Seen but Not Heard

This may seem really mean and I don’t really care. As the title suggests this article is about children, the title is of course based on the phrase “children should be seen and not heard”. I agree with this. If you are a parent and you don’t have the time, patience or love to teach your child not to be obnoxious or rude, you should at least be capable of accomplishing the lesson of silence. Silence is after all golden, even if you have to use the duct tape.

Why do I write this considering I have no children? Well, I leave the house; I am out and about in society and since it is deemed appropriate by our culture to allow children out in the general public, I have to deal with children, not in a personal or social way, just a public manner, which is minimal. We do have to breathe the same air and if the child in question is being disruptive, chances are, it is affecting me. Whether the child opened something in a store or knocked something over and the product is now all over the floor and now that isle or section of the store is closed until the overworked, underpaid employees deem it worth their time to go over and clean it up; or if I’m done shopping and the young human is in line with its creator in front of me and that young human is screaming at the top of its lungs and its owner or creator is doing nothing to silence it or to get out of line to be courteous to the other shoppers. This leaves me with the very unhappy choice of either moving to another line in order to escape the noise, or to stay and endure it. The child in this scenario in this day and age isn’t even “young”. By the way, this excuse of being “young” bothers me a lot. I was never in any point in my life allowed to misbehave so horribly in public. Being young has nothing to do with it; it’s the lack of discipline and care. The child is so ignored that it feels the need to get louder and wilder in order to be acknowledged by its parents. Negative attention is better than no attention at all in the eyes of a child, and then eventually the poor behavior becomes habit. This brings be back to the fact that some children who are disruptive in public aren’t “young”. I’ve seen twelve year-olds and up, throw fits like the ones I’ve described: just because the screams are replaced with whinny demands or screeching protests doesn’t make it less of a tantrum.

The point to all of this is for me to say that I think something isn’t working. The way children are being raised has failed for several generations now. It’s time to rethink the public standard and I am all for going back to “children should be seen and not heard”. As a parent you should be concerned with how your children behave in public, enough that you actually do something to correct your child when they are misbehaving or don’t take them out in public at all until they can behave.

  My Mama wasn’t allowed to go to a restaurant until she was three years old and it was a guarantee she wouldn’t do anything that might ruin the meal. How many three year olds can you name off the top of your head that can sit through a proper dinner meal without getting “bored”? My grandfather was very old fashioned and stuck to the “children should be seen and not heard” rule to the letter. It worked then, so there is no reason for it not to work now; and as for “letting the kids be kids” rubbish, let me tell you, a child can have plenty of fun without screaming just because they like the way their voice echoes in the public bathrooms at Disneyland; and as I have previously stated, a child won’t even get loud if it’s being cared for by its parent. A well cared for child is a happy child; a happy child is a quiet child.

Inspiration

Fall Semester is finally over, and I’m already starting to dread the Spring Semester, but let’s not think about that. Now that I have the time to write, and I mean truly sit down and just do it and not thinking about anything else, or rushing so that I can get it over with and move on to some sort of assignment, self assigned or otherwise.

The subject according to the subject heading I picked is inspiration. So, I’ll start there, the inspiration for this post is that I just visited my Aunt Christine in the hospital today. Well, she’s not really my aunt, but I’ve adopted her. She's just had brain surgery to have a tumor removed. I watched her going through the past year as she prepared herself physically, mentally and spiritually for this surgery and I think I will take away from this time watching and being with her as a really inspirational rather than a scary experience (though it certainly was). After all of the stress and worry it was good to see her picking at her indigestible hospital food and great us with a tired but sweet smile.

I met my aunt not long after my family moved to California and my Mama and I were looking for a place to grow as writers. We found the Coffee House Writers Group and I was very pleased to join it. Christine was both the leader and organizer of the group and now she has definitely earned the title Fearless leader. She's officially one of the bravest people I've ever met. Forget my veteran Grandfather, cousins and Great Uncle, anyone can get drafted.

So, after I wrote my title (yes, sometimes I write a title before writing a post) I asked myself after I chose my title, (or my title chose me) what inspires me? Who inspires me? But most importantly: what does it or they inspire me to do or be?

 I thought of Christine and her poor head looking like something from a horror or graphic civil war film (which are pretty much the same thing) and Christine’s playful comment that she was going to be trying out for Frankenstein’s Monster’s Wife; although now that I think of it, one would be hard pressed to find someone casting for such a roll during Yuletide…

  She inspires me to be happy, to be brave, to write, to smile, to live, to love and above all to be me, especially during hard times.

