This post somehow turned into a scary story that I heard in second grade.

I have been listening to Lady Gaga non-stop for the past three days. At least when I can get my hands on music.

 The days left of summer are slowly dripping by, like those last drops that just don't want to come off of the faucet. They drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Slower and slower with each drop.

With each drip. Drop. Drip. Drop, I lose more and more of my focus. Focus that, up until I lost it, helped me write and read and BLOG.

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Have you noticed how my posts have been getting shorter and shorter? It's  because my attention span is leaking. Drip. Drop. I'm trying, though, to mop it up and drink back up my attention. I'll need it for school. If I want to be a good student like I promise myself at the beginning of every year. I'll make a list of things that I fail to keep as promises to myself tomorrow.

Now it's time for a scary story since the drippy metaphor/simile (who freaking cares, they both are comparative) has reminded me. I hope you read the title and know that I was told this in second grade. I was freaked out by it and then soon after, I was telling it to my little brother and back-door neighbor.

It's called DRIP DRIP DRIP.

So there's this little girl, she's seven. I don't know what her name is, but her parents leave her home alone like, all the time. And she's totally cool with it and junk. And there's this police man guy who checks in on her every once in a while. (Guys, this is a scary story, pretend that this could actually happen.)
So one night she's sitting at home watching TV. She's a little freaked out, so when she's freaked out, she sticks her hand under her couch where her dog sleeps, and he licks her hand. About a half hour later, she hears this weird dripping noise. Drip. Drip. Drip. She checks the kitchen and the bathroom faucets. They're not dripping. She shrugs it off and goes back to watching TV. She's a little freaked out again, so she sticks her hand under her couch and her dog licks her hand.
Right then, on TV, a SPECIAL BULLITEN pops up. Apparently, there's a lunatic murder on the loose. She's freaked out again, so she sticks her hand under her couch and her dog licks her hand.
The SPECIAL BULLITEN tells her to board up all doors and windows if you live in a certain area. Turns out, she lived in that area. So the seven-year-old somehow manages to board up the doors and windows.
She sticks her hand under her couch and her dog licks her hand when she's finished. She goes back to watching TV.
She hears the drip. Drip. Drip. Drip again. She checks the bathtub, the toilet, the washing machine, anything that could be making that noise. Nothing.
She goes back to watching TV again and she sticks her hand under her couch and her dog licks her hand.
There's a pounding at the door and she hears the familiar voice of the police man guy yelling for her to unboard the door because he needs to talk to her. She does as she is told and he comes inside and tells her to sit on the couch. She sticks her hand under her couch and her dog licks her hand. She asks the police man guy what's happening and he tells her that he thinks that he found the murderer.
There's a scurrying sound from behind the couch and he runs off yelling that she shouldn't look up. Being a seven-year-old girl, she's curious. So she looks up and her dog is hanging from the ceiling fan, blood falling, going... Drip. Drip. Drip.

THE END!

I hope you all enjoyed that.


And I hope you all know that I just typed that up at closed to three in the morning so even though I've gotten over my fear of that story in the third grade, it's starting to freak me out a bit. So that was for you. If I have nightmares tonight and if I can't get to sleep, I blame the people who read this.