Monday, August 1, 2011

The Story Shifts Once Again

That night, Mr. Bombompsky started packing for the book conference he was going to go to in Marseille. He was leaving on Thursday, and today was Tuesday, so he did not have much time.

He sat on the bed, hopeless. He was too busy thinking about his book to pack. His desk was 4 feet away from the bed, and his notepad and his lucky #2 pencil were on it.

“Why not?” He said to himself.

Even though he knew no one else was there, he looked around the room to check if anybody was watching. He knew he had to pack, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He slowly walked to the desk, sat down, and began.

Lee Cot woke up to the sound of thunder. He shivered, even though it wasn’t cold. The treasure of Bompo, and rain, did not go together. Before Cot had come on this mission, he did some research. In each of the books he had read (there were about twenty of them), there was at least 1 story of someone who had tried to get the treasure, but than it rained, and in each of the stories, something bad happened because of the rain.

It deserts, rain is rare. But some said that the treasure, or the guardians (if there were any, who knows) of the treasure, knew when a bad person was trying to steal it, rather than a good one, so they caused it to rain. Other than that, the treasure had nothing to do with what happened.

Of course, this made Cot very nervous. He knew there was nothing he could do about it, so he waited for the rain to come. He took deep breaths. He started saying bad things about himself in his head. He waited some more.

But the rain never came. Instead, it started to smell like a chicken soup. Not the kind of a can, but the home made granny kind that was made for you if you were sick.

It kept thundering. And it kept Cot perplexed. He kept looking around, trying to make sure there wasn’t a dinosaur stomping around him.

I looked up from my writing. I could hear my grandma walking up the stairs to my room. It sounded like thunder, either she had had grown, or she was bringing up something that weighed a ton.

I sniffled. Even though I couldn’t smell very clearly, because my nose was so stuffed up, I smelled the smell of Grandma Gertrude’s chicken soup. Ugh. I quickly hid my writing under my mattress. Grandma usually would not let me do anything but sleep or just lay in my bed when I was sick.

“Emil, are you awake?” She said in her loud voice, while knocking.

“Yes,” I sighed.

She came it through the door, but had kind of a hard time getting in. I hadn’t wanted anyone to disturb me while I was writing, so I had piled up all my toys, most of my books, my dresser, and my bean bag chair against the door.

But my grandma was as strong as ever. She also had a very unique style and personality, and not in a way one could say was good or bad. She spent have the day everyday at the gym, so she was very muscular and had a very sturdy body, unlike me, but it looked slightly peculiar because she had wrinkles all over her body. Plus, while she “loved to work out”, she always made sure she was dressed over appropriately for the occasion, in my opinion. Once, my parents had to work, and I had to go to the gym with her. Her gym outfit that day was a long linen skirt, no shorts under, that had been cut off her wedding dress. It had flowers all over it. She also wore a beaded tank top, and long, purple dangly earrings that matched with her purple painted toenails. As one could probably imagine, that looked so strange with her big body and her wrinkly face, which was aimed to be covered up with mascara but in reality had turned out to cause her face to turn a bright pink, permanently, which she covered up with a mask, but of course she chose a clear mask, which makes no sense whatsoever, so you could see her wrinkles. What a character. She had so many sides to her. At this point, I don’t know if she’s a fat old lady, a dinosaur, or just my grandma from Denmark.

She came into my room holding a tray of a big bowl of her chicken soup, crackers, and a tall mug of hot tea.

“Thank you grandma,” I managed to say.

I think that when she was little, she got no appreciation, so even if it is completely obvious that a person is faking it, she will accept any little compliment. She smiled real big at me.

“Oh, its nothing. Anything for my favorite little grandson…” She came over to me and squeezed my cheeks so hard.

“Now, I’m going to go down stairs and start your dinner. Remember to dip the crackers in the soup, honey.”


The second she left the room, I went into the bathroom, poured have of the soup in the toilet, flushed it, put have of the tea in the sink and washed it out. I out the tray outside of my room, closed the door, pushed back my bean bag and dresser, and walked back into my room. I took out my notebook.

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