Quentin was nine years old, which was a really weird age, since most kids are ten and twelve. He was a boy too, and loved animals. He especially loved to play with Q-tips. Yes, the little cloth on a plastic stick you use to clean your ears. Quentin would stick them in his ears, and even go around the house, putting Q-tips in each ears of his eight cats! The cats would meow and beg Quentin take the Q-tips out of their ears. But Quentin couldn’t hear them, because Quentin himself had Q-tips in his ears, and couldn’t hear a meow of the cats. Quentin and his family lived out in the country, way out by the edge of Mississippi, by the beach. You just had to walk for about a minute though the hot sand, and you would be in the beach. The beach was a lovely little place, and no one swam there, so Quentin had it to himself. “I am the King of the beach!!!” Quentin would sometimes make a surfboard out of wood and stand on top of it, yelling beastly cries. He even attached some of his bed sheets to the pole that stuck up out of the crudely made surfboard, and make a sailboat. But Quentin had to be extremely careful, and not get sucked into the riptides. So to conquer that problem, Quentin’s parents had constructed a sort of wall made out of beach noodles around the area that Quentin loved to sail in. It looked like this:
Quentin felt like the king of the world standing on his little wood raft, shouting to nobody in particular. His parents loved little Quentin, when he would shout at the top of his lungs. They even bought him some killer whales! Quentin, who wasn’t scared of anything, tamed them within a day. He had trained them to walked on the ground, and even do flips! Quentin named the two whales Q-tip, and Tip-Q. His parents called the Killer-whales Quentin’s Q-tips, and they would play with him everyday.