Help Me Finish This Story

I need your help.
I've been working on this story (off and on) for a couple of weeks now. The trouble is, I can't seem to decide how to end it.
Let me clarify.
This story is called Jumprope Politics. As you read, you'll notice it's a rather obvious allegory for the polarization occurring in the United States political system. The trouble I'm having with ending it is that I am torn between the boys (gov't) being remorseful for their actions or being sly and snide, continuing to plot further antics. They seem shy at first, but that's because they've just been busted.  Are they really sorry or thieving punks just waiting for the adults to leave them to their plotting and selfish endeavors once more?
I'm torn between what I think is realistic and what I hope for.
So, finish my story!
Write your own ending! (Use the comment section)
I'll pick one, and maybe there can be a prize of some sort. A printed and bound version of it or something. Or coffee or beer or something. You know, whatever. :)
Tell your friends! Let's have fun with this!
Here is the story. Pick up where I end.

Despite recess ending over an hour before, two oversized 4th graders from Washington Elementary remained fixed at their game. Billy Clifton and Georgie Baum each pulled mightily from either end of a purple nylon jump rope that was showing extensive wear near its middle. Hidden behind the bushes, they had evaded their teacher, Mr. Samson, as he marched the remaining student body back into the classroom. As their peers sweated over fractions, beads of perspiration formed a crown round each boy’s head as he kept his feet firmly planted, angled his body near parallel to the ground, and insisted through clenched teeth that he would not surrender.

Finally the rope snapped in two, sending Billy and Georgie soaring through the air, each landing with a great thud on the ground.  Holding back tears, each boy slowly pushed himself up from the soil. Georgie’s knee oozed a small stream of blood, Billy’s elbow began to develop an instant bruise.

“You big dumb smelly ass, Billy! I’m telling Principal Burgher you made me bleed!”

“Oooh, I’m really scared!” Billy retorted. “Go ahead, Dumbo! If you weren’t so fat, you wouldn’ta broke the rope.”

At this, Georgie lunged and seized Billy by the shirtsleeve pulling him to the ground once more. Entwined, each boy did his best to bring his fist to his opponent’s torso as they writhed and flopped in the playground dust.

“That’s enough, boys!” boomed Mr. Samson’s voice as he pulled the still swinging boys from each other’s grasps.  Holding them at arm’s length, Mr. Samson escorted the duo to their awaiting principal a few feet away. She did not look pleased. He left them to her stare and made his way back into the school.

The boys stood at her feet, Georgie digging his foot into the dirt, Billy suddenly fascinated by his fingernails.

“Sit.”

 Ms. Burgher spoke quietly, but sternly and with great authority. Georgie and Billy quickly took their place on the hard ground, eyes studying the soil beneath them. Dry and cracked, ants scrambled in and out of the crevasses and both boys felt just as small. Surely it was only a matter of time before Ms. Burgher would bring out a magnifying glass and let the sun do its work. They braced themselves for the scolding that was sure to come.

But Ms. Burgher did not speak.

She simply stood, one half of the rope dangling from each hand. Its once brilliant purple fibers now muddied and ruined. She laid each broken piece in front of each of them.  Billy and Georgie shifted uncomfortably, unsure what action to take. Should they speak? Should they continue to wait? The longer Ms. Burgher’s eyes bored into them, the more impossible to stay still.

It was then that Mr. Samson re-emerged from the school; a small girl clutched his hand as he led her toward them. Her face was smudged with dirt and grime, clean streaks present only from the tears that had cleansed away the filth. Her dress had at one time been lavender, soft and lovely, but was now a dull sort of grey. The dingy lace collar clung on by a few scarce threads here and there. Her knees showed dried scabs and mosquito bites. Her toes were evident through shoes too small. Her hair hung stringy and greasy in her eyes as she stared at the dirt below.

“I believe the two of you have something that belongs to Susie, is that true?” Ms. Burgher asked.

Georgie and Billy nodded their heads.

“And how did the two of you come to be in possession of Susie’s new jumprope?”

Several moments passed before Billy finally managed to squeak out the words, “We took it from her.”

“I see,” said Ms. Burgher. “And what reason do you have for taking this little girl’s toy? This is the only toy she has, and she brought it to share with her schoolmates. You, boys, have now not only robbed Susie of her brand new jump rope, but have ruined the opportunity for others to play as well. What have you to say for yourselves?"

Imprisoned Bees and the Terror of Mercy

I see metaphor everwhere I go.

I just released a bee trapped inside the coffee shop. There he buzzed and buzzed, constantly hitting the window, desperately trying to get out. He could see the other side, but to get there? He had no idea how to go about it. He just repeatedly threw himself into the glass. Occasionally, he would rest on the sill, ever staring out at where he once had been; separated unwillingly from the place he belonged.

He was trapped. No matter how hard he tried, he could not break through the pane.

So finally, I rose from my seat, retrieved an empty cup from the barista, and confined the poor thing inside. I placed a thick piece of a newsletter under the cup between rim and window. The bee now found himself in total and complete darkness. A darkness he neither asked for nor desired.

For what I imagine to be terrorizing and agonizing seconds, an eternity in bee-time, the bee remained in this strange new petrifying new environment. You know, because I’m sure bees can consciously feel and comprehend human emotion. ;) His life was over. It was only seconds until he was squashed, he was certain.

