A/N: This was an English assignment we had to do where you write a homework excuse, and then when there's an assignment you can't finish you hand it in, and you get an extension on it! So here is it, hope you like it!
On Friday afternoon, I was walking home from school. I had much too much homework to bear, and I was exhausted from swaying on the subway for an hour. Trudging up my street, body sagging, I didn't notice the large blue recycling bin in the middle of the sidewalk. I stumbled into it, sprawling on the ground. Cans and bottles went flying. I picked myself up and glared at the house the bin belonged to. I shoved the bin and its flooded contents over to one side, glowering at the garden gnome on the front lawn. What right had he to be so jolly while I was so miserable? Without thinking, I stomped up to that flower-guardian, bent down, sneered in his face, and kicked him over. I smeared dirt on his cheeks, then spun and plodded home.
I finished my assignment just after dinner. I proudly read it over and placed it on the table where I wouldn't lose it. I patted it in satisfaction.
That evening, just as I was falling asleep, I felt a heavy weight suddenly fall on my chest. I gasped. Was I having a heart attack? That wasn't likely. I peered down in the darkness, and nearly shrieked in fright. Sitting on my duvet was a large garden gnome. Squinting around, I could see many others gathered around my bed. And I can tell you, these gnomes were not happy campers. Garden gnomes are cheery statues with chubby cheeks and noses, twinkly eyes, and wispy beards, right? Green and red hats like Santa's elves, with adorable jackets and trousers! Not these gnomes, no ma'am! These gnomes snarled at me, gnashing their teeth. They didn't look jolly at all.
"You kicked over our brother!" the gnome sitting on me accused. His voice was high and squeaky. "That was nasty, and we didn't like it, not in the least. We shall teach you a lesson so you know how it feels."
He waved his arms wildly and chanted words that resembled gibberish. Then we were all bathed in a brilliant burst of brightness.
When the intense light faded, I was outside. I whirled around. There was my house, my tree, my street. But why were they so big? My house was enormous! What was going on? I looked at the ground. It seemed much closer than usual. I squinted at my shoes.
"These aren't mine," I muttered. I prodded my clothes. I was wearing overalls and a jacket. I had a pointy hat on my head. Rubbing my chin in confusion, I yelped. There was a wispy white beard dangling there. I waddled over to a car parked on the street, looking at myself in the reflection. I was a garden gnome.
I wailed in horror. Spinning around, I could see other gnomes peeking out from behind cars, in bushes, up trees. They pointed and chuckled at me.
Abruptly, a clap of thunder came from the massive sky. Torrents of rain poured on my head. A car went by, splashing mud and water into my face. I rubbed my face wearily and tugged my hat over my eyes, curling up under a bush to wait for morning.
I woke to more chattering and laughter. A group of those trouble-brewers were yanking my beard and poking my belly. I shooed them away. They cackled cruelly as I crashed crossly out of the bush. As I stepped onto the sidewalk, four young children came skipping merrily by. They all stopped to poke my face and kick me over. I understood what the gnomes meant about being terrorized by so many people.
I surveyed the yard. I spotted a train of gnomes creeping into my backyard. I scurried after them, short legs pumping furiously.
The gnomes picked the lock on my back door and skulked inside in a line. I rushed up to get in behind them, but the last one whipped around and slammed the door, paining my poor plump, porky nose. I pressed my face to the window to see what they would do. They split up and bustled around. One snatched the Moet and Chandon champagne bottle from my dad's birthday, and proceeded to drink from it. Another swept all the plates onto the floor. Others keeled into plants, knocked pictures off the walls. The one gnome looked at me apologetically. He picked up my English assignment, and fed it sluggishly into the shredder. Then he motioned to his fellow domain-wreckers and they marched outside.
"We believe you have learned your lesson," they chorused. They snapped their fingers in unison.
There I was, back in my body, kneeling in the puddles. Tears rolled down my cheeks at the loss of my assignment. Being a garden gnome was a dreadful experience. However, I did grow fond of that beard.