By: Michael Feely


Eating my salty fries at Crescent Beach’s Snack Shack, my friend and I see a patrol of seagulls on the shack’s roof. One is looking to the left, one is looking to the right, and five are looking to the front—for food left out or forgotten.
I smell my fries and so do the seagulls. One seagull says, “Hey, come over here. This kid’s got fries!”
Now the one from the left glides over to the front, making six on the front, which is scarier. Their white feathers gleam in the blue sky. I can feel the greasy fries and I know that the seagulls soon will too. 
I go inside to help my friend find the trash, but then I hear all the seagulls yelping to get my fries! I sprint over to my fries and I yelp too. My ketchup is spilled all over my fries, so I know I have to get messy.
As I finish up my fries, I hear an astonishing scream. A seagull zooms by this guy’s head, targeting his junk food trash.
“Whoa! Did you just see that seagull?” I thought about how scared I would be if I were that guy. 
I figure that before that seagull’s flight, its captain of patrol said, “Hey Sergeant! I need you to go risk your life to go past that guy’s head and try to snatch his tasty looking trash. That’s an order. Fly for the fries!” 
Well, I guess that the captain’s order didn’t work.
While we walk back to our picnic blanket on the beach, we see a sorrowful one-legged seagull next to the lifeguard stand. We know that he is not part of the patrol. Or is he?