the Magical Forest We have to get home! cried Steven. Theres no way out of here! The seven year old clung desperately to his older brother, who could barely hold onto the tree trunk any longer due to the sudden harsh winds holding them horizontal to the ground. I hate this forest, Frank! Franks face winced in pain; his fingers had just slipped on the tree bark, and he was sure blood was staining the trunk. Dust flew in his eyes the moment he opened them again, and he immediately shut them tight. Its your fault for getting us here! he yelled as he tried to blink away the mild yet heavily bothersome irritation. The wind stopped. The two boys plummeted to the hard floor. See? began Steven as he sat up. These woods are horrible. I already told you. Its your fault. Frank gr
CookiesGrandma lays cookies on the plate before me.They steam slightly,Yet I stare in disgust.The older batch had gone stale,So Grandma make one freshJust for me.She pulls out the icingAnd gives each newborn a face.No two were ever drawn alike from Grandma's hand.The baked dough had three flavors:Sugar, peanut butterAnd the slightly burnt bottom.They always stared at me, judging me.I never touched a single cookie from her.Never did I truly thank herFor her labor.