He tipped his cap to the sad-looking young lady with the bags by her side and then kept walking. As he walked, he thought. ~I wonder what her story might be?~ But he didn’t go back, he just kept going. The next person he tipped his cap to was an older woman with her hild. They were both carrying groceries home from the market. ~They look like they could use some help,~ he thought, but he didn’t stop, he simply kept walking. As he drew closer to his destination, he tipped his cap to the old man sitting on the park bench with a bottle in a paper bag. ~He looks like he could use a warm bed to sleep in.~ But the man just kept walking.
Why does he think of these things? Ways to help someone, but he doesn’t? It’s because he thinks that someone else will take pity on them, that he just needs to think of them and they’ll become someone else’s problem. The sad part is that he was wrong. If he had stopped to offer that young lady help, he would have learned that her fiance had cheated on her and left for another woman. If he had offered to help the older woman and her child with their groceries, he may have learned that her husband had died in the war and they were relying on government help to get by. If he had offered the old man some money for a motel, he could have learned that his wife had been dead for seven years now, and all the old man wanted was to join her. But he didn’t. He just kept walking, tipping his hat to people in need.
I will not wear a cap because it is hardly a hat. If a hat is what I want than a cap has no place, but if a cap is what I wish for than hopefully my head is willing to carry the load. Cap is a captain, a hat too small, and the top of a mountain I have not yet crawled.
isaac
cover my head
keep bubbles within
what am i with no lid
… lets keep pipe down on my sins.
there was a bottle cap lying on the floor. It was picked up by the 3 year old. She brought it to the garbage can. Along the way she got distracted and dropped the cap leaving it on the floor once again.
Rachelle
I wore a cap once, only once. That day it blew away and was never seen by my eyes ever again. I’m sure some lucky chap wound up with my cap. good.
Kayla
I can’t help but count the minutes
every second passing slowly on my fingers
I can smell the sun
it will be a sweltering day
a sweaty mess
but I’ll be happier than time
and the wait will have been worth it
all the tedious pain
grab my diploma and
be free.
she dropped the bottle cap in the sand
“why are you here?”
she asked
confused
her face was confused
and I really didn’t know why I even bothered
why had I bothered?
she took a large sip
of the beer
lips smacked
“I don’t ever want to see you again.”
and my heart felt like the bottle cap
that she had just dropped
pop a cap in my head
then im dead
she doest know im
dead and not alive
the top five dive into a sea of words
kurdt
Cap. I pulled down my cap and got on my shoes. Ready Dad! That hat was so specaial to me. It was passed down generatiomns.Little did I know it would be the last time I saw it…… :)
Brenda :)
the cap and gown is nested in my disgusting backpack, the one that i wrote my favorite lyrics on during calc. underneath, i just realized, i’m not going to wear anything.
“I don’t care who writes the story, just put a lid on it.” Press Secretary Candy stormed out of the room.
We sat there, dumbfounded. Write it? Write a story? None of us were writers. We were the rats. The one’s the reporters send on errands to pick up the pieces and figure out how to get to the next story. And now she wanted us to stop the upcoming tirade of questions regarding the president’s recent behavior. Sabotage, i think so.
I had a cap once. it was red and blue. i hated it. i had to were it all the time for school though. i just wanted to burn it the fiery depths of hell. it was that annoying.
Emily
It wasn’t until after he had been peacefully interred in the November ground that I realized we had forgotten to bury him with his favorite cap.
A cap is something that every little kid dreams of getting at their very first baseball game. A cap is something that a dad dreams of buying for their kid at their first baseball game. It is a piece of dignity that always sticks to you. It is something that you always feel a sense of pride and can hold with you and rejoice in that one moment you shared.
He placed the thing gently on his head. It was blue and worn and greasy, just how he liked it. The other boys began to wine.
“No, you can’t have it. It’s mine.” He commanded, and that was the end of it. This was his alley. His streets. His town. He truly was king of the forgotten.
a cap on a bottle of water. laying on the ground. should i pick up the cap? its pollution you know? hmmm. Nah, I’m sure it will end up in the trash somehow. Little do we know, our Earth is slowly but surely becoming a trash can.
Ana
The shiny red cap to the pen was severely contradictory. Inside the top lived a world of ink, but not red, like the delicious apple color implied it to be, rather, lime green. Complimentary, true, but not red. Underestimated, yes, underestimated beauties of green.
