Strikeout of the Bleacher Weenies Read Online Free Page A

impossibly tall. Then, the head moved lower and the jaws opened.
    The pit was narrow at the bottom. Probably too narrow for the head to fit. But I wasn’t taking any chances. Ignoring the pain of the recoil, I fired three more shots, aiming below the head, where the heart had to be, emptying the chamber.
    I could tell from its eyes that I had killed it. But it was too stupid to know it was dead yet. In a moment, the brain and body would agree that life had come to an end, and I’d have my trophy.
    â€œGot you!” I shouted. I’d never felt my heart beating with such stunning force. Darrin was right. There was no thrill like shooting a charging beast. I loaded another round into the chamber and shot it again, just for fun. I wanted to get my money’s worth. Okay—Dad’s money. But this was my adventure. This was my greatest moment.
    The spinosaurus fell forward. It dropped right over the opening of the pit, sealing me in darkness.
    My heart and body leaped from excitement to panic. I was trapped! For a moment, I lost control of my breathing. Then I reminded myself that Darrin would dig me out. Worst case, he’d go back for heavy equipment. They needed it to bring home the dinosaur trophy, anyhow. One way or another, all I had to do was wait to be rescued. The spinosaurus was no longer a threat. The pit was too narrow for it to fall in and crush me.
    â€œSit tight,” I said out loud. “You just blew away a dinosaur.”
    To prove I was still in control, I fired another shot straight up at it.
    Something splashed on my head.
    I felt a warm, sticky liquid on my face. More of it flooded down around me.
    Dinosaur blood.
    It was filling the pit.
    I dropped the rifle and scrambled for the side of the pit. It was slick with blood. I tried to climb, but I fell back.
    The blood rose to my knees, then to my waist. I listened for any sound of rescue, but all I heard was a gushing torrent, like someone emptying a large bucket. An endless bucket.
    Soon, the pool of blood reached my chest. I floated up until I bumped against the body of the dinosaur.
    Too soon, the blood reached my neck, and then my chin.
    I’d killed a dinosaur.
    And now, it was killing me.

 
    THE DUGGLY UCKLING
    There once was a duck who sat on a nest near the edge of a small pond, tending her eggs and dreaming of the days when the hatchlings would follow her as she swam across the calm surface of the water. Finally, after what seemed like forever, one of the eggs started to wiggle and shake.
    â€œIt’s time,” she quacked.
    One by one, the eggs hatched, revealing little fluff balls of cuteness.
    â€œAren’t they lovely?” she asked.
    â€œIndeed they are,” said a passing robin.
    Soon, there were six little ducklings drying their feathers in the afternoon sunlight. But a seventh egg didn’t hatch. The mother watched it, fearing it might never open. The thought cast a shadow on this joyful day.
    But, just after the sun set and darkness gripped the pond, the seventh egg shook as the shell was pecked at from within. Eventually, the seventh duckling emerged.
    Even in the dim light of the moon, the duck and the other ducklings could see the new hatchling well enough to know that this one was different.
    â€œNot pretty,” the mother said.
    â€œWorse than that,” said duckling number one. “Look at those ugly feathers.”
    â€œToo ugly to be a duckling,” said number two. “And what a strange shade of yellow.”
    â€œRight!” said number three. “That’s not a duckling. It’s an uckling.”
    â€œA duggly uckling,” said number four. “With a big, fat bill.”
    Number five and number six were too busy gagging to add their comments.
    As for the duggly uckling, she stood there, sad and lonely, wondering why her welcome into the world had been so harsh and cruel. In the morning, she waddled away.
    The next day, as the uckling searched for