End of the Line

When Frank and I stepped through the post office doors, there was a crowd gathered, gawking at the new fixture on the wall like a chorus of wide-mouthed frogs. I had to get closer, and that was where being a girl that's scrawnier than a wire fence came in handy. Fortunately, Frank, my twin of eleven years, was just the same.

     "Come on." I said, grabbing his hand, and we slid through the cracks between people until we spilled out in front.

     Finally I got a good look. It was fixed to the plaster next to the postmaster's window, the place of honor usually reserved for the Wanted posters. Beady-eyed Zedekiah Smith, the bank robber, still hung there, but even he had been pushed aside for something more important.

     A telephone. The first one in town.

     "How's it work?" Noah Crawford called out. Noah's the best fix-it man around, and I could tell he was itching to get his fingers on those shiny knobs.

     "Don't rightly know," answered the postmaster, and he tugged at his goatee as if it might tell him. "I do know the sound of your voice moves along wires strung on poles. It's sort of like the telegraph, only you hear words instead of dots and dashes."

     "Ah," the crowd murmured, and I felt my own mouth move along.

     I gazed at that gleaming wood box and something happened inside me. Something — I can only guess — that might be like falling in love. The thought of talking into that box — of making my voice sail through wires in the sky — it took over my brain. I couldn't get it out.

     "Frank," I whispered to my twin. "I have to use that telephone."

     Five minutes later, Frank towed me up Main Street, toward home. "Liza — " he began, but I cut him off. We two thought so much alike, I had Frank's questions answered before he even asked.

Jodie's Daddy is a Garbageman

Funny how you can always tell when somebody's laughing behind your back. Jodie hadn't really heard anything, maybe a whisper, but when she turned around, the girls in the back row of the class were looking at her, trying to hide smiles and giggles. She looked back at her teacher. Mr Swales was talking about what people do all day. He also wanted to find out what his students wanted to be when they grew up. He called on Billy Mitzer first.

     "My daddy works in a bank," Billy Mitzer said. "I guess I want to work in a bank too. There's lots of money in the bank."

     "My parents have a grocery store," Emmy DiSalvo said. "Papa's behind the counter and Mama keeps the cash register. But I want to be an airline pilot."

     Jodie liked it when Mr Swales asked them questions like this. He was about to call on Jodie when the girls in the back row burst out laughing.

     Shirley Danes yelled, "Jodie's Daddy is a garbageman! Pee-yoo!"

     Everybody in the class laughed out loud. Everybody except Jodie, that is. She felt her face turn bright red. She looked around the whole classroom. Everyone was laughing. Some kids were even holding their noses.

     Jodie looked at Mr Swales. He was angry. He almost never raised his voice, but now he did.

     "Silence! I want everybody quiet this instant."

     The laughter stopped immediately. The sound of cars and people going by out on the street came through the windows. "You should be ashamed of yourselves," Mr Swales said. "Being a garbageman...I mean, er, uhm...a Sanitation Engineer, is a difficult and enormously useful job. We should all be grateful to Mr. Harris. Where would we be without him? Up to our ears in garbage, that's where. How would you like that?"

     "Pee-yoo!" somebody said. A few kids started laughing again.

     "It's not funny," Mr. Swales went on. "Garbage is a serious matter. I think you all owe Jodie an apology. And after that, you're all going to write Jodie's father, Mr Harris, a nice letter to tell him how much you appreciate what he does for all of us. In other words, keeping our city clean."

Morg

Morg was cross. She was more than cross, she was furious. She had been chosen to mind her little brother, again. Normally she quite liked him, as he stumbled after her on his short legs, babbling in a way that made her laugh, but today there was something much more exciting happening. The men were preparing to go on a hunt. There hadn't been a hunt for months. First there was too much rain and then there was too much work with the harvest. But now the wheat was in and the grain was all stored in pits. The Druid was here, bringing blessings from the gods and medicines for the villagers. So the chief had decided that it was time. Outside the men were gathering and the Druid was chanting. Morg longed to be there.

