Before I begin this story, I must inform you that “The worst day ever” is possible, and you should never underestimate the power of chance. With that, I may now continue my story of “The worst day ever.”

The warm milk, choclate chip cookies, and English textbook my mother had handed me when I arrived home didn’t lighten my mood a bit. Today had, on numerous scales, been the worst day ever. First of all, upon my arrival to Richard A. King’s Academy of the Arts (grades K-12), my kindness towards younger children was abruptly demolished. Rebecca Princeton (my arch nemisis ever since she stole my wallet last year) tackled me the moment I entered the leisure courtyard! Do you have any idea how degrading it is to be the most talented, sophisticated, and wealthy 12-year-old boy in the school and to be attacked by a puny, ill-tempered, third-grade girl? Can you believe that there was not a single adult witness? To make matters worse, the only witness that agreed to vouch for me was my cousin Zack, the class clown, and no one, neither staff nor student, believes a word he says! This was just the beginning of “The worst day ever.”
After informing the school nurse that my bloody nose was caused by my not being fully awake and running into a pole, I limped two courtyards away to my locker. I blanked out on my combination. After staring at the dial for 10 minutes, I recollected myself, opened my locker, and organized my belongings, only to find myself late for math class. I haven’t aced a math test since I attended second grade, which explains the situation I am in. At this rate, I will be repeating 7th grade math class. To make up for my misunderstanding of arithmatic, newspaper and history passed smoothly. In science my luck began to fall again. I failed yet another quiz on ecosystems, and during lunch, (which happens to be in the middle of science) a conflict arised between a couple of classmates and I. First of all, after she had teased me about the third-grader from earlier, I called my twin sister Bane unsympathetic, careless, and rude. This resulted in my uniform of a red silk vest and golden trousers being decorated in angel hair spagetti and pork meatballs. My drowning in Intalian food caused my sister’s friend Vivian to laugh and pour a pitcher of Prego tomate sauce on my head. This was not at all acceptable, for I had spent an hour just choosing a uniform this morning, and even longer shaping my hair to pefectly hide my right eye (NO ONE messes with my hair. NO ONE). After naming her “Accomplice of the Devil” Vivian stomped on my foot. This may sound reasonably harmless, but it can be threatening when the attacker is a fierce punk rocker who wears five inch stilletos. Luckily, this time, a staff member recognized my pain, and (after I had been cleaned of all food products) sent the three of us to the principal’s office. I won my case, having the girls sent to detiention, but only seven minutes later I noticed that I hadn’t finished my English homework. Good thing it had only been a vacab sheet. So far, this was the least of my worries.
My true misery didn’t appear until an hour later in dance class (every one takes dance in my school) during which, due to my multiple injuries, I had no choice but to sit out and have my peers stick out their tongues at me. After the last school bell had rung, alone and tired, I began my stroll home. You would assume that now, since school had ended and I was almost home, my life couldn’t have possibly darkened any more. Your assuption is incorrect, for I made the brilliatn decision that instead of entering through the front gate, I would cut through my family’s backyard woodland property. I must let you know that I have never encountered problems with this shortcut before.
After limping among the trees for about 20 minutes, I found myself halfway home. The checkpoint was a miniature, man-made waterfall built to be a zone of rest and peace. In the pond at the base of the fall, there are stepping stones, and I sat myself on the largest stone, in the middle of the pond. I began to text my cousin Zack and attempted to stare off into space as I tried my hardest to remember how to spell “melancholy.” My view of nothing was interrupted by the humangous cream-colored pelt of a Californian mountain lion. Surprised, I dropped my i-phone into the murky pond. I had almost no form of human contact now. There were two options—escape (which was impossible due to my female-caused injuries) or call for help (which could trigger the animal to attack). It seemed I would have to create another option—wait. Wait for the lion to leave, or wait for help to arrive, whichever happened first. These next few sentences describe the most relieving moments of my life. The mountain lion, uninterested in my weak, crimpled body, headed towards the street and away from my family’s property. After the feline had been out of sight for five or so munutes, I limped across the backyard towards my home’s back entrance. When I entered the kitchen I found my mother microwaving a pile of choclate chip cookies.

“Oh my gosh! You look like a homeless man! What happened to you today?”

I decided it would only be civil for me to inform my mother of the worst thing that had happened in my life today.

“I forgot to do my English homework.”