Today I am deviating from my usual posts on chocolate and writing to participate in a wonderful project.
Give a young child crayons and paper( large paper for the smallest writers) and they will be happy for hours. These first scribbles are your child's 1st attempt at writing.
Today’s post is part of a Choose Your Own Adventure Story written and hosted by T. Isenhoff and M. Isenhoff on their Storyboys blog. T. is in 3rd grade, and M. is in 6th grade. This story was their winter homeschool project. Travel over to their blog to start at the beginning. Have fun!
Tony’s flashlight swept the darkness of the tunnel. There crawling toward them was a giant black tarantula. “Aw, gumbo!” Tony shouted.
The boys tumbled out of the cupboard, choosing death by fist over death by spider.
“There you are, punks!” Meatloaf screamed, charging toward them with his spiky red and blue hair and fists the size of milk jugs. “You’re dead meat!”
“Run!” Tony yelled and made a beeline for the door, but Ed was frozen to the spot. In his fear, he dropped the package of cookies, spilling Oreos everywhere. Meatloaf came on like a freight train, sliding on the cookies, unable to stop. He slammed into the sideboard and hit his head on the corner. Then he dropped to the floor and lay still.
“Is he dead?” Tony asked from the doorway. Ed was still as a statue. Tony came back and smacked him on the back of the head. “Wake up, dude. You just killed Meatloaf with a package of Oreos.”
Ed dropped to one knee and felt for a pulse. “He’s alive,” he said with relief.
Tony grabbed the root beer. He took a swig then splashed a little on Meatloaf’s face. The bully spluttered and opened his eyes. “Who are you? Who am I? Where are we?”
Tony glanced at Ed with a look of surprise. Then he grinned. “Your name is Justin Beiber,” he said, “and we’re your best friends. We’ll help you remember everything.”
Tony helped Meatloaf up and put a friendly arm around his shoulders. As they walked out of the room, he said, “For starters, your favorite singer is Lady Gaga. You dress up as a giant chicken at the Cluck Bucket restaurant, and you owe me fifty bucks. Let’s go see if we can find your costume...”