tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54360436513989272572011-07-07T16:46:24.646-07:00Dorian J.E. Digbynoreply@blogger.comBlogger11100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5436043651398927257.post-34545727618083636902010-02-09T20:39:00.000-08:002010-02-09T21:28:24.824-08:00Once when I was little, we moved from our nice house in St. Louis, MO to a small town in Virginia. I was angry that we moved away from all my friends and my awesome neighborhood where I knew everyone. It's tough when you're torn away just when you've made yourself a name as an exceptional four square player/third grade stud-muffin. <br />Anyway, we were moving into a big grey house with lots of windows. I didn't like it one bit.<br />Obviously I was furious with my parents. The first day we arrived at our new house I had decided to boycott the unpacking process. Then my dad said he was going to donate all of my things to poor kids if I didn't help. I decided that I would help and then hide in protest after all of my stuff was safely unpacked in my new room. I searched high and low for a good spot to hide after unpacking. Under the stairs I searched for the kind of cupboard that was always in good stories but, no such luck. <br />I took a survey of the foundations of the house outside, and found something very promising. A small cellar door with no lock and lots of spiderwebs on it. I figured I had better be prepared for whatever I might find inside these door so I grabbed a flashlight and some gummy-worms. <br />I pulled the doors, but they had been painted together many times over and the latch, while it was not locked, was very rusty. I gave it a nice firm kick and tried again with all my strength and the doors flew open. <br />A small staircase descended into darkness. I turned my flashlight on and ate seven gummy-worms for sustenance. I tip-toed down the old stone steps carefully and caught a whiff of mildew. I came to the end of the stairs and looked around. What looked back at me was nothing more then a wet, half concrete, half wooden room with a crate in one corner and some empty glass jars in another. I begrudgingly kicked at the part of the wall made of wood (so as to feel cool but not hurt my foot). Being such a toned athlete however (four square) my kick caused the wooden planks to collapse. A long, grey stick fell out as the wood collapsed and as I crouched down to take a better look I realized that this stick was a bone. Thus began my amateur career as an archaeologist...<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5436043651398927257-3454572761808363690?l=wewillbeokay.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Dorian J.E. Digbynoreply@blogger.com0