Back to work/school after what was hopefully a nice weekend for you; we start Monday with a peculiar short story.
Ask any kid what his or her favorite day of the week is, and he or she will surely answer Saturday.
Why Saturday? Why not Friday, Sunday, or Monday?
Well, Saturday is that one and only day of the week which is 100 percent isolated from the school week. Monday sucks for the obvious reason that an entire week of school is ahead. Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday aren't much better; only closer to Saturday. Friday does bring some sense of hope that the final bell for the day will allow leaving school for the next couple of days. But Friday does include that unpleasant thing of having to be in school. And then there is Saturday, the one day in which a kid can sleep in and then enjoy the day without the bother of having to go to school. He or she can even put off doing homework. As for Sunday, it's okay. The problem with this day is the fact that a kid is occasionally reminded of having to go back to school on Monday.
For Eric it was a Saturday morning, just a bit past seven o'clock. He rolled over and took notice of the early morning sun shining through his window. But he was in no hurry to get out of bed. Eric felt like he could lay there and doze off for about another hour or so for some dreaming. It was his much earned right as a kid to do this, being that the stupid alarm would wake him up on Monday through Friday.
Eric closed his eyes, and lay there while listening to the outside sounds of trees rustling in the gentle, early morning wind. A few blocks away, someone was mowing their lawn--nothing terribly noisy to distract Eric from falling back to sleep.
But then there were the sounds of soft, sneaky footsteps entering the bedroom, followed by the unavoidable creek on the floor. Yes, someone was in Eric's bedroom; probably his jerk older brother, Martin.
Perhaps if Eric simply lay there and pretend to be sound asleep, his brother would go away.
The footsteps came closer and closer until a presence could be felt very close to the bed. Eric could sense that whoever was near did their best to keep from laughing. And then there was the peculiar scent of popcorn and cotton candy as-if whoever it was had been at a circus or carnival. What was Martin doing? Did he go to a carnival on Friday night?
Thumbs were smashed into Eric's closed eyes, with some sort of lotion or gel rubbed in.
"Quit it! You jerk!" shouted Eric. He immediately opened his eyes.
But it wasn't Eric's older brother Martin who stood over the bed. Rather, it was an obnoxious clown with painted face and large, red rose. It wore a ridiculous outfit of loud colors. "Smile! There's soap in your eyes!" called out the clown.
And that's the last thing poor Eric remembered seeing that morning. He had to close his from the painful sting brought on by the soap running in. Stupid clown! And if that weren't enough, Eric had to fight the clown off, blind, as he continued rubbing soap all over his face.
The End!
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