Baseball caps are always fantastic. Or perhaps it means a cap on a bottle? Both serve a fantastic purpose. One keeps liquid in a container the other keeps the sun from your eyes. Caps are a wonderful invention. My baseball cap is a dog and so it is naturally awesome.
Jonah
A cap is something you wear on your head. Use to seal a bottle. It is a limit of which you cannot exceed. It is the capital letter, or way of printing. A cap is a pac spelt backwards. It is the capacity.
Jacqueline Marsh
My husband came home with a cap today. It is black leather, and looks like something an Irishman — like my husband — would wear. His father, an incurable bargain hunter, found it for him at one of the many thrift shops he frequents.
LET ME TRY this again. He strode into the classroom. Baseball cap angled perfectly over his flowing strawberry blonde hair, pants situated amazingly 1 inch below the waistline (which was almost nonexistent), and eyes slightly squeezed inwards. Melting.
He puts o his cap and goes out to play though at times it has to serve as a helmet when he fights off the storm troopers, but mostly its his bat ball hat, the orange and black colors of the Orioles, and he hopes to catch for them someday when he’s older than two.
Putting the cap on something can either be an act of cowardice or an act of total and complete courage. Sometimes, we run away from our past. We are too afraid to face it–and therefore, we just put a cap on it and try to forget. Yet, there are sometimes when forgetting the past is a good thing, and we just need to move on. So maybe sometimes, we just need to be brave enough to move on and put the cap on our past.
To “cap” it all off: my year. 8th grade at Wyndcroft. Wow. Wow. Friend troubles. kick ass grades. kick ass attitude…sometimes…no. ALL THE TIME:)
sorry about the non story format writing
those guys outside buckingham palace with the big fluffy hats and who never smile and i really want to go and try and make them smile like in the mary kate and ashley movie where they go to england and meet those boys and its great and they fall in love and stuff. i used to love those movies
sam
As Terry pulled the baseball cap over his bushy crop of hair, he strode out into the sunlight of the stadium, guided by the rough but careful hand of the team’s coach. The crowds were cheering only for a moment before the boy strode to the microphone. He would be the youngest person to ever sing the Star Spangled Banner at that stadium – a five-year-old with the voice of an opera star.
Belinda Roddie
He’s odd and old and young, ancient eyes framed by a bright face. His words come just too quickly and just too finely crafted to be wholly human, but somehow it’s not unsettling. Instead, the quirk of his lips and the restless fidgeting are a comfort, an eccentricity that lends him an earnestness.
So she watches this funny man go on about the stars and the bakery on 5th and the best brand of ball point pen (perhaps the meaning of life too, she’s not certain) before she swipes the silly cap tilted over that mad hair and smiles.
“I like you.”
Laura.
The chubby little man had a secret: on the very top of his head, under his red and white checked cap, there was a little powder-blue button.
He didn’t want to be a superhero. He really didn’t. He yearned being back in the war with Bucky and Peggy, the days when everything wasn’t taken over by new technologies. But often Steve Rogers was someone who did the right thing because they just felt right to do. And that was how he ended up in a Star Spangled outfit surrounded by the rest of the Avengers. Tony Stark stood in his relaxed yet pompous way, and was currently arguing with Pepper about something. Bruce Banner was talking happily with Thor, who wore a confused look on his face. Natasha was pointing something out to Renner and the two spies hung out at the back of the room quietly. Sometimes being a superhero was tiring, but a lot of the times, they made him miss his old life less. This group of misfits filled in the gaps and he was proud to be their leader.
“Hey, Cap, what are you smiling about?” Stark finished talking with Pepper and gave him a strange look.
“Nothing. I’m just… happy,” Steve replied.
“Well,” Stark smirked. “Good.”
Laura
It was a rather dull brown cap. Just a simple piece of fabric with elastic to hold it to my head. I’ve always hated it. It makes me feel so boring and plain while all the other girls are either wearing no hat at all, or if they must, wearing one of the latest trends from Paris. Instead I am stuck with this boring old cap that my aunt made for me while she was sick with the flu. She must have been to make something this terrible.
