Creative Writing scrap.

Nngh. We should have a 3 day weekend or something, I thought to myself. I squeezed the egg-shaped maraca in my hand, thinking about how I could possibly finish my homework with a writer's block the size of Mt. Everest. Writing about my grade school days was like trying to write about my past life. I didn't like that part of my past and, apparently, I did a very good job of forgetting about it as well.

I walked past a 'Aming Munting Handog: 3rd Muntinlupa High School Christmas Chorale Festival' banner and made my way backstage. I zigzagged my way through the people until I reached the Woodrose Choral and sat down with them, still pondering how I'd complete my Creative Writing assignment.

"Lee, could I borrow Eggbert?" Maica asked. I handed the egg-shaped maraca to her, finally free to move around soundlessly. We had to be careful not to make any noise since the stage was very open. We were told that any sound made backstage could be heard onstage, though that didn't stop everyone else from whispering or tapping a few beats on the drums.

[Discontinued, since THIS IS WRONG AND I AM NOT WRITING LIKE A CHILD.]