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Kids These Days
On a bright summer morning there was an old man sitting on his chair outside, breathing in the fresh scent of water from the melted snow that made puddles on his green lawn. He was doing what most elderly people would do; dipping dry, yet sweet biscotti in his warm black current tea, and looking around his lovely yard. He watched as the lime-green trees were waving in the soft breeze, and if he ever remembers to turn up his hearing he could hear the birds chirping to each other. The old man could even hear the bees buzzing by the lilac tree that bloomed white and purple flowers.
He listened to these heavenly sounds everyday and was beautiful until suddenly he heard a loud beating noise from every corner of the street. It confused the old man. He thought, "It is finally my time," and he gazed up at the shining blue sky. He has been staring at the sky for a few minutes now and became very impatient. "Why aren't I dead yet," he yelled. He put his head down gaping at the other side of the road. His only thoughts were curses on what was over there. Engines roared and the old man twitched. His lips curled, goose bumps stuck out of his skin, eyes sharpened, and even his hair stood up; he angrily shouted at the teenagers to shut up.
