rexphantom

I want to be one of those kids who only has to work a part-time job while they go to school. Ugh.

Here's part of a story:

She's a girl who is fashionably alternative. Her hair is red, unnaturally red, unnaturally bright red, in dreadlocks she just had done last week. She's walking the crosswalk at Belmont & Clark, as that's where you go when you're fashionably hip. She has boots and the soles are thick, they clop-clop-clop across the blacktop.

He's a boy from space. He's wearing blue jeans and a small white t-shirt and no shoes at all. He falls to Earth with a vrrrmmm-POW and lands on the white and black and white again of the crosswalk. He lands and stands and dusts himself off. The girl stops and looks, and boy does she LOOK.

The space cops fall in quick succession, vrrrmmm-POW, vrrmm-POW. They wear purple and velvet with black vests, and helmets like bullets that cover everything but their chins. By the time they land and stand and dust themselves off the boy is running, legs wide, cackling and laughing like Spring-heeled Jack.