I hate being sick.
Especially when you have a sore throat- itís torture. You can`t talk,
and when you try, it hurts like youíre gargling knives. I know this
sounds crazy, but Iíd rather be at school. I mean, Iíd rather be doing
something than laying on your bed and staring at the ceiling, hoping
that your sickness will go away soon.
It is SO boring.
Mom just left to drop Rylie off to school. Lucky Rylie. Rylieís the kind
of kid that gets sick every two years. In fact, I can`t remember the
last time he stayed home sick. Iím the kind of kid that gets sick every
four weeks, I know, it sucks.
Being home alone is scary, Really, it is. Youíre all alone, and it feels
like a monster is going to jump at you. Iím not exactly completely home
alone, though, I have our small dog Raisin. But Raisin is two times the
wimp than I am, and is fat and lazy. I keep looking towards my closet,
just in case something might pop out at me.
I get tired easily when I am sick. But I canít go to sleep, because my
nose is so clogged up, and I really donít like breathing through my
mouth, especially when I am asleep. What if some bug gets dropped in
your mouth? Ewww, gross.
I suddenly hear a creaking sound. I jump a little. Just the piping, itís
just the piping. I sound like my Dad when Rylie gets scared at night,
but I don`t care.
Suddenly I hear a moaning, groaning sound. My heart beats, and I race
through my mind trying to think of a excuse for that. Maybe itís...maybe
itís the wind? Okay, now Iím just acting stupid.
Why donít I go and check, and prove to my wimpy self that itís nothing?
Good idea. I groggily get up, and blow my nose on a nearby tissue and
open my door. The lights are all off, and my hallway gets creepy
sometimes, especially when the lights are all off. A monster could hide
Snap out of it, I tell myself. I walk down the hall, and hear the
groaning sound again. Uh-oh.
I go downstairs, and the sound gets louder. So loud I feel like the
source of the sound is right next to me.
I peer into each room as I pass by. Downstairs bathroom-nothing. Living
room-nothing. Kitchen-hey. Wait a second.
My heart leaps as I see a dark lump of something beside Mom`s vanilla
cake on the dining table. Everyone knows how much Mom`s cake is to die
for. I tip-toe towards the table, and I gasp so hard it hurts.
I almost yell out in relief. My naughty puppy was eating our cake, and
the creaking sound was him getting onto the dining table, which probably
couldnít hold my dogís fatness. (Sorry, Raisin, but you are a little big
for a puppy). The groaning was Raisin after he ate more than half a
I carry the heavy Raisin out of the kitchen, and close the door. I go up
to my room, and keep my ears open.