Julie and the Three Carpeks
Today was just an average day. I sat on the mailbox, which belonged to three grouches, the Carpeks. A soft wind rustled leaves on the apartment's steps, while someone was making something abominable in the kitchen. I flew to the windowsill.
"Is my breakfast ready?" yelled Mr. Carpek in his loud country voice. Mrs. Carpek yelled back, "Only six more minutes!" She groaned and continued to cook the pancakes.
About that time, the smallest Carpek, Matthew, stumbled down the stairs.
"Momma! I'm hungry!" he whined. He had Mr. Carpek's accent. Even though they lived in New York, Mr. Carpek and Matthew had kept their Alabaman accents. Matthew slumped down on the couch to watch his daily dose of cartoons.
" Breakfast is ready!" shrieked Mrs. Carpek as Matthew and his dad wobbled to the kitchen table and sat down. They had eggs, bacon, oatmeal, and sausage. It looked good, but it smelled horrid. Mrs. Carpek poured the coffee and orange juice.
"Honey, these eggs are a bit overcooked," commented Mr. Carpek. They probably were.
"Well, too bad!" Mrs. Carpek snapped back.
"Mommy, these eggs are floppy like bologna!
"Eat it anyway!" she groaned. She sipped her orange juice. An eerie smile appeared on her face. She looked into her mug. She frowned.
"Time to go, Matthew! You too, Doug!" Mrs. Carpek said quickly. They were out the door faster than Mr. Carpek could eat fifteen cheeseburgers and a cola. There was only one thing they forgot. They forgot to lock the door. Soon after they left, I fell asleep.
I awoke with a startle as a little blond girl skipped across the road. "She's probably one of Matthew's friends," I told myself. She stepped up to the porch and rang the doorbell. There was no reply. She tried opening the door. When she found that it was unlocked, she wandered in, probably curious why no one opened the door.
"Hello!" she cried. No one answered. She found her way to the kitchen.
"Yummy! Bacon!" She stuffed her face. She swallowed it and choked for a second. Then the little girl said, "That bacon was too floppy." She tried the eggs.
"These eggs are overcooked." She found the ketchup on the placemat in the center. She drank about half of it and said, "I love ketchup," In that Mr. Carpek type voice. She sampled everything before she went upstairs to sleep. I also went to sleep.
Crash! The little girl had dropped the plate of eggs all over the floor. She shrugged, and laid her head on the table. Soon after, she fell asleep. A bright red van drove up. The Carpeks got out.
"Mommy I'm hungry!" complained Matthew, before they even got to the door.
"Well, deal with it!" was her reply. They paraded to the door and walked in. Mr. Carpek wandered in the kitchen.
Honey, someone has been eating my pickle and anchovy salad!" exclaimed Mr. Carpek. Sure enough, the little girl had been eating that slop for dinner. Matthew and his mother trotted into the kitchen.
"Oh dear! My new china!" shrieked Mrs. Carpek at her so-called china. The girl had spilled the pickle-slop all over the dirty broken plastic plates.
"Mommy, why is Julie sleeping in my chair?" The Carpeks stood back and watched the girl, Julie, sleep. She mumbled something, belched and continued to drool and snore. Mrs. Carpek screamed and dialed 911 on her cell phone. Her scream woke Julie up. It was getting late, so I flew back to my nest.
The next morning, sitting on their mailbox, I heard the news.
"Mommy, why did Julie go to jail?" questioned Matthew. That was the last I heard about the little girl. Since birds don't have very good hearing, I missed the rest of the conversation. Well, it was kind of absurd, but it was true! And so that ended the morning when Mr. Carpek yelled, " Scram, bird!" at me when I sat on the mailbox.
Ruthie Proctor
Today was just an average day. I sat on the mailbox, which belonged to three grouches, the Carpeks. A soft wind rustled leaves on the apartment's steps, while someone was making something abominable in the kitchen. I flew to the windowsill.
"Is my breakfast ready?" yelled Mr. Carpek in his loud country voice. Mrs. Carpek yelled back, "Only six more minutes!" She groaned and continued to cook the pancakes.
About that time, the smallest Carpek, Matthew, stumbled down the stairs.
"Momma! I'm hungry!" he whined. He had Mr. Carpek's accent. Even though they lived in New York, Mr. Carpek and Matthew had kept their Alabaman accents. Matthew slumped down on the couch to watch his daily dose of cartoons.
" Breakfast is ready!" shrieked Mrs. Carpek as Matthew and his dad wobbled to the kitchen table and sat down. They had eggs, bacon, oatmeal, and sausage. It looked good, but it smelled horrid. Mrs. Carpek poured the coffee and orange juice.
"Honey, these eggs are a bit overcooked," commented Mr. Carpek. They probably were.
"Well, too bad!" Mrs. Carpek snapped back.
"Mommy, these eggs are floppy like bologna!
"Eat it anyway!" she groaned. She sipped her orange juice. An eerie smile appeared on her face. She looked into her mug. She frowned.
"Time to go, Matthew! You too, Doug!" Mrs. Carpek said quickly. They were out the door faster than Mr. Carpek could eat fifteen cheeseburgers and a cola. There was only one thing they forgot. They forgot to lock the door. Soon after they left, I fell asleep.
I awoke with a startle as a little blond girl skipped across the road. "She's probably one of Matthew's friends," I told myself. She stepped up to the porch and rang the doorbell. There was no reply. She tried opening the door. When she found that it was unlocked, she wandered in, probably curious why no one opened the door.
"Hello!" she cried. No one answered. She found her way to the kitchen.
"Yummy! Bacon!" She stuffed her face. She swallowed it and choked for a second. Then the little girl said, "That bacon was too floppy." She tried the eggs.
"These eggs are overcooked." She found the ketchup on the placemat in the center. She drank about half of it and said, "I love ketchup," In that Mr. Carpek type voice. She sampled everything before she went upstairs to sleep. I also went to sleep.
Crash! The little girl had dropped the plate of eggs all over the floor. She shrugged, and laid her head on the table. Soon after, she fell asleep. A bright red van drove up. The Carpeks got out.
"Mommy I'm hungry!" complained Matthew, before they even got to the door.
"Well, deal with it!" was her reply. They paraded to the door and walked in. Mr. Carpek wandered in the kitchen.
Honey, someone has been eating my pickle and anchovy salad!" exclaimed Mr. Carpek. Sure enough, the little girl had been eating that slop for dinner. Matthew and his mother trotted into the kitchen.
"Oh dear! My new china!" shrieked Mrs. Carpek at her so-called china. The girl had spilled the pickle-slop all over the dirty broken plastic plates.
"Mommy, why is Julie sleeping in my chair?" The Carpeks stood back and watched the girl, Julie, sleep. She mumbled something, belched and continued to drool and snore. Mrs. Carpek screamed and dialed 911 on her cell phone. Her scream woke Julie up. It was getting late, so I flew back to my nest.
The next morning, sitting on their mailbox, I heard the news.
"Mommy, why did Julie go to jail?" questioned Matthew. That was the last I heard about the little girl. Since birds don't have very good hearing, I missed the rest of the conversation. Well, it was kind of absurd, but it was true! And so that ended the morning when Mr. Carpek yelled, " Scram, bird!" at me when I sat on the mailbox.
Ruthie Proctor