"Call me Ishmail. That's what I would like to be called." I told my teacher, Mr. Wyatt. It was the first day of school and teachers usually ask what we would like to be called. I chose Ishmail for some reason, it sounds like a really cool name I guess. It is better than my real name, Zeus. NO ONE is called Zeus anymore, I have no clue why my parents named me that.

"Okay..... Mr. Ishmail, why do you like to  be called that?" asked the teacher.

"Uhh it's cool idk." Good God what a dumb question, Mr. Wyatt has not been impressing me at all today. First of all his nerdy glasses, hunched back, and bright tennis with a collar shirt with a tie really is not helping the first impression, plus this is history class, my least favorite.

" Now class I want you to write about something that happened this summer in the eyes of another person, just like how HISTORY is told."

Writing. Yes, first day of school. Man I'm very excited, I'll just write a whole book about some random thing that I was involved in this summer! I grabbed my brand new mirado pencils from my pocket. I walked over to the manual sharpener, stuck the pencil in, then turned the handle. Wow, Wyatt has one thing good about him. His pencil sharpener is incredibly smooth. After about ten smooth turns I took the pencil out, I blew the remaining shaving off the tip then walked over to my desk. I started my memoir. After thirty minutes of hard brainstorming and writing I lifted my head off the desk. There was a small puddle of drool on my paper which was soon wiped off on my pants. I read my paper. This is how it went:

Ishmail the great, born  april 4th 1992.

Man what great history I thought.