After we finished we sat on the couch
Not knowing what to do
Not knowing what to say
So he explored his surroundings
His mom never let him near guns
And he was amazed by the giant rifle
My brother'd left in the living room
Before he and my mom left that morning
I slowly crept around the table
So he wouldn't look up and ruin everything
I picked up a smaller gun
And loaded it silently and quickly
I lifted it and aimed
Dead center on his crown
I cocked
He didn't hear
And I pulled the trigger
Of the orange gun
Which shot an orange bullet
That bounced off his orange head.
Author notes
sooooo strever gave us a lame-ass assignment about telling a story. i wrote this because i figured this is the kind of stuff he always likes. it was easy and lame. and yeah..... i think it's crap, but you're entitled to your opinion so give me yours!
so?
Comments
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I actually liked it. It's better than my story poem was/is/fuck verb tenses.
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Oooooh Streve.
He is so ridic sometimes....
ask him about me and pickles sometime... it is funny. LOL
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