:46am when my world almost came to an end. I heard the most excruciating sound from above, fallowed by a number of screams. The whole building shook intensely and not even a minute or two later everyone in the building were being evacuated. I had no clue what was going on until i finally escaped out of the building. The minute i looked back after running to a safe distance, my jaw dropped. The building i had been working in had been hit by an airliner about 10 stories above my office. Looking next to the building i had been in, the other twin tower had been hit by another airliner at the same level as my office would have been at. For the next two hours i watched the buildings come down and people being killed from Debree. September 11th was most defiantly a life changer.