Goodbye

Me

If you really knew me you would know I work at the BK lounge.
If you knew me you would know that I play video games all the time.
You would know that I'm a scrawny little thing.
You would know that I think differently than most.
You would know I don't want to grow up.
You would know that I'm great for carrying food.
You would've known that this was Trey Smith all along.

Mainstream, Satan's Plan of Happiness.

I think that mainstream music if we are not careful, is going to lead us all down the path to hell. For example, the new hit boy band, ''One Direction'' are puppets mastered by the hands of the Devil himself. They deceive us with their charm, heart melting smiles, and bodacious biceps, and lead us to think that it is okay to leave our dignity out in the cold to die. BUT THAT IS NOT OKAY! Satan has integrated these "puppets" on our lunchboxes, bed spreads, and even our backpacks. Justin Bieber's false facade has weaseled itself into our homes. He is plastered from our bedroom walls, to our facebook walls and it is an epidemic greater than the black plague. Individuality is losing! People are denying who they are and are joining the ranks of who they aren't. I hate Satan, and his little puppets too. I will never be the product of a Hamlet play, and become poisoned through my ears. Defend individualism, join the revolution!   

The Portersville Bouncer.

The summer nights of Portersville, Iowa bring nothing but makeshift recreation,  and the children let out from school find pleasure bouncing their big red balls from the little trinket machines at the grocery store. All the children ran around, and bounced their balls upon the sidewalks, the streets, and even off cars. Bridger Wakeman was among the army of bouncers, until his bouncing ball bounced a little bit too far.

Bridger was looked upon as a leader, being the oldest on his block the others looked to him for guidance; he was the neighborhood Thor, igniting the beacon of summer freedom. His hair: unruly. His shoes: duck taped at the soles. His eyes: yearning for adventure. Bridger bounced his ball with perfect finesse, and caught it with up-most accuracy. But on that fateful night in July, the ball missed its home, and bounced disobediently down the street. It bounced past the traffic light, across the bridge, and ended its journey in an open van door at the corner Sinclair station. Bridger followed closely behind his arms outstretched like a child wanting his mom. He ran past the traffic light, across the bridge, and finally became reunited with the bouncing ball under the seat in a van. The door slammed shut, and the van drove away taking with it the very beacon, of summer freedom.

Where did Bridger go?
Was he abandoned in the woods and adopted by wolves?
Will the beacon of summer freedom shine light in Portersville again?