Riding my bike, I met a screaming lady called Over-dramatic.

Her hair swivelled and shook like a boat on an uneasy sea.

Her words shattered and spread around edging on and on,

Thinking about curses, injuries and deaths like a true, true worrier.

Eating a cupcake,  I met an intense boy called Maths.

His hands were as dry as sand

And his eyes narrow in distress.

His words were whispers, like a lost soul

Working its way through life.

On the way to the shops , I met a vile doctor  called Demon.

His skin as pale as snow

And his coiling teeth slaughtering anything in his way.

And his treacherous touch,

Snaked fear down my body.

On the way to school,  I met a fuming librarian called Strict.

Her narrowed eyes, clenched fists and her ear-deafening yells,

Coats my body with endless worries.

And her razor-sharp touch slices my joy.