     But Morg was not allowed to go. She wasn't even allowed to watch. Her brother was unwell. He had an evil spirit in his chest which was making him cough and cough. He had to stay warm, and to do that, he had to be in the hut. Therefore, while her mother was fetching water, Morg had to stay in the hut too.

     It was dark in the hut. A warm, rich, thick darkness, lit only by the glow from the fire which burnt in the middle of the room. Later, the fire would be built up so that flames would lick the round black cauldron and heat the stew for the evening meal, but for now turf had been laid on the logs. The fire would stay hot and alive, but would not need to be fed. Morg knew that fires were as ravenous as the wolves she heard howling in the woods at night.

     Morg could smell the fire and the smell was as familiar to her as the smell of her mother. She could sniff and tell in a moment whether the family were burning ash branches or hazel, hawthorn or coppiced elm. To Morg, it was the smell of home.

     The glow from the fire lit the face of the boy who lay next to it asleep on the blanket. Morg swept the floor around him savagely. Any crumbs or discarded meat would make food for the rats, and her mother hated rats. Morg decided that today she hated her mother. She knew her mother was anxious about the cough because her sister had coughed in the same way before she had died. That didn't stop Morg from muttering a curse against the unkindness that kept her inside the hut. As she said it, she wished she could swallow the words back, but it was too late. She looked around worriedly. Maybe nobody had heard. She chanted a good will incantation, and crossed her fingers.

Marmalade

Marmalade is a baked bean cat. I bet you've never met a baked bean cat before. If you have, it was probably Marmalade, because as far as I know, he's the only one in the whole wide World.

     As you can probably guess, a baked bean cat is a very fussy cat. All baked bean cats ever eat is ... baked beans. Baked beans for breakfast, baked beans for lunch, baked beans for supper and baked beans for brunch - in fact, I don't think that Marmalade the baked bean cat has even tasted anything else except for baked beans - ever! Sometimes, when Marmalade is feeling peckish and wants a snack, he will sit by the sunny window, reading his newspaper (The Daily Purr, and yes, cats can read - it's a common myth that they don't). And, as well as all this, Marmalade is probably the laziest cat in the World too. He's so lazy that sometimes, he won't even get out of bed!

     I have a tale to tell you about Marmalade. It's not a very nice one, so if you are at all squeamish, then you had better not read any further.

     Ah! You are reading on! I take it that this means you are a very brave person - don't say I didn't warn you!

     Marmalade lives in a very grand house. It's all very proper in there -purrfect for a baked bean cat. There is baked bean wallpaper in every room in the house which goes very nicely with the carpet which has a lovely baked bean pattern on it. The lamp in his sitting room is the shape of a baked bean, and the table is too. His lovely, comfortable, soft and squidgy favourite chair is also the shape of a baked bean ... the biggest baked bean in the World, in fact. In Marmalade's bedroom he has baked beans on his quilt and his bed is the shape of a huge, massive, enormous ... baked bean can. No matter where you go in Marmalade's house - there are baked beans everywhere.

     One morning, at the end of autumn, Marmalade groggily got out of bed, yawned the biggest, loudest, widest yawn, put on his warm baked beans slippers and dragged himself towards the window. He drew back his baked bean curtains and smiled contentedly as he saw a light sprinkling of snow had landed in his garden overnight. "Good," he grumbled to himself "at least I won't have to cut the grass for a while". Marmalade mooched downstairs, still yawning and walked through to the kitchen. Guess what Marmalade was going to have for breakfast? Yes, baked beans of course!

     Marmalade opened up his cupboard to get himself some baked beans and ... there were NO baked beans left! "Rats!" Marmalade muttered under his breath. "I'll have to go out in that horrible, freezing, icy weather and get some more baked beans. Double rats!"

     Lucky for Marmalade, in his garden was a tree. This tree was a very special tree because on its long, thick, strong branches grew something very special. Can you guess? Baked beans of course! More beans than you could ever possibly imagine. There were enough baked beans for Marmalade to feed for a month. When the baked beans got picked, the tree would just grow some more.

