We had an assignment in my Short Stories class to write about an extraordinary event from an ordinary perspective. I was originally going to write about the Exodus from the perspective of someone towards the back of the line. I'm sure it's already been done before, but I thought I could have a little fun with it.

But instead of that, I wrote about something else. It wasn't really what he had in mind, but I took the ball and ran with it. I hope you enjoy.

---------------------------------------------------------

Marshmallows

I like marshmallows. I love ‘em. They taste good. Especially when they’ve been set afire over a nice camp fire. It’s fun to burn the outside, and then eat the melted marshmallow underneath.

...That lady sitting on the front row is kinda hot. She’s hot like West Texas soil. I’d like to take her out behind the barn and…

I discard the black part round the burnt marshmallow because it tastes gross. Ewww, makes me wanna throw up just thinkin’ about it. I don’t like the black part at all. The best is when I toast them just long enough to make them slightly brown on the outside. It always reminds me of the skid marks I used to get in my tighty whiteys when I didn’t wipe as good as I could.

I wish it wasn’t overcast right now. Why does it have to rain again? Why can’t I just get one nice day of weather for this thing?

Man I wish I had a campfire right now. It’s cold. It’s freezing cold and I want some marshmallows. My fingers hurt because it’s so cold. No matter how deep I keep them in my pockets, they still feel like popsicles. I wonder what marshmallows and popsicles taste like together. You can’t roast popsicles because they melt. They melt and turn into kool-aid.

I better look all serious now since my time is coming up. I don’t want to screw this up. Don’t mess up, don’t mess up, don’t mess up. Speak slowly. Say each word correctly. It’ll help if I imagine a red bouncing ball over each word on the screen. That never fails. Wait, which hand do I raise? The left? The right? Oh they’re all going to laugh at me. Why are they so mean to me? I wanna just get out of here, cry, and eat some marshmallows. But I can’t. It’s my turn to talk.

“I George Walker Bush,” so far so good, “do hereby solemnly swear to uphold…”