Brushing My Teeth, by ten-year-old Jon Agard

I tumbled into the treacherous bathroom. I fell to the hard, cold floor. I stopped sobbing, and the snorts of laughter from the evil torturer who forced me to call her "Mom" pierced my ears. I scampered to my feet and picked up the slime-covered toothbrush. I slopped on the toothpaste, and then I started to brush. As I finished the top row, and the tedious slick-slosh was stopping, the torturing menace gave me a great snarl and with one bony finger pointed to my bedroom. I began to wimper sadly as I slid into the creeking and cracking bed, and SMASH, I fell into a deep sleep.