words

Back in the day when people say "mouse," everybody body think of the black little animal. But today it

means a part of a computer. But who cares?!?!? I love eagles! They fly so majestically and they are such exuberant creatures. The Bald Eagle is the bird of America, It represents freedom, and majesty, and exuberence.  If you don't love eagles then you aren't an American!  I adopted an eagle from a local national park. It was my prized possesion. I would go to the park and spend hours upon hours looking for my eagle. and when I found it, I would exuberantly tell everyone in the park that that Eagle, was my eagle. It was mine and they couldn't have it. I didn't even want them to look at it. I was very protective of my eagle.

But one morning when I woke up, the eagle wasn't in its normal perch in my room! I frantically searched for my friend the eagle, whom I had named Tecle. I then heard many explosions outside at that moment. I ran outside and saw craters in my lawn, and looked up for my eagle! There he was, flying in circles above my lawn, dropping bombs everywhere. I wondered "where does an eagle even get bombs?" but i quickly realized; he had joined Al Qaeda and supported their cause. I realized the irony of this situation; the idol of the American spirit had joined the enemy!! I frantically ran inside, being careful to avoid any shrapnel

As the bombs were exploding a cowboy rises out of the sand in our sand box and shoots the eagle the eagle plumets to earth, and hits a kid across the street in the head knocking him out. So the cowboy goes to tend to him when suddenly the sand begins to rise and take shape of what looks to be an alien. The alien walks to me as the cow boy returns. The alien says you have been selected to fight in an intergalaxtic tournament.

"Can this be real?" I wonder, but before the thought even has time to settle into my brain like new tenants in their apartment, I find myself whisked within a giant rink shaped like the Coliseum.  There in front of me is an alien holding a red cape, just like the matadors do in Spain, and shouting rises from the stands like heat, urging me to charge the caped alien.  I have no idea why I should charge him, but the excitment and adrenaline that pulsates through the air encourages me to attack.  As I run, my boots slapping against the soft sand of the arena, I duck my head low as I prepare to tackle the cape with all the force of a linebacker. Yet before I can drive my shoulder hard, I feel myself skewered like a pineapple on a toothpick as the alien stabs something sharp through my boots, lifting me high into the air.