The Writer

Standing back

Thinking, and seeing

Not speaking

Just looking.

Wandering, seeking

Both my eyes are open

Listening, hearing

Silently staring.

Sitting,

 blind to the joy

deaf to the laughter

dumb to the well-spoken

Thinking is fearing

Doing is reckless

Loving is damning

Hating is worse.

Just sit there

And finish your story.

I'm Going to Hell

Lights up on stage, I’m practicing the piano on an average living room set. The sound of a door bell sounds. I stop playing startled. I go to door and look through peep hole.

Lights up on right corner of stage where two young men in white shirts and ties with backpack on standing at the door. Lights down over guys go as I step away from the door.

I walk upstage; more lights go up to where my brother has been quietly playing video games this whole time.

Me

It's Jehovah witnesses.

Brother

Yeah.

Me

I’m not answering it, are you?

Brother

No.

Me

Chuckling

The piano suddenly stops the moment they ring the door bell, they probably saw me from the window too.

Brother

Busy killing people on-line

Hmm.

I stand a moment before walking back to check the door just as there’s another knock. In a split second decision I open the door.

Guy 1#

Hi there.

Me

Hi.

Guy 1#

Who are?

Me

I look at the audience blue lights go on representing my thoughts.

None of your business, who are you?

I look at back at the door, lights go back to normal.

Samantha.

Guy 1#

I’m Jim. This is Henry.

Me

Nod at Henry in greeting.

Jim

We’re from the Jesus …… Church.

Me

Lights go blue.

Well, thank God you’re not Jehovah Witnesses.

Lights go back to normal.

Jim

And we have a message for you.

Me

Lights go blue again.

Oh boy.

Normal lights.

Henry

We have a ten minute speech that we do with all families we find and it’s just ten minutes, but it could change your life.

Me

Snort.

Henry

Do you think there is a time that we could speak to your entire family?

Me

No, I don’t think so, thanks. You have a good day.

Jim

Thanks bye.

Me

Walking back to brother.

I didn’t do too badly did I?

Brother

You did better than what I would have.

Me

Really.

Brother

Yeah, I almost laughed.

Me

When?

Brother

When you snorted.

Me

I didn’t snort.

Brother

Yeah you did right after he said their message would change your life.

Me

I wasn’t aware of it.

Brother

Yeah, it was funny, I almost laughed out loud.

Me

Well, if I did that badly, I guess I should just mess with their heads and say what I’m thinking, at least then I’ll be entertained. I’m going to hell anyways.

Brother

Yeah.

My Basement

It is insane

By the end of everyday

I should stay

And lay

Always afraid

Of something unpaid

Something left undone

From which I wish to run,

Like a bullet from a gun.

Ahh! The gun

After it went off

My fate did change

It opened wide the gate

The door

Oh! No! Not the door!

Down the basement

When it hordes

A person once adored.

He was smitten,

Like a kitten

Not nearly as fit in

the society.

Pity I did take on him

But not long did it take

My soul to break

A clipping chipping,

Heart-less man.

My heart did sign

And like a useless

Tumor within me.

It did spread like a cancer

There was but one person to answer

For the numbness that is me.

Standing within the kitchen

Was the case of my affliction

To fulfill my intention was so easy.

Who would have thought freedom

Could come at so small an expense?

All I needed was the cheap pistol

Why by the handsome revolver when

The cheap thing will do the job?

Maybe once all is done

And all my cares are buried

And no more need me thought of

I shall learn to live before I die again.

Apples

A musician am I,

A player with words

Some say it’s the poet

But I put them all to shame.

I go down the dirt road

To see what I can find:

A vender selling apples

A not too common sight.

I stepped to a basket

And grabbed one for a bite

I know the sweeter insides

As it is my favorite part

But without the bitter skin

The sweetness has no more appeal.

I take a seat

To watch the afternoon

Pass me by.

Before long I nodded off

And I dream I did comprise.

I gazed upon an apple

Which landed in my lap.

Its mother, I knew not where she stood

All I know is her baby

Fell from the sky.

The smooth skin I knew so well,

Though yet easily broken

To press it in any place leaves a bruise.

Not unlike a heart

I thought as

 I rolled the fruit

Between my hands.

Like a heart, that’s troubled love

Did press until a mark,

Was all that was left behind.

