From the moment the garbage truck drove into the mailbox early this morning and crashed down the fence Grandpa had built with his own bare hands, Sally knew today was not going to be her day. She scrambled for her sky blue galloshes and scurried downstairs, careful to not step on her pet lizard's tail. Then she pulled the lever of the microwave at the "quick as a cucumber" setting. Her father who had been peering intently at her through the reflection of the stainless steel pot boiling on the stove, was still fighting to stay awake. "Don't forget to launch your back!" He decided stirring the pot with a large gourd was as good as scratching his head for such philosophical distinctions. After all, words are just a string of letters in a particular arrangement. "Yes
pa, I packed my lunch if that's what you were asking."
Sally 2/2
She didn't cry. No she wasn't going to cry yet again. She shut her eyes with all her strength. Her face scrunches that her teeth seem to crack open. This is her way of telling the tears no trespassing beyond eyelashes.
Last time at recess, the kids were shouting "last one there is a rotten egg" she arrived last. She decided that she really is a rotten egg. A Humpty Dumpty that fell off a wall, but a rotten egg, nonetheless.
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