Killer Smile



Fictional Top Ten

I know I haven’t written in FOREVER, and I’m sorry, but check me out on and there’s lots more there, every day.  Anyway, a while ago on another site I wrote down my Guilt Free Five Fictional Girls and Guys.  Basically, a list of the five fictional girls and five fictional guys I would most want to date/have sex with/whatever.  I wanted to be able to find this list faster, so I’m posting it here.  Both are in no particular order.


1.  Alaska (Looking for Alaska, by John Green)
2.  Tibby (Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, by Ann Brashares)
3.  Luna (Harry Potter, JK Rowling)
4.  Violet (A Series of Unfortunate Events, Lemony Snicket)
5.  Norah (Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist, Rachel Cohn and David Levithan)


1.  Mark (RENT, Jonathan Larson)
2.  Remus Lupin (Harry Potter)
3.  Pudge (Looking for Alaska)
4.  Colin Creevey (Harry Potter)
5.  Nick (Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist)



I know I haven’t been posting here, but that’s mostly because I’ve been posting here:

instead. Check it!


It Is The Morning After I Slept, But Before I Really Woke Up

[We had to use the words teacher, class, morning, Kehilla (hebrew for community, often used as the names for Jewish schools or camps), bet, locker]

It is the morning
I woke up past 7
I rush to get to school on time.

It is the morning
I arrive three minutes late
I bet that earned me detention.

It is the morning
I see the teacher
I hear her greet us, her new students.

It is the morning
I am bored in class
I remember my camp; Kehillah.

It is the morning
I leave class
I find my new locker.

The morning has faded into afternoon.

Karma Got Me

[A piece of Found Poetry.  Found poetry is basically when you take another piece of work (it can be an essay, a story, whatever) and you take words from it, and while you leave them in the order that they appeared, you can slash out other words and add line breaks and puncutation, and you use that to make something with totally different meaning.  This was taken from a short story about magical cows giving birth and communism in Russia under Stalin or something really weird like that.]

As fate would have it
It was not done with me,
The next morning
All of the peasants had
Become impregnated.
Fell on the snow.
“Come to me,
Shy and . . .
That winter was born
A generation.
Me the evil power,
To bring life from blood.

Fan Girls

[A eulogy for Heath Ledger.]

Your joke is no longer funny
No one laughs when they see you on screen
We miss you, Heath darling, and your talent
Why couldn’t you have stayed clean?

The Joker was a challenging role
There had been big footsteps to follow
We miss you, Heath darling, and your power
To see you in films evokes sorrow.

We aren’t quite sure what to do
Was it on purpose or just a mistake?
We miss you, Heath darling, and your accent
With a pain we’ll just have to take.

You were in so many great movies
Like 10 Things I Hate About You
We miss you, Heath darling, and your beauty
And we hope that you’re missing us too.

Six Word Short Stories

[Mine aren’t as good as the others were, but I like them just fine.]

What to do with the body . . .

My favorite is breakfast for dinner.

Eat worms.  They taste like children.

He is agoraphobic; just won’t leave.

Dude! It’s a puppy-sized elephant!

I tell them about my vagina.

55 Fiction

[Short stories that are 55 words or less.  Neither has a title.]

He doesn’t know where he’s going.  he doesn’t know where he’s coming from.  He runs.  He sees a bee.  He is stung.  He is allergic.  He falls.  White light.  White room.  No voices.  No wife.  No daughter.  No son.  Nothing new.  He rolls over, asleep.  No windows.  Solitary.  Safe.  Padded confinement.

He limps along, trying to stay on the blue lines, only occasionally venturing onto the harmless white surface.  One leg gone, taken.  Another weak, injured.  Flash!  He cannot see.  Another, with the sound of digital beeps.  He is dying.  The world is watching.  He feels around his deathbed.  His wings are broken; can’t fly.

How My Life Would’ve Been Different If I Could Teleport

[Based on the short story: How My Life Would’ve Been Different If I’d Been Shot Twice In The Stomach]

At Birth

My mother feels her first contractions and suddenly I escape her womb and appear on the kitchen counter beside her.  I cry.  The umbilical cord is still attached.  She takes me to the hospital.  I am the fastest and most painless birth on record.

At School

Everyday I wake up at 7.48.  I shower and get dressed and am in class at 7.58; two minutes early.  I am always the first and last person in all my classes.

At Camp

I have mastered rock climbing.  Getting to the top is easy.  Remembering to grab on poses a challenge.

At Dances

I appear magically by her side and ask for a dance.  We are slowly swaying to the calm rhythm of the song.  Her boyfriend returns from the snack table.  I mystically disappear.  She is in love.

At Work

I am a reporter.  Always first (or close second) to the scene of the crime.  My name is celebrated.  I’m not a good writer or speaker.

At Death

I am burried.  Five years later I show up on my granddaughter’s kitchen counter.


[I think this is the best poem I’ve ever written.  I just found it in my old English notebook]

Today it rained quite like milk, not unlike in
Hollywood, where milk is used to substitute rain, because
it shows better on camera.  Do you
see any symbolism in those three lines?

Is there a secret meaning
something shown at special screenings?

Notice the couplet?
Or the alliteration?
This is a haiku.

And there is no meaning behind that, either.

See what I’m saying?
Yell if you do
Milk clearly represents the
boldness lacking in the translucent rain.
Oh, you don’t get it?  You don’t see the
light fringes of sarcasm?