The bruise is not immediate

Show the mark, but only

To be found by gentle touch.

The wounds are sensitive

And if not remedied

Shall poison all the rest.

With many shaped and tones

It has many personalities.

The small blackened spots are old injuries.

They are tough and hard

They show experience and past.

It is beneath the dark surface

The sweetest juice is found.

Monday - Not So Bad?

I knew it was going to be a crappy day before I even opened my eyes. I could hear the soft pitter patter of rain that was hitting the shrubbery beneath my bedroom window, the uneven rhythm was interrupted by a sharp plunk as the occasional large drop of water fell of a tree leaf and hit a windowpane.

Rain is always good thing, that’s what my mom used to say “it makes everything green”. Yeah, too bad the good people of Southern California have no idea how to drive in the rain! I learned how to drive in the Ozark Mountains where what is called “rain” in So Cal was known as a “mist”. Buckets being poured from the sky was barely considered a storm, there had to be lightning, a gust, or hail (preferably all of the above) to be an undisputed “storm”, and we got plenty of storms all year.

The temperature must have dropped over night as well. My nose, exposed shoulders and arms felt as cold as marble while I tried to find my blankets by touch. My numb fingers fumbled as they found the edge of the comforter. Once I got a good grip, I gave it a swift pull and covered my freezing upper body only to uncover my toes. Curing up into a loose ball (and sticking my nose beneath the covers for good measure) I waited for the cool and lifeless fabric to warm up with my less than considerable body temperature.

I breathed in the familiar scent of my bed as my muscles slowly began to warm up and relax; that was when my alarm went off. I have nothing against Aerosmith, except when they are waking me up in the morning. My arm shot out and slammed on the off button. The cold surface of my radio seemed to suck the heat out of my hand and soon began to do the same to my arm. I quickly pulled it back under the covers.

I took a deep breath as I prepared myself of the shock my body would receive when I threw my covers back to sit up…and I had thought Monday was a bad day.

A Talk with My Piano Teacher

Ever since we moved to California, my family and I have been unable to find a piano teacher we can afford. So, my brother’s and I have been teaching ourselves new pieces. Our old teacher, Fran, told us before we left that we all knew enough between the three of us that we could all keep learning with each other’s help and no teacher.

  Yesterday I called Fran because I hadn’t contacted her in a while and had been meaning to for some time. Her husband picked up and I when I said my name he didn’t remember my name, but after I said I was the red-head who used to take lessons from Fran and they would always run late he remembered me and said he’d try to find her.

  Fran was always more like the grandmother I never had than a piano teacher, she’s sweet and forgetful like an older woman should be, and she tends to go off on some story and then forget what her point was; though there was plenty of piano playing involved in the time we spent with her I assure you. She was just very special; I wish we could have brought her with us.

  She answered the phone and was very pleased to hear me as she said at least five times throughout the phone call. She would just tack on to the end of her sentence, “and I’m so glad you called me dear, it’s so good to hear from you.” I don’t have the greatest memory in the world either, so this is not exactly the way the conversation went, but she is just so sweet and I miss her so much, I couldn’t avoid writing it down.

  After she greeted me she said, "I knew you were going to call me, because I was thinking about you and I thought they should call me."

Me: And here I am!

  Fran: Right dear, here you are, now how are things going have you found a job? (it‘s obvious in hindsight that she had wanted to ask this question since she got on the phone).

  Me: Yes, I’m selling Avon.

  Fran: Oh, really? That’s wonderful dear. How about your brother?

  Me: He’s still looking.

  Fran: Right well, I should have said this…but- I know it’s going to sound silly but, I think you all should try teaching piano. I think it would be a good experience for you since lessons are so expensive out there, you could probably find some little kids to teach and it will greatly benefit you, as well as making some money. You won’t charge as much because you don’t have a master’s degree and you have no experience, but that will be fair, and the teachers there shouldn’t get upset about you charging less because you don’t have any experience.

  Me:  Yeah.

  Fran: I mean, I learned so much after I started teaching. Because you have to think a lot; you have to ask yourself, ‘how am I going to teach this?’

  Me: Yes, but I’m not sure what a good age to start would be, because as I got out doing my daily errands I see kids and a lot the five and six-years-olds are just so unruly.

