Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

Jon


More by this author
He stumbles out of bed, seizing the new day with a few lines of frustrated cursing. Scratching his brawny arms, he locates the light switch wanting to discover what caused his harsh trip. He tosses his arms up shielding his burning eyes from the intense light and attempting to reach his walk-in closet but staggers over the thick shoe for the second time forgotten from the night before. When he reached the Disneyland sized closet he retrieved his navy blue uniform. Gliding the angry coarse fabric on he observes that each time the fit becomes looser; the vigorous workout sessions must help. Over the patches and embroidery, he ran his fingers, symbolizing that he held a job at the Bellingham Fire Department. A sense of pride swept over him. He heads to brush his teeth, wanting the nasty tinge replaced with fresh mint. In the mirror, he catches a quick glance and thanks his lively friends for convincing him to go stark bald. Reaching for a squeeze bottle of ointment his goal to eliminate the usual cold sore he lets go of his toothbrush securing it between his jaws like a grizzly bear snagging a salmon. Swiftly and quickly he scoops up the dainty bottle rescuing his body from the constant vibration and buzz of the Sonic are toothbrush. Finishing his morning routine he gallops down the steep stairway.

He hears the crackle of his joints as he trots, always wondering what caused the annoying sound. It made sneaking up on others very difficult. On the hardwood floor he glides in danger of slipping from balance every time his flamboyant socks inch forward. For whatever reason, a fat glitzy grin appears across his stubbly, oblong face. Spinning himself into the kitchen he swiftly opened the old-fashioned refrigerator door in one movement. The light flickers on revealing an array of food which brings a sparkle to his deep set sensitive blue eyes and a memory of his family’s feeble attempt to scare him. They placed the light sensor, singing Christmas tree in the bathroom their goal to surprise him. Being Jon, it didn’t work. He schemed his revenge. He would place the tree in the fridge formulating a flabbergasted exasperation from his stepdaughters the next day. “Perfect,” he thought to himself as a low snicker escaped.

He hops into the car at 7:00 am with two Fred Meyer bags holding his lunch. He aimed to relieve his co-worker of a few valuable minutes. Once he parks he slips on his bulky shoes flipping off his slippers into the beige passenger seat beside him. He smirks at his golfers tan, reminiscing to himself of yesterday’s adventures. His family teased him about his irregular tan and using ‘negative’ in normal situations. He only tried to aggravate them and make them use his newly acquired nickname ‘negative nerd’ which he found amusing rather than embarrassing. Glancing at his bulky black watch, he opened the blue Passat car door and his blankets tumbled out. This ignited a frustrated groan and a few phrases of cursing which composed his thick nose and square forehead into a crinkled, red mess. Angrily he slammed the car door and snatched up his bundle of necessities. Staring into the cloudy sky he breathes deeply not wanting to make an awful first impression on the chief. He mentally prepares himself like an athlete before the championship game to demonstrate his witty yet intelligent side to the chief. Pumping up his confidence he compliments himself on past achievements. Keeping himself alert he takes great strides, observing the calm dampening smell of the fire station and the itch on his miniature ear. He approaches the captain, smiling wide, hand forward looks him directly in the eyes and firmly shakes his burly hand, “Hello sir, I’m Jon."



Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!




Site Feedback