A Flier's A Rocket

The story of an imaginative seven-year-old.

This story is typed in Microsoft Word Processor, it is narrated in First Person, and it is entirely true.

My name is Rocket Annihilation.

I am seven years old.


Despite my age, I have a wide vocabulary. I read the Dictionary a couple years back right after I learned how to.

My Mum says I’m a smart kid, and that I’ll make it in life, unlike my older brother Paulie.

I just think I was Albert Einstein in another life.


I thought I’d just type a sentence here, then use the Thesaurus on almost every word.

“Nutella is the sun to my atmosphere, the moon to my…ambience, and the stars to my, yes, quality.”

That didn’t work quite as well as I had hoped.


Now to get to my story, sorry, I like playing around on this thing.

It begins on the day of yesterday, which was a Tuesday.

Or as I like to refer to it, “Toe-Day”


Since it was Toe-Day, I refused to wear neither socks nor shoes and let my toes breathe and live along with me as I walked upon them.

I once asked my Mum why we needed toes; they just seemed like useless little tater tots at the end of my feet.

She told me they helped us keep our balance.


So on the day of toes I was standing on the staircase-railing in my home, balancing.

“Willy, I think this American Indian totem is about to fall over, it has no toes!” I shrieked in a mock girl’s voice, holding up a Mexican Barbie doll, and shaking her face in my Willy the Wizard doll’s face.

“Don’t worry, Barbie!” I made Willy respond, “It does have toes! See!”

They both looked down at my ten toes, which were gripping the edge of the railing.

“Oh, yeah. Good! I didn’t really feel like dying today! Maybe tomorrow!”


“Rocket!” The screech of Mum’s voice entered my ear and into my cranium. “What are you doing on the railing?”


“Well, get off.”


Mum always ruined my good fun, so I decided to throw Barbie and Willy at her, jump off the railing, and run outdoors.

“Rocket!” I heard her screech once again.

“Don’t be a broken record, Mum!” I yelled back at her as I ran around in circles on the front lawn, my arms out beside me, and my mouth making Airplane noises.

I heard a very, overly dramatic sigh as she shut the front door, and went off to do some mum stuff.


I stopped running in a circle, and ran instead into the backyard.

The backyard is a magical place where dreams come true -- mainly because of the swing set.


I set myself on a swing, so my stomach was on the seat, and I was looking at the ground.

“3, 2, 1, BLAST OFF!” I screeched, and pushed off with my feet. Instantly the wind was running through my hair, I was being launched into the sky, and the ground moved beneath me at twice the speed of light.


If you believe you can fly, then you can -- promise.

But then gravity always takes over and you plummet back down to Earth.

But for a split second, just a tiny microscopic millisecond, you fly.

You really, truly fly.

The End

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