My name is Sam. And my day was going badly. It was a Thursday morning, and for me, that meant school. Which is never fun. But I only have a year left, so I put up with it. I slid into my seat in my first period English class, seconds before the bell rang. To me, English is kind of pointless. I've been speaking the language for nearly seventeen years, I already know how to read and write, and I doubt essays have any use beyond college. So I usually just use the hour to catch up on the sleep that the state of California is depriving me of by forcing me to be in class at 8:00 AM. But I digress. The teacher, a tall, slender man named Higgins strode briskly into the room five minutes later (if this guy isn't doesn't have to be on time, why should I?), and stood by the front board, a piece of chalk in hand.

"Good morning, people," he greeted us. "I trust your minds are clear and ready for learning."

I snorted. Quietly.

"Today we are going to try a new exercise. I want you to use these words," he turned, started writing on the chalkboard, and continued, " in a creative work of literature."

He faced the class again and waited for us to read what he had written.






'Are these even in English?' I wondered.

"Now," Mr. Higgins said, "to some of you, these maybe nothing but 'jabberwocky'." He wrote this final word on the board. My reaction was similar to that of most of my classmates.


"It means nonsense," the girl behind me said knowledgeably.

"Right," said Mr. Higgins. "Now, your assignment is to use all of these words in something that I as an English teacher can accept. I don't care if it is a poem, a short story, an essay, whatever. Think of something."

"What about a limerick?" some joker called out from the back.

He frowned. "Watch it, zippy. I have no problem with failing the miscreants who aren't heedful." His tone was serious. "Get working. You have the rest of the period to complete the assignment."

He retired to his desk in the back of the room to grade papers.

I sighed heavily and took out my notebook and a pen. Then I sat there, staring pensively at my paper, willing an idea to come to me. Perhaps a spy story, with a grandiose and debonair hero. I soon dismissed the idea. It would probably be too much of a James Bond rip-off. The lines on the paper blurred a bit, and my mind began to wander. Soon I was off in my own little world. The musical ring tones of someone's cell phone brought me back to reality. I gave my head a slight shake, and looked up at the clock. Crud. Only ten minutes left. Quickly, I scribbled down whatever came to mind.

The jejune boy walked the mongrelized dog. The boy was not particularly jocose. The dog was, at least as jocose as dogs get. The dog found a calciferous bone. He ate the salubrious morsel in one bite. This story is complete jabberwocky.

Not much of a plot, but at least I got something down. The bell rang, and I set my paper in the box with the rest on my way out. Off to the next "adventure". Math. Woo-freakin'-hoo.