Because Writers Don't Get Nearly as Much Attention as Jocks

. . . especially when you're 13.

So as the mother of a 13 year old writer, I'm going to post a little bit of Ethan's English homework from last night.  Ethan typed this bad boy up in about 10 minutes, and when he showed it to me, I told him it was blog-worthy.  Here goes, presented to you with absolutely no editing or tweaking by mom:

The Calamitous Chronicle of Carl the Caterpillar

               Carl the caterpillar was a very small and meek little insect.  All the other bugs at Thorax Prep were so much bigger, stronger, faster, or more all around impressive than Carl.  Every day Carl was chosen last at slime toss, even after Arty Ant, who had four broken legs.  And every day Carl sat alone at the designated pariah table in the cafeteria.  And every day Carl got picked on by Tito Tarantula, the burly, surly, naturally curly jerk of an arachnid.  And every day Carl came home to a milkweed-holic dad who was generally passed out in front of the TV with a worn out Playbug magazine on his lap.  [editor's note:  Ethan thought he might have to change this line for Grandma's sake.  He said, "I can imagine Grandma reading that and going, 'Ooooh, Ethan,' all disappointed."  So I figured, as his mother, that his worry over his grandmother's reaction cancels out any of the perceived negatives of using the term "Playbug."  Especially since it is such a perfect little joke, in context.  Anyhow, carrying on.]

            But Carl hadn’t lost all hope in life.  He knew that one day he was destined to sprout beautiful wings and flitter about, above all of the other bugs, above his house, and way over Tito.  That was the only thing that kept Carl form committing pesticide.  So every day, Carl worked through school, giving his grub money to Tito, being teased by his bigger and more impressive schoolmates.  But with his wonderful destiny in mind, Carl scooted around with his head a little higher, put up with Tito more, and even the pariah table was nicer.  His dad was even starting to pay his mortgage on their burrow and quitting milkweed.  So things were looking up for Carl.

            When Carl turned 13 (weeks old) he began to build his cocoon.  His incredibly small heart pounded with excitement as he awaited his emergence form his fleshy capsule as a wonderful creature.  Pretty soon the wait became too much to bear, and he was brimming with excitement and optimism.  After a week, the day had come.  Carl burst forth from his green womb as a majestic monarch butterfly, wing patterns the color of molten bronze and night black, and beautifully smooth antennae and a slender proboscis.  He flew all over town until it was time for school.  He came to school bright and happy, and everyone admired his new features.  After lunch at the socially accepted table with his new friend Bernie the Bumblebee, he even had the pride to stand up to Tito when pressed for money.  But Tito didn’t like that at all.  So Tito quickly wrapped up Carl in a silvery and deadly web, lowered his mandibles, and promptly sucked out graceful Carl’s juices with a loudly audible slurp.

                                                            THE END


Witty, original, and an ironic twist ending.  What more could an English teacher want?