  Fran: Five year-olds are terrible and my old teacher got four five-years-olds and she didn’t want to teach them, so she gave them to me and I was seventeen-years-old and with no teaching experience at all! I had no idea what I was doing and they left after three weeks. I couldn’t control four five-year-olds! They were running around, jumping, and laughing at me. I had no control over them. So they left. Then after I got married and my first husband and I were living in Wichita Kansas, and like most young people, we were short on money. So my husband told me I needed to start teaching and I said ‘O-o-okay’ then I loved it. I learned so much! And the feeling that you get when your student goes to a recital and plays well is great. You can imagine what that did for my ego, because if your student does well, then you must be a good teacher.

  Me: Yeah.

  Fran: And I am a very good teacher, I’m so old now, there’s really no point in modesty. I am a good teacher and have been for a long time. Then there’s my old student S- did you ever meet him?

  Me: Yes, I believe I did once.

  Fran: Well, he lives down in Florida and he works for a music store and he was doing pretty well, but he still needed some money, so he started teaching and he does rather well…I don’t know how I started talking about all of this.

  Me: You think piano teaching would be good for me.

Fran: Right, yes, it would be very good I think for you and both your brothers, but especially you.

  Around this time the phone was disconnected and I had to redial, I won’t go into all that we talked about, but after I spoke with her I decided that everyone needs a Fran in their life and my brothers and I are going to make an extra effort to speak to her more often.

A little Too Different

Why do I stand off

to the side?

Why do I choose to

Break instead of abide?

Perhaps you’ll understand

 I’m not like this by choice

I couldn’t be any other way,

Unless I wish to lie.

I’ve been shoved out

Of the main frame

Stabbed in the front

Shoved into lockers and

Told to change

Because I’m

Just a little too different.

Because I’m

Not afraid to be me.

You see people

In their little cliques

They look

and act

and dress

All the same.

They are soulless

Their too damn scared

To be themselves.

I walk in a straight line

Not on the left

Not on the right.

I find my peace

somewhere between.

Some say I’m too free

Move along.

Others say

I’m too calm

I’m better off at home in bed.

Because I’m

Just a little too different.

Because I

Can’t be labeled.

I just can’t fit in anywhere.

I’m just a little too different.

I make everybody realize

They’re not happy

 With who they are.

They aren’t who they should be.

/so why can’t I

Just fall in line?

With one side or the other?

It’d make everyone else

Feel so much better.

But the only person

I need to make happy

Is me; not all of you.

Because I’m

Just a little too different.

Because I’m

Not okay with sacrificing my soul

Just to be like you.

I’m just a little too different to care.

That’s right,

I’m just a little too different to care.

My Tombstone

You’re the only tombstone in my yard.

The only one who will miss me

Is the same one who will betray me first.

You’re the only statue in my garden

Watching all that grows

And lives without a will

You’re the only pond in my valley

Reflecting destruction and pain

My world crumbles around you.

Cold, hard, still:

This is the way you are

You are just like me.

You’re the only loose stone in my path

The cause of the fall

To remind me I’m alive.

My Classes

Hi everyone I’ve missed you! I’m sorry about the long silence, thanks for sticking through it and my bad poetry. I’ve been getting into the swing of college and I think I’m going to survive this semester. I don’t have much time, I need to study, but here’s what my calendar looks like now:
Monday
9:00-10:30 Theatre Class - Heavy Study class
12:00-12:50 Piano – Time consuming.
1:00-3:30 Art – Time consuming.
Tuesday, WORK!!
Wednesday
Same as Monday
Thursday
Fundamentals to Interior Design – Medium study load & Time consuming
Illustration of Interior Design – medium work load & Tim consuming

Then once I get home I have chores and my job at Avon to work on. Suffice it to say that sometimes I hardly have time to breath. But my family insist that I have fun on Sunday or Saturday, so that cancels out which ever day that is and it’s fun, but it’s stressful too if I don’t have all my homework done.
Hopefully I’ll have more time to write. Talk to you guys later!
with my books and my blog. Thanks for your support.

My Hat (aka. My Brother's Hat)

                Avon has just started selling what they are calling “Foxy fedora” (Product number 532-025 price $24) it’s adorable don’t get me wrong, but I started wearing my brothers fedora before I started seeing models wearing them.

The Story Behind the Hat

First it was my brother’s hat, then he out-grew it about the same time I started abducting it from his room to wear it around the house until he would take it back. Then to my immense joy, he tried to put it on right after he took it from me one time, and it was ever so slightly too small, (just enough for him to look a little goofy, but not enough for him to notice by the feeling of it.) When I hinted he could give it to me, he said “no”. When I continued to push it and suggested that he could give it to me as a gift, (Christmas was on the way) he smirked as he put the hat away. That Christmas I found the Fedora with a ribbon wrapped around it and a bow; it didn’t need a label for everyone to know who it was to and from.

