Random

Lindsay stood there in the descending rain like a cookie getting dunked in milk. Waiting impatiently for that car to pull into her drive way. Not just any car, the big truck of Will Olewinski. Finally, she saw the headlights of his Ford truck, with the red neck music blaring out the sides. However, tailing close behind was another car, the car of Nick Knoke and his gang. Will had stolen Lindsay from Nick back in the 8th grade, 10 years ago. Now it was time for Nicks revenge. While Will drove his car over the bump to get into the driveway and got out, Nick was nearly leaning halfway out the side of the car window, and fired a Uzi at him rapidly, and hit him 14 times, leaving no room for life. Will collapsed to the wet, lifeless sidewalk, while Lindsay stood in shock and fear as Nick and his gang hopped out of their car and snatched Lindsay, and threw her struggling body in the trunk. She screamed and kicked, but to no avail. Nick would take her back to his house, where he would do the worst, and most torturing of things…..a tea party. The 3 of them. Him. Lindsay, and his stuffed bear, Harry.

Pitching

The umpire yells the count, as I stand impatiently on the mound waiting for the batter to take his steps into the batters box. I can feel the sweat in my hair, my breathing and heart pumping. I grip the ball, waiting for the catcher to give me the sign. Seeing the sign that was given by my catcher, i shake my head not once, not twice, but three times until he gives me the sign I want. Fiddling with the ball in my glove until I feel the seems up against my fingers, the rough feel of the ball that is gritty with dirt. Taking a step back I wind up, and then comes my high leg kick, with my knee almost hitting my chest. With my long stride towards the plate, I feel my metal spikes secure themselves into the dirt, like a dog sinking its teeth into a bone. Feeling my arm whip as I let go of the ball, letting the ball fly towards the plate and a soaring 73 mph. As my back leg comes up almost as high as the sky, I see the batter swing and misses, yet again. Trotting back to the dugout, I feel the aching of my arm from pitching so much. Yet, I don't mind the pain as much anymore, because the pride of knowing that I can dominate any batter outweighs the pain, the struggle, and whatever errors we may make along the way.

Raymond's Point of View

All I do is stand there. All I do is trot along with my sister, keeping up with her. That's pretty good though, considering she wins every race. I might not be that bad at running. Then we run into that ugly girl and her friends, and I watch the 3 of them argue with my sister. Then they turn to me, asking a question like I'm a 3 year old. It's humiliating being treated like a little kid who can't talk yet, and has to get fed by his mom. Finally they pass on, minding their own business. I'm glad that's over.