     So, reluctantly, Marmalade put on his boots, scarf, hat and a very warm coat. He went outside and trudged slowly through the snow to his baked bean tree, or to where his baked bean tree normally stood. Marmalade stood and stared, for instead of the lovely big strong baked bean tree, was a hole. No tree and no baked beans. Marmalade rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn't seeing things, but when he looked again, the tree still wasn't there.

     "Well! Where is my tree? I must have baked beans, and I won't go to the shops to get them. I want my baked beans and I want them now" he shouted and stomped around the garden like a little human boy.

    So, Marmalade decided to go for a walk to see if he could find his tree. He didn't like walking anywhere very much, but if he didn't have a tree, then he wouldn't have baked beans, because he was FAR too lazy to go to the shops for his beans, and besides, they just didn't taste the same if they were store bought. Marmalade was such a snob!

     Marmalade walked down his path, angry that his tree had disappeared like that. He walked to the end of his street where he met Dougbert. Dougbert was a friendly alley cat.

     "Hello, Marmalade. What's the matter? You look angry." Dougbert asked.

     "My baked bean tree is missing. Have you seen it?" Marmalade grunted in reply.

     "No, Marmalade, I haven't. Why has it gone? Have you been watering it properly?" Dougbert replied.

     "I never water my tree. That's far too much work." Marmalade said, and with that he gave a 'humph' and walked off, with his head high in the air, swishing his tail around like he didn't have a care in the World.

     As Marmalade walked around the corner, he came to the grocery shop. Now, they sold baked beans in there, but Marmalade never bought them from here - his own beans from his special tree were far better. Roger, the Tomcat was working in the shop.

     "Hello, Marmalade! Why do you look so sad?" Roger asked.

     "My baked bean tree has gone missing and I don't know why. Have you seen it anywhere?" Marmalade demanded.

     "Well, no, I haven't. Have you been looking after it properly, by weeding it regularly?"

     "Why should I bother weeding around my tree? I'm too busy. That's far too much work." Marmalade said angrily and with that he gave a 'humph' and walked off, with his head high in the air, swishing his tail around like he didn't have a care in the World.

High and Lifted Up

It was a windy day.

     The mailman barely made it to the front door. When the door opened, Mrs. Pennington said, "hello", but, before she had a real chance to say "thank you", the mail blew out of the mailman's hands, into the house and the front door slammed in his face. Mrs. Pennington ran to pick up the mail.

     "Oh my," she said.

     Tommy was watching the shutters open and then shut, open and then shut.

     "Mom," he said, "may I go outside?"

     "Be careful," she said. "It's so windy today."

     Tommy crawled down from the window-seat and ran to the door. He opened it with a bang. The wind blew fiercely and snatched the newly recovered mail from Mrs. Pennington's hands and blew it even further into the house.

     "Oh my," she said again. Tommy ran outside and the door slammed shut.

     Outside, yellow, gold, and red leaves were leaping from swaying trees, landing on the roof, jumping off the roof, and then chasing one another down the street in tiny whirlwinds of merriment.

     Tommy watched in fascination.

     "If I was a leaf, I would fly clear across the world," Tommy thought and then ran out into the yard among the swirl of colors.

     Mrs. Pennington came to the front porch.

     "Tommy, I have your jacket. Please put it on."

     However, there was no Tommy in the front yard.

     "Tommy?"

     Tommy was a leaf. He was blowing down the street with the rest of his play-mates.

     A maple leaf came close-by, touched him and moved ahead. Tommy met him shortly, brushed against him, and moved further ahead. They swirled around and around, hit cars and poles, flew up into the air and then down again.

     "This is fun," Tommy thought.

     The maple leaf blew in front of him. It was bright red with well-defined veins. The sun-light shone through it giving it a brilliance never before seen by a little boy's eyes.

     "Where do you think we are going?" Tommy asked the leaf.

     "Does it matter?" the leaf replied. "Have fun. Life is short."

     "I beg to differ," an older leaf said suddenly coming beside them. "The journey may be short, but the end is the beginning."

     Tommy pondered this the best a leaf could ponder.

     "Where do we end up?"

     "If the wind blows you in that direction," the old leaf said, "you will end up in the city dump."

     "I don't want that," Tommy said.

     "If you are blown in that direction, you will fly high into the air and see things that no leaf has seen before."