Not Even Hate

Keep your life,

The way you want it to be

Keep your life

Happiness is the key

Do what you want to

Act like no one sees you.

Just keep yourself

Away from me.

Once upon a time

A long time ago,

You walked into my life

And over my heart

Like I had no feelings

The only thing I have no feelings for

Is you.

You broke my life

You ruined my heart

You twisted my dreams.

I wanted to see you

Burn in Hell

Now guess I’m over it.

Don’t get me wrong

I haven’t forgiven you,

There are just some things

A woman can’t get over

I just have realized

You’re not worth the time

To wish you ill

(That’s the devil’s job,

I’ll let him deal with you.)

‘Cause once upon a time,

A long time ago

You walked into my life

And stomped on my heart

I have no feelings left

For you

Not even hate.

You broke my dreams,

You twisted my life

You ruined my heat

Now I guess I’m over it.

I had my cry

You had your say

Now just go away.

Kids

Running, jumping,

Kicking, screaming.

The noise is pounding in my head

In an uneven beat

Like the drummer is stoned and dying from the heat.

Skipping, struggling,

Lying on the floor

Climbing, ripping, tearing

Please don’t eat that please!

My nerves are fraying

My back is aching

I think I might fall over from thirst.

I don’t dare stop to rest,

For fear of what might happen lest

I take my eyes off of you.

Why do I concern myself?

Why do I care?

Because I would feel terrible

If they fell down the stair.

They’re not my kids,

Not even close

So do I let them do this to me?

"This was my week..."

Well, I can’t really make up my mind on whether or not my week was a good one or not.

  On Monday I did the usual house cleaning that I do every first Monday of the month. I washed the bed sheets, just like every Monday, and I made reminder calls to my Avon customers who hadn’t placed any orders this campaign, which this time was everyone, with the exception of my Mama. It was bizarre; did anyone else get the memo about this Monday being, Don’t-Pick-Up-Your-Phone Monday? I kid you not, nobody picked up, and by noon I had placed my order consisting of my order and my Mama’s order without a call back from any of my customers. After I placed the order one customer called to say she didn’t want anything.

  Tuesday was a little bit better. I registered for my college classes, and remarkably enough, I got enough Units to be a full time student and I’m not on any waitlists! I know; I was shocked too.

  Wednesday nothing of import really happened, I put some of the new brochures on some of my customer’s doorsteps.

  Thursday was my Papa’s birthday, and I made cupcakes for him. I also put an Avon brochure in laundry mat that Mama goes to, it’s the end of the first week for Campaign 17 and I’ve only gotten rid of a few booklets. I’m not very pleased with myself, but I can’t really help it. I also found out that I got my first on-line customer order: Mama, shocker. I’m grateful that she ordered, if one customer orders every campaign, it cancels the fee Avon charges for me to have an on-line store; but...it’s still Mama.

  So I feel pretty worthless, but I’m going to keep on working, like I always do.

The Office

Stapling and taping

Stapling and taping

Try to connect the pieces

Which left in alone would stay separated.

Dialing and holding

Dialing an holding

Reaching out, only to wait

Until your message has no consequence.

Driving and stopping

Driving and stopping

Our destination is reached

Once we have been halted on our way.

Understanding life

Understanding work

Barring the arduousness of the repetition

We learn to revel in the insensibility of it at all.

Fairy Gardens

                This is a short story that I entered into the OC Fair, and I have received a letter in the mail requesting my presents at the Awards Ceremony to accept my award! (Happy scream!) My sewn apron also won. Today I also passed my Driving Test. I'm very pleased with myself today.

      ***

       The exhaust fumes floated up to Cynthia from the highway in a steady flow of hot stinking air, the fairy covered her mouth to stifle her cough. Most fairies didn’t go near the place, but she liked to watch the lights. She was flying about a thousand feet in the air when the feeling of her very soul being shredded came without warning. It was so over powering she froze and began to plummet to the Earth.

  Through the pain, Cynthia found her senses and forced her wings back open. Her eyes watered as her wings strained against the rushing air to slow her fall. Finding a light breeze, she used it to help her steer away from the deadly highway and towards some houses not too far from the road.

