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Another Sunday Morning(另一个星期天早晨)
送交者: 天边的红霞 2020年08月01日16:11:17 于 [五 味 斋] 发送悄悄话


【Aiden in English】

        Last Sunday morning, I awoke to the loud buzzer of my alarm. I hit the snooze button. Twice.

        I got dressed and washed and went downstairs. Inhaling a plate of scrambled eggs and some toast, I watched a quick recap of last night’s sporting events. 

        Opening my computer, I wasted hours browsing the depths of the internet, watching mildly humorous or entertaining clips. 

        What a normal Sunday morning.

        Last Sunday morning, I awoke to a truck ramming my forehead. 

        “Honk, honk. You are in the way. Vroom vroom… booofffff.”

        “Aaaahhhh… Jeffery!”

        My joker of a brother smirked. The sides of his mouth twisted at wicked angles. His matte black hair draped over his eyes like a mask; his oversized dark green hoodie flopped backward like a cape. 

        He pulled back his arm, winding up another assault at my noggin.

        I smacked the toy truck out of his hands to prevent a concussion. It clattered to the floor.

        Jeffrey’s smile faded into a scowl. “How dare you?!” he exclaimed with a theatrical flail of his arms, balling his hands into two little fists of fire. “You have angered the Truck Gods!” 

        “Yeah, yeah…  Tell your truck deities to stay away from this Christian establishment. Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for church?” 

        “No. Mommy said I can read the Truck Bible today at home instead.”


        He reached into his pants and withdrew a crumpled (and slightly wet) edition of the toy’s manual. I couldn’t help but notice the ‘Can be hazardous to children’ alert.

        I sighed. “Okay, whatever. Just don’t do this again, please.”

        “I will not, good sire. But the Divinity of Trucks may implore its wrath upon thee for desecrating our title.”

        I gave him a weird look. Jeffrey’s vocabulary seemed a bit strange. What a bizarre Sunday morning.

        Last Sunday morning, I awoke to the slushing of wet wheels through puddles and a light tapping of raindrops on my window. 

        I glanced at my clock. 9:13. Well, it’s Sunday. A few more minutes wouldn’t hurt…

        I blinked. I turned to my nightstand and checked the time again. 11:37.


        The house was quiet. I sprinted downstairs, pajamas and hair flopping wildly. I flashed by the living room. The TV was off. Not good. The bathroom was unused. The computers were dark. There were no signs of life. Heart pounding, I dashed to the kitchen, hoping to find someone alive in the house.

        A note laid on the counter. “Breakfast is in the fridge.” Oh no.

        I opened the fridge. Mostly empty, only one thing caught my eye: a raw uncracked egg with a dollop of butter on a plate covered in plastic wrap. On the wrap itself, I vaguely identified the words: Do it yourself, you lazy idiot. 

        I was overcome with anguish. “I can’t cook food…”

        What a terrible Sunday morning. 

        Last Sunday morning, I awoke to a shining beam of light dazzling my retinas. Whether it was because of the majestic glow radiating from the ceiling or the pure blinding aura glowing off the floating naked dude’s torso, I wasn’t sure. 

        “Greetings, commoner. I am Contrivus, Chief Executive of the Divinity of Trucks. You have violated section III, article XXIV, which states that all Common Folk must not desecrate the Counsel of Trucks in any form of speech, thought, or action. Due to the accusation by Jeffrey Steinberg, the Counsel has granted me permission to personally collect thee. Thou shalt be Tried and Punished accordingly. Submit yourself to avoid further punishment.”

        I couldn’t say anything. I still could not get past the fact that a naked old man was mysteriously floating two feet above my bed.

        The dude tilted his head. “Commoner, are you deaf? Do your ears not interpret the word of gods?”


        “Oh never mind.” He reached out and grabbed my arm. That seemed to snap me out of my stupor.

        “Wait! I didn’t do anything wrong.” 

        “We shall see about that.” He raised his hand. I felt my body slowly ascend beyond the force of gravity. 

        “Wait! My-my brother. He’s actually the culprit. He-he was attacking me with his truck!”

        “What did you say?!” The god appeared confused. “He used a sacred item as a weapon of destruction?”

        I feverishly nodded.

         “How dare him! This demon must be apprehended at once! This meeting is postponed until the future.”

        A bright flash of light emitted from his eyes. Lightning crackled, and Contrivus was gone.

        I took a deep breath. What a very not normal Sunday morning.

        Last Sunday morning, I awoke in chains strung up to a fluffy sheep—

        “Okay, Aiden, I’m gonna have to stop you there.”

        I look up. “You don’t like it?”

        “No, no, Aiden, this is great. It’s just that the prompt is a personal-narrative, not whatever you call this.”

        “Sorry Mrs. Campbell, but the prompt really isn’t that specific.”

        My English teacher glances up. “Well, Aiden, what actually happened last Sunday?”

        “I woke up at noon and played video games all day.”

        “So write about that. The point of this narrative is to describe reality.”

        “But that’s not interesting at all. Reality is ….”

        What a boring Sunday morning.









        爱起哄的哥们乐得要死, 他拧巴着嘴角, 乌黑的头发像个面具罩住了眼睛,超大号深绿色连衫帽好似斗篷一样搭在脑后。















        桌子上放着一张纸条, “早饭在冰箱里”,别介。






        我什么也没说 仍然无法摆脱赤身裸体的老家伙在距离我床两英尺远的上方神秘晃动一事。






















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