My Favorite Mistake Essay

“Come on!” I thought. My brother’s car needed some serious repair, so we were working on it. The axle needed a lot of help. “Let’s go eat some lunch,” my brother said. I put down the quart of oil, and followed him inside.

I left the house, feeling much more full, and I was greeted by my blondish dog, who looked very happy in a… mischievous way. I rubbed her head a little, and I noticed that her forelegs and chest were a different color. Darker. More brown than blonde. I knelt down and felt them. They were slick, oily. I looked over at the driveway, the car — the quart of oil. It was on its side, with its cap chewed off. Oil was everywhere. Droplets had been flung across the entire driveway,and the surrounding area. I stood still. My heart couldn’t decide to start pounding at its full strength, or to stop altogether. “Oh no…” I mouthed to myself. Making a halfhearted effort to put a positive spin on it. There was nothing positive about this. My head lowered. My stomach sank. What have I done?

We went inside, told my mom (I’ve never seen eyes bulge so much), and spent the next hour scrubbing and hosing the dog (outside). At the end of that hour, nothing had changed. Not even dish washing detergent, so renowned for its ability or cut through oil, could help.

She was still the same. Slick. Oily.

We decided it was time for some help. We took her to the beauty parlor where she would get a more powerful washing. Two hours later, we received a call. “We are afraid to scrub or brush her any more. She already has a rash from too much scrubbing. We are unable to remove any oil.”

She was still the same. Slick. Oily.

Not only was she oily, everything she touched became oily too! The rash stayed about five days, and all of the oil trapped dirt so she became even dirtier very easily. Dirt migrated to dog. Dog migrated to house. House turned dark. Shoes turned dark. Socks turned dark. Feet turned dark. Mops, brooms, chairs, anything that touched the floor. They all were brown. Finally, about two weeks later, it gradually began to disappear.

She was no longer quite so slick. Quite so oily.

At the time, it was kind of funny, but in retrospect, she could have hurt herself a lot more than she did. You can’t be too careful around children and dogs. Almost everything could be potentially dangerous. I learned that the hard way, and was lucky not to learn it the harder way.

Quick Write: PitFall

This is just a quick scenario. I never actually finished the entry.

I stooped low, no longer able to stand upright, due to this narrowing, dark, sultry, dungeon of a cave. Still, it wasn’t going that badly, and I needed the artifact.

That’s when the ground opened up.

I scrabbled for a hold on the walls, rocks tumbling all about; the air whistled whistled louder, louder, as I fell, faster faster. My eyes watered, my limbs flailed… And then I relaxed.

After all, there wasn’t much I could do about it.

I became acutely aware of every indentation, every imperfection in the stone around me, despite the fact that it was whizzing past me so fast, my eyes barely recognized what they saw. I couldn’t hear anything, despite the boulders bouncing and scraping on the walls. It was almost peaceful… quiet… serene.

I waited for something to happen.

Halloween Front porch.

Johnny had gotten his pillowcase half full of Halloween candy. He came to the next house, already on a sugar high, though he wasn’t nearly done getting his beloved candy yet.

This next house seemed different from the rest. It wasn’t decorated, nor did it seem inhabited.
As Johnny walked up the steps, he began to feel as if he was moving backward even though he clearly wasn’t. He looked down and he could have sworn he saw the ground churning beneath his feet, though he knew it was only his imagination. He began to see faces in the old, mottled bricks that made the walls of the house. It seemed as if they were pressed against the wall, straining to get out.

Despite all this, he kept moving, determined to get his candy.

Suddenly, the feeling of moving backward reversed. He flew toward the door. The ground, no longer thrashing aimlessly, began to methodically roll him closer to the house. Panicked, he scrambled to get away, but it’s hard to run when the very ground is working against you. The faces in the bricks stopped straining and started grinning as if expecting a long awaited dinner. They were famished. A delicious ten year old would do nicely.

Slowly,

Ever so slowly,

The front door creaked open…