Chad Jones: the Bad

I sit on the porch swing, my back, as curved as a boomerang. I can watch the road and everything that past my home if you can even call it a home.

The cold November wind flies past me, cutting my cheeks with its claws of ice, and so I quickly zip up my hoodie. I hate wearing my hoodie, I hate having to leave my room because Mom and her boyfriend are arguing on the phone.

I hate life.

My phone buzzes, which I take out and unlock the screen. It’s Becca.

Chapter Two     

I know I'm not really supposed to bring my cat into the house since Steve (my stepdad) is allergic, but................everyone was gone and I couldn't resist. I got up form the computer and went outside and whistled and called her a few times. M-kity came trotting out from underneath one of the vehicles and curled around my ankles. (Yes, my cat does come when I whistle and call her name-usually) I picked her up and carried her in the house and sat back down on the computer and alternated petting her and typing. She reciprocated by purring and kneading my legs very hard.

Chapter Nine

A white bundle of fur behind those big brown eyes
A black nose and pink tongue that pleases when one cries
A big paw that taps your lap when you sit
A wagging tail, twitching ears, excited barks and a sweet lick

Wanting nothing but love and care and kisses and hugs,
My good and loyal friend, Falkor, the best, best, pup.
I say “dance”, but instead he rolls upon the floor
I say “beg”, but he sits and gives one paw.