For the past couple days I have been helping one of the sixth grade students at school to write a story for his Language Arts class. The assignment was to write a fictional story that takes place in a real place that the student is familiar with. The student I was working with chose Hawaii as his setting, because he went there two years ago on vacation.
This was written by a 13 year old boy, so it's pretty violent, but I thought it was very creative.
The Hawaiian Adventure
Michael Books was on a plane and he was so bored. The only entertainment on the plane was a Teletubbies marathon. The magazines stuck in the pocket of the seat in front of him were blank pages with a blank covers. He had been on this plane all day. Even his meal had been boring; it was all a uniform brown color. Even the plate was brown.
The plane finally landed, but it was a very wobbly landing. The hula girls were throwing leis to all the passengers as they left the plane. Watching the hula girls made him happy. Then the luggage handler told him that his luggage was missing. When he got to his hotel, he had to buy all new clothes in the hotel gift shop.
The next morning, he left his hotel room wearing a grass skirt, a bright pink Hawaiian shirt covered with mustard-yellow hibiscus flowers, which was two sizes too small, a band of white Plumeria flowers around both wrists, both ankles, and another flowered band around his head. On his feet, he wore dark brown loafers.
He walked into the McDonald's near his hotel and ordered an egg sandwich, which cost him $5. He ate the egg sandwich as he walked to the beach.
Michael was an ornithologist, sent to Hawaii by the C.I.A. to discover a dangerous new species of bird that could be used as a secret weapon.
He stood on the peaceful beach, watching the waves, feeling the sand slowly fill his shoes, and enjoying his sandwich, when the birds found him. Suddenly a swarm of tiny red and purple birds flew at him from the palm trees. They were moving at the speed of light. They clawed Michael with their sharp talons. He thought quickly and threw a wad of bagel from his sandwich. The birds followed the bagel and began to fight among themselves for the tasty fast food. He grabbed at one of the birds and a single feather came off into his hand.
Michael clutched the feather tightly in his battered hand and crawled across the hot, white sand. He pulled himself to his feet at a traffic light and stumbled across the busy Honolulu street. The Hawaiians, used to the odd behavior of tourists, took no notice of him.
He finally managed to reach his room, where his carry-on bag full of scientific equipment awaited him. He emptied the bag onto the flowered bedspread. A warm ocean breeze blew through the open window and almost blew the feather away, but Michael fell onto the feather, pinning it to the grass mat next to the bed.
He analyzed the feather. Then transfered the information to the C.I.A. using his laptop. He was feeling very weak, as he pressed the send button. He waited for the answer to his e-mail, but his eyes were closing. The blood loss was just too much!
As Michael collapsed, the message appeared on his screen, "That is not the right kind of bird."