Lettergirl’s writing exercise

Andrés-Román, aka, The Boy

My pal Lettergirl writes a wonderful blog called “Not Going Postal.” Last week she wrote a post encouraging her loyal readers to participate in a writing exercise. Lettergirl’s effort is here. The efforts of others are here.

I finally got around to doing mine. It is below.


You stand there, face contorted, ready to spring at me.  Your ears are turning red, your cheeks flushed.  You launch yourself from the bed, into my arms.  I toss you into the air like a rag doll.  Thankfully your joyful squeals do not bring your mom down the hall to witness as your flight brings you dangerously close to the ceiling fan. You breathlessly bounce and plot your next attack. You grab at my shirt, pulling me down to wrestle. I wish I had your energy to play like this for hours. You climb on my back and call me your tiger. I am your big, bold, brash Bengal. We take off down the hall, I go around the corner, and toss you onto your sister’s bed.  It always smells like soap and flowers in here. “I don’t want you boys messing up my room,” your sister demands. You bare your teeth and prepare to spring at your sister.  She is not enthused at the prospect of joining our wrestling match.

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