Sam
caps for sale 50 cents a cap there are red caps yellow caps checkered caps there is a monkey who steals the caps when the man is asleep under the tree. he walks with the caps stacked on top of his head. five of each, maybe? caps! caps for sale 50 cents a cap
jenna
The boy tipped his cap to the doorman “Hello, sir” he said with a grin. The doorman stared at him crossly with a frown plastered across his face. “what are you up to this time?” he said crankily. “Oh, nothing of course,” the boy grinned slyly.
The blue cap was soft and warm, blending in with the rainy, grey day. She walked briskly down the street, gazing at the Christmas displays in the windows wondering what would come of her meeting at the cafe. The cap was warm and reminded her of her mother.
Maggie
The old man looked at his watch. It was time. He lifted his tartan cap from his wive’s dressing table and headed out of the door. This cap had seen a lot, possibly more than the old man had. If only it could talk. It could tell him what had really happened that day. If his wife really had taken her own life or if there was more to the story. He brushed his hand over the top of the cap. It was dusty.
Steph
The small paperboy lifted his cap and nodded to the gentlemen on his right. “Extra, exta! Read all aboout it!,” he shouted. The wind picked up, blowing his old, worn cap off his head. He ran about down the crowded streets of London in a flurry of newspapers, chasing down his precious hat and the even more valuable papers. Just as the wind died down he came to a halt in front of a little cafe. Standing in the sun was an old man, a writer. With smiling eyes he handed the paperboy his cap. As the boy knelt down to scoop up his many newspapers, he noticed the old man’s ink stained hand and the fine white papers and pencils resting on a table. From that moment on, the boy decided to grow up to be a writer. And that’s just what he did.
Lindsay Ashton
Emotion is like a lucid cap that keeps you to yourself. You can’t feel it but you can push against it, and hope that when it moves or pops, the torrent you release will be a stream of colour rather than a gush of grey.
As my graduation cap flew throught the air, I looked around at my high school classmates, suddenly fond of the hundreds with whom I had spent my last four years. I was never really a nostalgic person,but at that moment I realized that I didn’t want to leave.
Ashley
I like caps. it hides my miserable hair. But i don’t like wearing it, it makes my head and face look like a ball, because I’m fat. Its sad really, I like caps but I can’t wear them. It doesn’t suit me well. :(
They capped off the fight with one final silence. One that lasted thirteen years.
He tipped his cap to the sad-looking young lady with the bags by her side and then kept walking. As he walked, he thought. ~I wonder what her story might be?~ But he didn’t go back, he just kept going. The next person he tipped his cap to was an older woman with her hild. They were both carrying groceries home from the market. ~They look like they could use some help,~ he thought, but he didn’t stop, he simply kept walking. As he drew closer to his destination, he tipped his cap to the old man sitting on the park bench with a bottle in a paper bag. ~He looks like he could use a warm bed to sleep in.~ But the man just kept walking.
Why does he think of these things? Ways to help someone, but he doesn’t? It’s because he thinks that someone else will take pity on them, that he just needs to think of them and they’ll become someone else’s problem. The sad part is that he was wrong. If he had stopped to offer that young lady help, he would have learned that her fiance had cheated on her and left for another woman. If he had offered to help the older woman and her child with their groceries, he may have learned that her husband had died in the war and they were relying on government help to get by. If he had offered the old man some money for a motel, he could have learned that his wife had been dead for seven years now, and all the old man wanted was to join her. But he didn’t. He just kept walking, tipping his hat to people in need.
I will not wear a cap because it is hardly a hat. If a hat is what I want than a cap has no place, but if a cap is what I wish for than hopefully my head is willing to carry the load. Cap is a captain, a hat too small, and the top of a mountain I have not yet crawled.
cover my head
keep bubbles within
what am i with no lid
… lets keep pipe down on my sins.
there was a bottle cap lying on the floor. It was picked up by the 3 year old. She brought it to the garbage can. Along the way she got distracted and dropped the cap leaving it on the floor once again.
I wore a cap once, only once. That day it blew away and was never seen by my eyes ever again. I’m sure some lucky chap wound up with my cap. good.
I can’t help but count the minutes
every second passing slowly on my fingers
I can smell the sun
it will be a sweltering day
a sweaty mess
but I’ll be happier than time
and the wait will have been worth it
all the tedious pain
grab my diploma and
be free.
