You rock the boat, dude! In every great way possible!

I know this is absolutely beyond a shadow of a doubt, late. I do understand that as such, it might not even be subject to grading, but I am of the mind that I must do it anyway. A poem, just for you people out there who look at this place, searching for content and find yourselves with one less poem than normal to read. Well, don't you fret little ones, I have one right here for you, and while I have been really churning out that stupid emo poetry we were not supposed to write, I think I will diverge from that because nobody wants horrible emo poetry all the time, and I will instead wow you with my ability to write a nice piece of prose because I can write that faster than poetry. LET'S FUCK THIS DUCK!

The Twist Cap Always Screws Counter, Counter Clock-Wise

By: David Mathis

It was midnight, most likely. If I had to guess, I would say that it was midnight, but don’t quote me on that because it could have been a bit later I think. Regardless, the night was cold and blustery, but I remember a lone kite flying high in the distance. I thought it was strange that there would be a kite flying so late, so I went outside after grabbing my coat. As I said, it was a cold night and I didn’t want to be taking any chances; it had been raining for a bit. I set off across the grass, because at the time, I was living in the middle of nowhere in a hill country near the Laalbrath Sea. I was determined to see if some poor child had been left outside on a cold, windy night and had nothing better to do than fly a kite. I walked for a good long time, realizing a bit too late that the kite was farther out than I had thought, but I was getting close. I found her then, standing in the middle of the field at night. Her dress was pale like her skin and it fluttered loosely in the harsh breeze like a mast that was too large for the ship that sailed under its faded banner. Her skinny legs were maps of the world, continent bruises blotched in the stark, white skin and her bare feet were grime-covered and crusted over like the barnacle-caked underside of a sailing ship. Her hair was coarse and thin; as it lashed across her face, it left red, stinging welts, marring her childhood beauty, but her smile was bright and genuine. I called out to her, but for all it mattered, I could have been just another gust of wind because she kept flying the kite, eyes set looking into the sky, beaming gleefully.

I stood there for a bit, but she didn’t budge, other than her shivering—she had no coat. She had only a tattered and thin dress and her white kite. I took my coat off, wrapped it around her small, frail shoulders, and walked off back to my house. It was a long time before I managed to sleep that night an account of me being worried for that small girl out in the field all alone. I must have dozed off eventually, because I remember waking up in the morning to the pale light of a fresh sun. When I opened my door, there was my coat and a white kite splotched with grass stains sitting on my front porch. The kite hangs on my wall to this day. I’ve never seen the girl since, but think she appreciated the coat.