     "Follow me to the city dump," the maple leaf said. "Most of my friends are there."

     The wind blew Tommy and the maple leaf along. Tommy thought of his choices. He wanted to continue to play.

     "Okay," Tommy said, "I will go with you to the dump."

     The winds shifted and Tommy and the leaf were blown in the direction of the city dump.

     The old leaf didn't follow. He was blown further down the block and suddenly lifted up high into the air.

     "Hey," he called out, "the sights up here. They are spectacular. Come and see."

     Tommy and the maple leaf ignored him.

     "I see something. I see the dump." The old leaf cried out. "I see smoke. Come up here. I see fire."

     "I see nothing," the maple leaf said.

     Tommy saw the fence that surrounded the city dump. He was happy to be with his friend. They would have fun in the dump.

     Suddenly, a car pulled up. It was Tommy's mom. Mrs. Pennington wasn't about to let her little boy run into the city dump.

     "Not so fast," she said getting out of the car. "You are not allowed to play in there. Don't you see the smoke?"

     Tommy watched the maple leaf blow against the wall and struggle to get over. He ran over to get it but was unable to reach it.

     Mrs. Pennington walked over and took the leaf. She put it in her pocket.

     "There," she said, "it will be safe until we get home."

     Tommy smiled, ran to the car and got in. He rolled down the back window and looked up into the sky. He wondered where the old leaf had gone. Perhaps one day he would see what the old leaf had seen - perhaps.

"True Intelligence?"

An intelligent man spent his life studying, learning everything about everything.

A stupid man spent his life giving love, learning nothing.

The intelligent man died rich and famous - alone.

The stupid man died surrounded by friends.

The intelligent man knew nothing that mattered.

The stupid man knew all that mattered.

"Love"

With love, my mother gave birth and nurtured me.

With love, my girlfriend stared into my eyes, squealing "Yes!" to my proposal.

With love, my children laughed and squeezed my hand and needed me so much.

With love, my friends mourned my passing.

What love! The measure of my success.

"The Gambler's Sin"

Satan came in Gambler Wilson's dreams.

"Let's play High Card Wins."

"The stakes?”

“Untold riches if you win; your soul if you lose.”

Wilson considered, agreed, and drew an Ace.

Satan drew a Jack.

“I win!” said Wilson.

Satan smiled. “But playing with the Devil is unforgiveable. So you lose."

"Strangers Home and Abroad"

What shall we do on holiday?” Charlie asked Marge. “Trekking with Sherpas? Camping with the Berbers?”

“Kayaking with Inuits?” suggested Marge.

Charlie and Marge loved cultural adventure; meeting strangers, making friends.

“The house will be empty. Better tell the next door neighbour,” warned Charlie. “I wonder what his name is?”

These Little Stories

Many years ago, the Daily Telegraph(a prominent, respected newspaper in the UK) ran a writing competition. Their challenge was to write a story in exactly 50 words: not one more and not one less. It's not easy to do, but it's an interesting exercise for any budding writer to try, concentrating the mind as it does on succinctness and clarity of writing. With just 50 words, there is no room at all for meandering or any unnecessary padding! Since then, the readers of many other publications have been invited to try their hand at similar writing formats, including the British Mensa magazine in which one of my efforts - 'What's an Alien?' - was published in 2010.

On this page I've showcased a few of my 50-word essays. Count the words if you like (some leeway was allowed for hyphenated words!). Some are intended to be serious comments on human nature, others are humorous, and one is just an attempt to get as many Beatles song titles as possible into a story.

Biology - Kidney

Kidney is the organ of the part of the body. The meaning of Kidney is one of the excretory system.Kidney has 2 part : the left part and the right part. Ususally the right kidney is a bit lower than the right one.

I'll show you the picture if the Kidney:




Next, there are 3 part of kidney : Cortex, Medulla, Pelvis.



The smallest unit of the kidney to produce urine in kidney is : NEPHRON. In cortex there are may nephron, in medulla there are some parts of nephron.

Let's go on to " Urinary Formation Process" how? :

• Filtration
• Absorbtion
• Augmentation