Something to inclose drink into a bottle, or something you wear upon your head. Also known as a type of candy.
she dropped the bottle cap in the sand
“why are you here?”
she asked
confused
her face was confused
and I really didn’t know why I even bothered
why had I bothered?
she took a large sip
of the beer
lips smacked
“I don’t ever want to see you again.”
and my heart felt like the bottle cap
that she had just dropped
pop a cap in my head
then im dead
she doest know im
dead and not alive
the top five dive into a sea of words
Cap. I pulled down my cap and got on my shoes. Ready Dad! That hat was so specaial to me. It was passed down generatiomns.Little did I know it would be the last time I saw it…… :)
the cap and gown is nested in my disgusting backpack, the one that i wrote my favorite lyrics on during calc. underneath, i just realized, i’m not going to wear anything.
“I don’t care who writes the story, just put a lid on it.” Press Secretary Candy stormed out of the room.
We sat there, dumbfounded. Write it? Write a story? None of us were writers. We were the rats. The one’s the reporters send on errands to pick up the pieces and figure out how to get to the next story. And now she wanted us to stop the upcoming tirade of questions regarding the president’s recent behavior. Sabotage, i think so.
I had a cap once. it was red and blue. i hated it. i had to were it all the time for school though. i just wanted to burn it the fiery depths of hell. it was that annoying.
It wasn’t until after he had been peacefully interred in the November ground that I realized we had forgotten to bury him with his favorite cap.
A cap is something that every little kid dreams of getting at their very first baseball game. A cap is something that a dad dreams of buying for their kid at their first baseball game. It is a piece of dignity that always sticks to you. It is something that you always feel a sense of pride and can hold with you and rejoice in that one moment you shared.
He placed the thing gently on his head. It was blue and worn and greasy, just how he liked it. The other boys began to wine.
“No, you can’t have it. It’s mine.” He commanded, and that was the end of it. This was his alley. His streets. His town. He truly was king of the forgotten.
a cap on a bottle of water. laying on the ground. should i pick up the cap? its pollution you know? hmmm. Nah, I’m sure it will end up in the trash somehow. Little do we know, our Earth is slowly but surely becoming a trash can.
The shiny red cap to the pen was severely contradictory. Inside the top lived a world of ink, but not red, like the delicious apple color implied it to be, rather, lime green. Complimentary, true, but not red. Underestimated, yes, underestimated beauties of green.
Baseball caps are always fantastic. Or perhaps it means a cap on a bottle? Both serve a fantastic purpose. One keeps liquid in a container the other keeps the sun from your eyes. Caps are a wonderful invention. My baseball cap is a dog and so it is naturally awesome.
A cap is something you wear on your head. Use to seal a bottle. It is a limit of which you cannot exceed. It is the capital letter, or way of printing. A cap is a pac spelt backwards. It is the capacity.
My husband came home with a cap today. It is black leather, and looks like something an Irishman — like my husband — would wear. His father, an incurable bargain hunter, found it for him at one of the many thrift shops he frequents.
LET ME TRY this again. He strode into the classroom. Baseball cap angled perfectly over his flowing strawberry blonde hair, pants situated amazingly 1 inch below the waistline (which was almost nonexistent), and eyes slightly squeezed inwards. Melting.
He puts o his cap and goes out to play though at times it has to serve as a helmet when he fights off the storm troopers, but mostly its his bat ball hat, the orange and black colors of the Orioles, and he hopes to catch for them someday when he’s older than two.
Putting the cap on something can either be an act of cowardice or an act of total and complete courage. Sometimes, we run away from our past. We are too afraid to face it–and therefore, we just put a cap on it and try to forget. Yet, there are sometimes when forgetting the past is a good thing, and we just need to move on. So maybe sometimes, we just need to be brave enough to move on and put the cap on our past.
To “cap” it all off: my year. 8th grade at Wyndcroft. Wow. Wow. Friend troubles. kick ass grades. kick ass attitude…sometimes…no. ALL THE TIME:)
sorry about the non story format writing
those guys outside buckingham palace with the big fluffy hats and who never smile and i really want to go and try and make them smile like in the mary kate and ashley movie where they go to england and meet those boys and its great and they fall in love and stuff. i used to love those movies
As Terry pulled the baseball cap over his bushy crop of hair, he strode out into the sunlight of the stadium, guided by the rough but careful hand of the team’s coach. The crowds were cheering only for a moment before the boy strode to the microphone. He would be the youngest person to ever sing the Star Spangled Banner at that stadium – a five-year-old with the voice of an opera star.
