Author's Notes:
An Ode to a Faucet
The mithril curve is dripping
The chaotic noise is enough to drive a man insane
It is people screaming
Yelling about terrors unknown
Now the curve is silent
The noise is no more
Now I see something on its gleaming surface
It is me, but it is not
My face is distorted, my eyes crossed unnaturally
Like two bees who’s flight paths cross
Then I look down and see nothing but black
Life
The whitish green web
Held in a clear plastic tube
The key to all life
Help Me
Bryant is sitting in the WGE lab, trying to get help with his creative writing story. First he asks Jason Zurn for help, but all Zurn says is, “I don’t care how to write a story, I’m busy doing PCR. Then he asks Anna because surely someone who goes to Harvard will have lots of good ideas for a story. All she does is laugh at him. Then the reason he is having problems hits him, maybe a genetics lab just isn’t the right place to ask for help on anything that doesn’t involve science or math.
Life Isn’t That Bad
Why do so many peopleThink poetry is just for pain
There is really more to it
Than watching blood drip from your wrist
And thinking life is pointless
It’s not that this is bad
But there is really much more to a poem
Try writing something happy
Or even a little funny
If you have the nerve
EVERYONE’S GOT PROBLEMS
“It’s a great day to be alive,” John thought to himself when he got up. He looked around at his room. Sure the walls could use some paint, and his socks needed washing. But at least he had a house. As he walked out the door on his way to work he met Mrs. Johnson. “My life sucks,” Mrs. Johnson wailed at him. It turns out her boyfriend had dumped her the night before, after a very serious two week relationship. When John got to work he bumped into George. “Man,” said George, “I hate my life; the boss wants me to do all this paperwork by tomorrow.” “That sucks,” John replied as he continued on to his desk. As he was getting started on his huge pile of paperwork his boss stopped by. “I need those forms done by tonight, and I need you to work the weekend because my son has a cold.” “I hate taking care of the kids when they are sick, it really messes up my life,” continued his boss. “No problem,” said John with a smile. That night on his way home he stopped at the cemetery to put some orchids on his wife’s grave. He then stopped by the special school and picked up his son.
ANTS
Howard was marching, and marching, and marching. He had been walking for what seemed like hours across a vast brown plain, interlaced with darker streaks. “I have to keep going,” he said to himself. “The queen is counting on me.” “I have to find some food or everyone could die,” this is the only thought that kept him going. After even more marching he came upon something sweet and sticky. “Hmm” he thought to himself, “this could save the colony.” He took some back home and left a trail for everyone to follow. All of his comrades then marched off to bring the sticky liquid back to the colony. As soon as they had a good supply everyone began eating. “I don’t feel so good,” Howard thought to himself. And suddenly he fell over, his six legs splayed out in a rediculious fashion. Just like his comrades.