I remember ever so sharply the more distant moments of my past.  I can remember far back to my first years of consciousness, perhaps 3 or 4 years old.  I could not comprehend even what age was at the time, but I could remember the finest details of our somewhat old and rundown, yet ever so familiar home.  I could recall the dreamlike sharpness of the silver faucet in our kitchen sink, the brownish tinge of the soft carpet beneath my feet, and the flare of the bleeding-blue sky outside my window.  There was the greatest satisfaction in the simplest of things, from the mere planting of a cornstalk to the feeding of ducks and fishes.  I cared less for the future and more for the moment.  Each day held a new surprise.  Baby birds would occasionally fall from the tree in the front lawn.  Frogs and crickets could be found in the backyard if one searched hard enough.  The world was unbounded.  One day I found myself finally able to ride...[More]

  "Son! You need to get your grades up!" my mother exclaimed loudly.  She paced across the room and glanced repeatedly back at me, anxious to see my reaction but disappointed at my blank stare.  "You will become a failure! Nobody will give you a job!"

  I did not understand; I had almost straight As - perhaps one B.  I opened my mouth to protest, but immediately she thrust her finger into my right eye.

  "Son! Why do you have a scar on your cheek? Wash it off!"

  I stared...[More]

  "How many fingers am I holding?" he asked peevishly. He waved his hand madly in the air as if doing so would make his hand more visible.

  In broad daylight, it was easy to see that he held up all five fingers; whether he held them intentionally or he simply waved his entire hand carelessly, it was not clear. It did not matter what answer was given or if any was given to him at all. If I suggested five, he would merely insist the thumb was not a finger; if I suggested four, he would say otherwise. If I did not answer or I answered wrong, I'd just be blind.

  Sometimes people forget that I was once able to see just as well as any of them. When much younger and not ruined by misadvice and overwork, not being able to see was unheard of; it was inconceivable. Warned as we were, told to be on the watch for any signs of blur or fatigue, none of us could imagine the seemingly distant notion actually becoming reality. Seeing was a divine right, an...[More]

   Fearless it was.  Covered on all ends with a stubbly patched but thorn-riddled coat, intricately yet thickly woven, it was protected, shielded, nothing could harm it.  Its smooth, lumpy coat, designed with elaborate earthly brown patches and forest-green rings, provided its camouflage to hide it amidst the wilderness.  Scattered about its coat, finely embroidered, leaf-like blades stood dangerously perked, ready to defend and retaliate.  Tall and proud it stood, towering over the fellow fruits, a frizzy batch of foliage attached sleazily about its top to further boost its height.  How strong it must have felt, ready to face the harshest of treatment, the worst of cruelty.

   How wrong it was.  With a heavy thud, it crashed and rolled about the tabletop, helpless on its side, rolling hopelessly without an end.  With a simple plunge of the knife, blade delving deep, the coat was split.  Restrained by nothing more than my bare hands, the leafy blades...[More]

        The great and powerful tree stood proud and tall.   The rebels of men shuddered under its might.   For centuries, man has struggled in vain against the growing power of trees, but now, man has gathered enough strength, enough courage, to rid themselves of the trees once and for all!

        And so the tree deployed its minions, the grassblades, against the evercoming rebels.   The men roared and screamed at the sight of the seemingly infinite number of enemies before them.   At last, they realized to their horror; they were painfully outnumbered.

        But fear not! For the rebels had been well prepared and a secret weapon was at their disposal.   One of the lowly rebels scurried quickly and returned with the long awaited... lawnmower.   And with this lawnmower, the rebels advanced, plowing through the endless fields of grass, charging through flying grassroots and chunks of dirt and mud.

 ...[More]

         This is a true story...

         So there was a short lil' guy named Bob and this tiny little  kit-cat named Tom.   Tom was hungry one day and Bob didn't have any  water.   Tom begged for food, but Bob said  no so the tiny cat scratched him.   Bob tried to call for help, but accidentally swallowed his hat.

         A huge ugly dog named Jack came along, but his real name was Bob.   Bob tried to feed the dog to Tom the lil' cat, but Jackbob tried to scare the cat.   Bob then became angry and Tom got  angry too.   Tom didn't know why he was angry  so he started chasing Bob around, but Bob was angry that Tom was angry because he was angry, so he started chasing Jackbob the dog.

    ...[More]

Choose-your-own-adventure short story I wrote way back in 7th grade for Young Authors program, back when I still hand-illustrated things and bound books by hand.  Very short, basically a one-month assignment in class.