He’s odd and old and young, ancient eyes framed by a bright face. His words come just too quickly and just too finely crafted to be wholly human, but somehow it’s not unsettling. Instead, the quirk of his lips and the restless fidgeting are a comfort, an eccentricity that lends him an earnestness.
So she watches this funny man go on about the stars and the bakery on 5th and the best brand of ball point pen (perhaps the meaning of life too, she’s not certain) before she swipes the silly cap tilted over that mad hair and smiles.
“I like you.”
The chubby little man had a secret: on the very top of his head, under his red and white checked cap, there was a little powder-blue button.
He didn’t want to be a superhero. He really didn’t. He yearned being back in the war with Bucky and Peggy, the days when everything wasn’t taken over by new technologies. But often Steve Rogers was someone who did the right thing because they just felt right to do. And that was how he ended up in a Star Spangled outfit surrounded by the rest of the Avengers. Tony Stark stood in his relaxed yet pompous way, and was currently arguing with Pepper about something. Bruce Banner was talking happily with Thor, who wore a confused look on his face. Natasha was pointing something out to Renner and the two spies hung out at the back of the room quietly. Sometimes being a superhero was tiring, but a lot of the times, they made him miss his old life less. This group of misfits filled in the gaps and he was proud to be their leader.
“Hey, Cap, what are you smiling about?” Stark finished talking with Pepper and gave him a strange look.
“Nothing. I’m just… happy,” Steve replied.
“Well,” Stark smirked. “Good.”
It was a rather dull brown cap. Just a simple piece of fabric with elastic to hold it to my head. I’ve always hated it. It makes me feel so boring and plain while all the other girls are either wearing no hat at all, or if they must, wearing one of the latest trends from Paris. Instead I am stuck with this boring old cap that my aunt made for me while she was sick with the flu. She must have been to make something this terrible.
caps for sale 50 cents a cap there are red caps yellow caps checkered caps there is a monkey who steals the caps when the man is asleep under the tree. he walks with the caps stacked on top of his head. five of each, maybe? caps! caps for sale 50 cents a cap
The boy tipped his cap to the doorman “Hello, sir” he said with a grin. The doorman stared at him crossly with a frown plastered across his face. “what are you up to this time?” he said crankily. “Oh, nothing of course,” the boy grinned slyly.
The blue cap was soft and warm, blending in with the rainy, grey day. She walked briskly down the street, gazing at the Christmas displays in the windows wondering what would come of her meeting at the cafe. The cap was warm and reminded her of her mother.
The old man looked at his watch. It was time. He lifted his tartan cap from his wive’s dressing table and headed out of the door. This cap had seen a lot, possibly more than the old man had. If only it could talk. It could tell him what had really happened that day. If his wife really had taken her own life or if there was more to the story. He brushed his hand over the top of the cap. It was dusty.
The small paperboy lifted his cap and nodded to the gentlemen on his right. “Extra, exta! Read all aboout it!,” he shouted. The wind picked up, blowing his old, worn cap off his head. He ran about down the crowded streets of London in a flurry of newspapers, chasing down his precious hat and the even more valuable papers. Just as the wind died down he came to a halt in front of a little cafe. Standing in the sun was an old man, a writer. With smiling eyes he handed the paperboy his cap. As the boy knelt down to scoop up his many newspapers, he noticed the old man’s ink stained hand and the fine white papers and pencils resting on a table. From that moment on, the boy decided to grow up to be a writer. And that’s just what he did.
Emotion is like a lucid cap that keeps you to yourself. You can’t feel it but you can push against it, and hope that when it moves or pops, the torrent you release will be a stream of colour rather than a gush of grey.
As my graduation cap flew throught the air, I looked around at my high school classmates, suddenly fond of the hundreds with whom I had spent my last four years. I was never really a nostalgic person,but at that moment I realized that I didn’t want to leave.
I like caps. it hides my miserable hair. But i don’t like wearing it, it makes my head and face look like a ball, because I’m fat. Its sad really, I like caps but I can’t wear them. It doesn’t suit me well. :(