The Boy Cried 

    I once found a small dark alley with a mattress in it. The mattress was covered with rotting fungus and all different kinds of bugs like snails crawling across it. You could hardly see the color of the brown mattress because of the fungus and bugs were all over it. Right across from the mattress was a nasty looking dark green dumpster with the words Long Beach Public Dumpster imprinted in big bold white letters covering the dents and rust. There were about 5 or 6 regular trash bags all piled up in that little dumpster.

    The ground was crawling with bugs and sticky slimy stuff on the ground getting my shoes all gooey. It looked like toxic waste was all over the ground. There were three walls surrounding me with graffiti all over them. The walls were tagged with gang signs with things like West Side, East Side and Crip Killer. The walls looked just plain ugly with all the graffiti.

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    There were dark black clouds shaped like sad faces in the sky. The ugly clouds gave me Goosebumps as the wind blew in my hair. In a deep dark shadowy corner was a beat-up little boy wearing ripped up old dark navy blue pants with a dirty white-collar neck shirt. He was wearing white shoes but no socks. Tears were rolling down his face and blood was all in his teeth. Blood was also dripping from his lip. It looked like he had been beaten-up on his way home from school.

    The boy made practically no sound as he cried. He was shriveled up with his face buried in his knees and his hands rapped tightly around them. He sat flatly on the nasty ground just barely sobbing. His dark brown hair was hanging over his knees as he cried. He was the kind of kid you feel sorry for and can’t forget about it. He was the boy who cried.


By Colby #31

What a terrific descriptive story Colby.   Your grade is an...  A+



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