  Using the dim light from a street lamp, the fairy spotted the front yard of a house with long grass and she was maneuvering her way to it when she felt another rip inside her. The little fairy’s heart beat faster than her wings as she struggled to keep from crashing. Thankfully the grass acted as a net and kept her from being injured when she crash landed.

  Cynthia’s breathing was short and ragged as she lay still in the grass. She hadn’t felt this degree of agony in over three hundred years. It could mean only one thing, her garden was being destroyed. An equal dose of anger and fear filled her, giving her enough strength to stand and leap back into the air and fly to her garden.

  Cynthia’s garden was just down the street from where she had landed. She was able to keep down the pain of the garden’s destruction and concentrate on getting there. In just a few moments her garden was in sight, in reality it was just an abandoned property, but wherever there are growing plants: there is a fairy that guards and tends them. After the humans had left the house, the first thing she did was make it inaccessible by growing trees and bushes in front of the doors and windows to keep the local teenaged delinquents and realtors out.

  As she approached it, she could see one teenage boy throwing stones at the windows, hurting her bushes in the process. A boy and a girl were at the edge of the property, acting as scouts while they guzzled down some beers, throwing the empty cans to the ground. The worst of the worst was a boy who was swinging on the branch of her orange tree. There were two other branches on her tree that were hanging by mere splinters to the trunk. White hot rage filled Cynthia and she burst out of her fairy body and into her most powerful guardian form.

** *

 “What was that?” the one teen girl asked looking around.

  “What are you talkin’ ‘bout Kim?” Mark asked.

  “I thought I heard a fire cracker.”

  “I didn’t hear it,” the boy replied.

  “Hey Lawrence,” Bobby hooted, “Take it easy there.”

  Kim and Mark looked over to where Lawrence was swinging on the tree.

  “Boy, he sure found a good branch this time,” said the girl.

  “Yeah, I’ll say.” Mark replied. It was too dark for either of them to see the haze hovering over the base of the groaning branch.

* * *

Cynthia was making the branch more flexible, allowing the boy to swing farther and farther, without breaking it. Once she was sure the swinging boy had attained the undivided attention of his companions, in the peak of his next swing, she made some pointy twigs grow up beneath his hands. He let go with a yelp and was sent flying right into his stone throwing friend. They fell into a heap. Cynthia whizzed over and had some weeds grow over and around their legs, binding them to the ground. After their first attempts to get up failed, the two drinking came over to help them, leaving the six packs behind.

  Cynthia felt giddy; this couldn’t be going better if she had planned it. Floating over to all the beer, she used her will to create small holes in the bottom of the unopened cans. Once the rotten liquid leached out of the cans and into the soil, she gathered up the moisture and forced every drop through the ground and gather where the humans were still struggling with the weeds.

* * *

  “What the hell!” Kim exclaimed as she slipped and fell, landing her elbow in someone’s stomach and her face in the mud.

  “Watch it,” Lawrence shouted whose stomach she had hit.

  She spat out a mouthful of mud.

  “You look like a raccoon,” Bobby giggled till his face turned red. He’d taken a hit of acid before joining his friends so he could avoid sharing.

  Kim wiped her muddy hand across his face, but he still wouldn’t stop giggling.

  “What in the world,” she muttered as she spat out some more mud.

  “What is it?” Mark asked.

  “Get off of me,” Lawrence said trying to push her off.

  “The mud tastes like beer,” Kim replied rolling away from Lawrence.

  “I think you’ve had a few too many.”

* * *

* * * 

  “I swear you guys, I’ve opened only two beers and I haven’t even finished the second one yet,” Kim was saying as she led the others over to the drinks.

  “Yeah, right,” Lawrence said, rubbing his bruised arm.

  “Hey guys, what the heck,” Mark asked.

  “What?”   

  “These are all empty.”

  “That’s not possible,” Lawrence said.

  “Check it out for yourself,” Mark tossed him twelve cans bound together with one finger.

  “What are we going to do now?” Lawrence whined after he weighed the cans with one hand.

  “Go out and buy some more, dummy,” Bobby replied.

  “No, I’m calling it a night, this is getting too weird,” Kim said. She held up her keys. “If you guys don’t want to walk, pile in now.”

* * *

  Cynthia watched the humans make their way out of her garden, leaving their garbage behind. Her anger flared up again; had they learned nothing?

  Summoning up a wind, she sent all the cans flying, and the waste chased the teens out of her garden.