Comment Summary

Today I read three wonderful stories all inspired by unique objects. One was written inspired by a pocket watch, another about a coffee stick, and the last was based on Cuban cigars. Each story brought a wonderful and creative take to their individual object and captured the readers attention. I especially like how Emma was influenced from several bits of information and objects from her real life. It made the story more interesting and helped personalize the story. Overall, every post I read today was very good and I enjoyed reading all of them!

Emma H.

Hello there,
This story was very entertaining. You had great voice throughout and gave a good perspective of an interesting tale. I loved how the different aspects of this story related to real events and objects in your life. I look forward to seeing more of your work!
Sincerely,
Ben LeMon

Taylor D.
Hello there,
I enjoyed your story immensely. You kept me intrigued throughout the story. I loved how you incorporated the coffee stick into it! Your writing style was perfect for the tone of the paper and it allowed for a story that was easy to follow and fast paced. Thank you for sharing!
Ben LeMon

Zachary B.
Hello there,
Thank you for such a interesting story. It was unique and caught my attention right away. I enjoyed your descriptive writing style and found your entire piece fascinating to read. Keep up the good work!
Ben LeMon

Rico Sanchez: Punting the Sweet Fantastic

                I walk up to Carl and ask for drugs. He says no. I say yes. I pull a knife on that bean bag and neck swoop his cripple legs out from under him. I put the knife to his neck, just close enough to make his spots bleed. His eyes are bulging, he is afraid, but I don’t stop. I need those drugs Carl. Carl died. I still need drugs though. My name is Rico Sanchez and I am a giraffe. This is my story.

                I wasn’t always like this though. I come from glorious giraffe beginnings. I was born and raised a safari man. From an early age I sought out the answers to life. I considered myself a student of Socrates, a book being written by the passages of time and read by the all-knowing lizard people. Nothing is meant to live forever though. After my stent as a philosopher I decided to become a cop. I joined the force. I thought it was my way out, my saving grace. Mom and Pop were proud. I’d never felt such joy in my giraffe legs before this moment. After I joined the force I was partnered with Owl Pichino. He was a real owl, always sticking to the books and busting my marbles, but dang was he a HOOT. After a night of patrol, me and Pichino head over to the bar, it was a real Boston joint, lots of jersey guys. After a few too many drinks Pichino opened up to me. He was in the war. I’m not sure, but during that conversation I could have sworn I saw a tear in his eye. I looked at him and he looked at me, after that it was an unspoken friendship, even though owls and giraffes are sworn enemies.

For once in my life I was happy, but just like everything I had to go and screw it up.  The first time I saw her I knew I had to have her. She was a real fox. Literally, but she was sworn to another man. Her name was Foxy Pichino. Forces inside me battled each other, my heart of hearts wanted to be loyal to Owl, but my second heart, or giraffe heart, lured me to Foxy. We had an affair. The guilt was unbearable, my prison was my shame. My love for Foxy consumed me and I went through some dark times. Peter Parker Spiderman 3 darkness does not compare. I tried to hang myself, but my neck was just too dang long. Eventually, I decided the only way out of this prison was to kill Owl, my partner, my friend, my brother.

One fateful night I finally couldn’t handle the guilt any longer. I planned to do it while we were on patrol in the south side. I was going to frame it to look like a thug raccoon killed Owl. I drove up to the spot and led him like a lamb to slaughter. I didn’t have the marbles to kill him to his face, so I closed my eyes and started swinging my neck. With a tear rolling down my neck I slapped Owl into oncoming traffic and he died. I guess that why they called him the night owl.

 Ironically, as I got out of one prison I entered another. They booked me, two life sentences back to back. Luckily, no one in the judicial system knew how to jail a giraffe. I was out in three years, but during my time in the slammer I learned valuable skills. This is when my life took a turn for the worse.

End of Girafft One

I am...Ben LeMon

I am…

I am…

a son, the youngest in my family, born and raised in Springfield, Mo

a brother to my sister, we have had are ups and downs, but I am lucky to have her

a church goer, spending Sundays at Campbell United Methodist, and attending Kanakuk Camps in the summers

a soccer player, defender, and teammate

a traveler, leaving my home behind to explore new lands with my family, I’ve been all over Europe, but hope to experience all of the world some day

I am…

pizza boxes and a can of soda

spaghetti being swirled by a fork

papers scrambled across my desk, clothes thrown on my bedroom floor

an afternoon nap on my couch, relaxing after a day at school 

a pair of headphones blasting music into my ears

buttons on a remote, being pressed with lazy hand gestures

I am…

blue eyes and light skin

shorts, long-sleeved shirts, and flip-flops

in my last year of high school

happily unemployed

average height with some growing still left to do