Alternate prompt (The Bestworst day of my childhood)

            The monster roared with laughter. "Ha ha ha! Jump shorty, Jump!" Lyle held my hat high above our heads in his meaty paw. "Come on Lyle, give it back," I shouted with sad anger "My Dad bought me that hat." I jumped as high as i could but his hand was always at least a foot above my outstretched hand. I wanted to kick him square in the dangly parts but I knew that as soon as he recovered his wits, I would be underground in a doll-sized coffin. So I just kept jumping and jumping until the teachers called us in for quiet time. Lyle then threw my hat to his closest lacky, who dropped it in the closest puddle to him while Lyle shoved me into my own muddy pillow. He called his goons after him into the class room where they would be safe from my gaurdian, John. John was my best friend in the whole world. He was a sixth grader who, like all the other sixth graders, had been assigned a kindergarten buddy. He would jeep the bullies away like a night light kept boogeymen away.
        
          John, seeing I had fallen down, came to my aid almost immediately. He picked up my hat, pulled up my sobbing carcass, and said in his usual calming voice "Hey buddy, whats wrong?" "They beat me up and ruined my hat." I said, crying my eyes out, choking on sobs until I couldn't breath. I was covered in mud, bawling, and had a little bruising on my chest where Lyle had shoved me. John walked me to the teacher who listened to my story, called Lyle forth, and, in my eyes, gave him a little slap on he wrist by taking his free time. John helped me with my homework (subtracting two digit numbers!) and taught me how to play a card game with his sixth grade friends, who also seemed to like me. Then, we played my favorite childhood card game, Go fish, and I chuckled to myself that Lyle was sitting in the corner, pouting like a little kid. His friends sat as close to him as the teachers would let them sit.

           When I got home, I told Mom and Dad that John had taught me how to play speed. I told them I tripped in the mud instead of telling them about Lyle and what he had done because I didn't want them worrying and taking me out of school. I would never get to see John anymore. John was the best friend I could've asked for. He didn't act like I was just some kid that he was assigned to teach, angry and annoyed. He taught me and played with me like I was a son or little brother. He didn't make fun of me behind my back. I used to see him every day. Now I haven't seen him in years. I am sure, however, that he is the same, if not better, than he used to be. I could tell by his persistenceat being a good person. I have to admit, I miss him.

Chain of memories

The wood felt cold but welcoming in the crisp early morning air. I smiled as the nylon strings vibrated, making a beautiful sound. The man sitting opposite me held his guitar also in a lefty style, playing a single riff multiple times so i could hear it and play the song back to him. The cool air reminded me of the powdery, fresh, snow as i slid down timidly on the two pieces of wood strapped to my feet. i fell many times trying to remember what I was supposed to do to keep balance as i fell again and again, the snow collecting on my face. My brother snowboarded with such grace for a first-timer. How much better he was than me reminded me of how he learned how to ride his bike faster than I did. As a child, I would wobble so much that i would steer into things and eventually gave up until i was nine, four years after giving up, and i learned but my younger brother at that point was already learning and he is currently almost caught up with me but he doesn't have the guts to do what I do.

CNF Growing is forever

The silence of night in the forest is nearly as divine as god would be. The cold night air nips at your fingertips and the tip of your nose. The amount of diverse trees and bushes is amazing, showing the eternal life and continuance of the forest.

Why I Write

I write to clear my mind. Wether it needs it or not, I write. I also write because i feel as though something in the back of my mind feels like i should write or i shouldn't do anything at all. I write because(I know it sounds corny but) writing is who i am.

the sounds of night

As I lie awake in bed i think about the many things i hear. I hear the quiet Hoo Hoo of an owl before it takes flight. The  loud Cricky Cricky of a cricket somewhere in my lawn. I hear my brother violently yelling at his Madden 2009 video game come on you retard make the damn tackle. Why are you even here if you can't play? I laugh silently to myself. then I hear the birds and feral cats chirping and vocalizing as though they were arguing. These sounds are like an usher in a movie theater, leading me to a peaceful sleep.