Then suddenly, the temperature changed. It was surprisingly warm inside the cup and somehow less dark. Light was trying to sneak through the thick sides. In a single instant, all at once, the paper cell door was flung from place, light and the warm July air flooded in, and the bee found himself flying in the brightness of the sun. No longer crashing into his glass prison, this strange gigantic being that his bee friends had said squashed so many, had instead see him free. The terror was all for naught. 

An Evolutionary Soundtrack for the Apocalypse

So, via Studio 360 I have discovered that hipster magazine, L.A. Record is collecting soundtracks to the apocalypse (happening already tomorrow, you know!) from its readers. Here is my list. You may notice an evolutionary story unfolding from it, seeing as how if this actually is the apocalypse, we should move from mockery and despair to hope. Um...I'm kinda of betting on being around on Sunday, though. (Actually, I'm thinking that if I'm around on Sunday, the only song necessary will be American Idiot, by Green Day. That Camping fellow is American, yes?) Comment with the songs you would play!

1. Auto Rock-Mogwai (Because you need an epic intro)
2. It’s The End Of The World As We Know It-REM (Obvious, isn't it?)
3. The Angel of Death Came to David’s Room-mewithoutYou
4. Apocalypse Now- Squad Five-0 (This song is impossible to find on the net. Apparently it didn't survive to the technological age. How very punk rock of it.)
5. Hard Rock Hallelujah-Lordi (It's the aROCKalypse!)
6. I Think I’m Going To Hell-My Morning Jacket
7. The Battle of Evermore-Led Zeppelin
8. Goodbye, Cruel World-Pink Floyd
9. Greet Death-Explosions in the Sky
10. Death Will Never Conquer-Coldplay
11. Are You The One I’ve Been Waiting For?-Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds
12. Come All Ye Weary-Thrice
13. Blackbird-The Beatles
14. When The Man Comes Around-Johnny Cash
15. Sorrow-Bad Religion (Jon Foreman of Switchfoot does a nice version as well.)
16. Here Comes The Sun-The Beatles
17. Daylight-Brave Saint Saturn (This generally stands as my all time favorite song.)
18. Where The Streets Have No Name-U2
19. Glosoli-Sigur Ros (Because I imaging just standing in awe upon arrival)
20. Amazing Grace-Dropkick Murphys (Because after the awe wears off a bit, you realize it's a party and if Heaven's a party, I picture it more like this than harps and togas)

Or just click here for the whole youtube playlist. Enjoy your remaining hours on earth. Catch ya'll...you know, wherever.

Winter's Scorn -a letter regarding the mental illness of the upper midwest-

My dear friend,
I fear it is with a heavy heart I write this letter. However, I can keep it tucked away no longer. An issue has been eating away at the core of my being for quite sometime and frankly, it must be addressed. I truly believe this confrontation is the only path to reconciliation and peace.
The issue I speak of is somewhat sensitive in nature, which is perhaps the reason I have been so hesistant to bring it up. I have sucessfully avoided the issue all together a few times, but this was only by avoiding you altogether which may or may not have done either of us any good.
I am not even entirely sure that you are aware of this wieghty situation. I'm told those with your condition or those similar to it often are not. But what I can assure you is that there are many professionals who can aid you tremendously with overcoming this misfortune of mental stability. I, however, simply cannot bear the brunt of it any longer.
While so often you are supremely good and generous to me, you seem to be harboring a sort of split personality, extreme mood swings, at least, causing to you move from genuinely amiable to being a full on bastard. Barely I can tell you are one and the same as your pendulum swings wildly from one side to the next. You shine on me rays of glorious sunshine and nourish me with that which you yourself bear. Like a child eager to please her mother, you bring me sweet and heart-warming gifts. A flower. A strawberry. A rainbow. A song.
Like a lover you woo me with your sultry nights. I lie back in your arms and gaze at the stars.
But then, as if weary of doting, as if sick of my praise, your kindness flees and I am left alone in the outer most layer of hell. Though I hold on so tightly, I watch as you fade. Dr. Jekyll becomes Mr. Hyde. Any kindness you've given, you yank from my hands and finally...spit in my face. While once we embraced, we each now have become lovers scorned.
What have I done to you?
Where did I ere?
Whatever it is, I repent!
Here I am on my knees, pleading with you. Begging you'll stop and you'll see...the one I know you can be. You'll remember those warm summer nights, those crisp autumn days...the beauty of you that you seem to forget. When your whispers brushed the lobes of my ears, your warmth caressed my back. Return to the time when your rain flooded the land with wildflowers and your soil was the sorce of life. This death of your winter, simply too much to bear.
Though I bow humbly before you and beg for your grace, now again your fist ready to strike. As I brace for your blow, one last time, I implore, return to who I know you can be. This devestation wears on you as well as on me. I see it as your color seeps slowly away each time this affliction rears its ugly head. So much of you dies, and that which survives merely inches along. And saftey's a matter, nearly too grave to mention. I'll not mention the countless lives lost. Surely, for that matter alone, you must be willing to face this unholy side of yourself, and once and for all, overcome. This cataclysm must come to an end.
These words of harsh reality, hard to bear, I know. But I come to you as friend and one who dwells in your embrace, both cuddled and crushed. Please. Get help. I will assist in any way that I can. I eagerly await the day when I can finally rest wholly in you...steady and unwavering.
Be well, friend.
Melisa