Lindsey Charlotte


Perspective 1:

I was at my kitchen table eating Lucky Charms.

Lucky Charms are my favorite cereal. I hate the grain bits, but the marshmallows are just so good. 

My mom says I have to eat the grain bits, but I disagree. If the dog likes them more than me, he should have them.

I had just eaten the red balloon charm, which is my totally the best one, because the box says it gives you the power to float.  I think it tastes like strawberry. 

I haven’t learned to fly yet, but it’s coming. Sometimes when I fall asleep, I feel really light, so it’s only a matter of days before I float up out of my bed. Maybe I’ll go all the way up to the moon if I eat enough of them.

When I had just eaten the marshmallow balloon, my mom was in the kitchen behind me. She likes to look out the window while I eat and she cleans dishes. I can’t complain, because then she doesn’t ever see me pass gross food to the dog.

Out of nowhere, she screamed. I heard a plate break and my dog jumped back. I think I heard my dog scream too.

I was horrified. My mom must have figured out I only ate the marshmallows. 

I quickly mixed up my cereal again, getting rid of all the hard work it took to separate it into two piles, and shoved a big, disgusting, grainy spoonful into my mouth.

I think she bought it because she ran up and hugged me. She was crying, so I guess she was super proud of me for listening. She told me to stay seated and walked really slowly back to the window, but I knew it was a test, so as she peeked out I ate another bite of my cereal. She can’t fool me.

I heard a gasp and a sigh and she ran back to me again, crying even harder. It was almost school time, but she said I shouldn’t go outside, and I had earned a day off. 

I must be the sneakiest person alive because she didn’t suspect a thing, and I got to eat dinner in front of the TV that night like it was nothing. 

Totally cool.


Perspective 2:


You know me. 

The whole world does,

Hundreds of humans

Hear me hiss

Hear me cry.


I was whisking by an apartment complex,

When the man ripped through me

I returned his scream to his ears.


I saw him fall, 

And I tried to cushion the concrete, 

To rise and swirl around his form.


To no avail.

Our screaming got louder

The world seemed to sing along.


A man on the ground;

A woman in a window.

The concrete itself


Called for us to stop,

And the screaming did,

Replaced with a solemn silence.


As I hissed down the street

A sobbing started.

But it soon stopped.


I just kept moving.

Hundreds of humans

Hear me hiss,

Hear me cry.

Sometimes they cry back


Perspective 3:

A thin man stood on a rooftop, tears streaming down his sunken cheeks. His pale form was jarring against the deep red of the bricks below him. 

The sky was clear, cloudless, a deep blue that you could get lost in. 

A pigeon flapped past, unaided by the still air. Below, stragglers wandered by, worker ants with commutes to make.

The man stared at this, at all of this, but didn’t see it, blinded by the tears clouding his once-blue eyes. He seemed to be pleading, babbling little nothings beneath his trembling breath. His hair was a ragged black mop that hadn’t seen a brush in days, his face scarred by acne that had long since passed. 

His yellowing nails dug into his palms as his knuckles turned an even brighter shade of white. The note in his hand, addressed to his girlfriend, began to crumple and tear. 

The wind started to flow, picking at his pitted skin and wiping his tears from his cheeks. It whisked away the words he shouted, words indicated only by the seething jealousy in his lips. His bony frame was clear beneath his billowing clothing.

He ran with all the speed he could muster. He was a flash against the all-consuming brickwork, a screaming flash.

He launched himself.

But I pushed him back, away from me, towards the edge. He was light as I pushed, still, he fell down with the whistling wind. I heard noise as people watched, as dogs barked, as he caught the concrete below.

I didn’t see him fall. 

My focus was on the letter, bearing my neat print, which had failed to fall alongside him and now floated upwards in the gust of air. I grabbed its remnants from the grasp of the raging wind before dropping to lay my shaking body on the ground.

The blue sky hadn’t changed. It really was the type of sky you could float into, never to be seen again.


Envoyé: 19:27 Fri, 22 March 2024 by : Lindsey Charlotte age : 16