Untitled by Mirjam, Inge, Herman and Olivier

Bible class was always so boring. But his mother send him without mercy, because otherwise he'd never become a 'true christian'. When she said that he always had to think of Chris, the boy living across the street, he had
¶ been fantasising about for so long. His blond hair, those cute eyes...
his funny little nose, always running. So moving. She decides to call him, she walks to the phone. It's out of order. Then she writes him a note, puts it in a bottle. And that was it. The phone rings. 'How is that possible. Just a minute ago it was out of order, and now it is ringing.'
¶ She picks up the horn. A deep dark voice, poetry from the middle ages.
That inspires her, because medieval poetry has a very simple rhyme-scheme. That is A-B-A-B. Later this developped into more complex schemes like A-B-B-A, A-B-C-A-B-C or even (much later), the sonnet: A-B-A-B, C-D-C-D, E-E-E. Or something like that. 'Can someone please help me now!' shouted the newsreader, that had by accident swallowed his microphone, because they are so small nowadays, that when
¶ you try to talk close to them, you breathe them in. The newsreader stopped breathing...
ok, you kept this smell in your nose for few hourse... and start thinking that you are sick... really sick and then super sick at a point that you jump into the next taxi for the closest hospital and pretend that you had a smell attack by those stupid citizens of whatever nation... What! you said it... you are trapped... they catch you... here you are in your
¶ room... all alone... how stupid! next time you will brush your teeth!
He told himself. As he looked in the mirror, he got more and more depressed. Those yellow teeth, those great floppy ears, what did he think would come of this? Friends? A marriage? Of course nobody loved him. He decided to watch Oprah. Somebody once told him how she changes peoples lives, he thought it was worth a try. Then he saw she was black.