August 16, 2012
-
look here (not there)
#WhimSh 49. Write a STORY to go with the following photo: ( 4 pts)
August day hot as sin in the afternoon. Jack and me bored with cowboys and Indians. Bored with the swimming hole. Bored as shit of his little brother trailing after us all the blasted time. Nothing to relieve the angry, hell-bent on finding trouble feeling that stuck to our skin like freckles.
Timmy seemed as bored by us as we were by him and I’d like to have thrown him in the swimming hole and left him, but we couldn’t. Jack’s mom woulda tanned our hides. And getting rid of tagalong Timmy wasn’t worth the burning.
I told them both to hush. I saw my sister coming with her beau, that stupid Bill, dumb jock always making stupid faces at her, like he ate something that tasted bad. And Sally was giggling like he was a regular comedian and staring up at him like he was God come down to earth. Jack and me rolled our eyes and nearly busted out laughing. She was some kind of simple. We hoped we’d never get no stupid girl wanting to make eyes at us like that. Timmy started to say something and Jack clapped his hand over that mouth so fast it nearly knocked his head against the tree. But he hushed all right.
Sally and Bill kept on walking, not hearing any noise we were making anyhow, her giggling loud enough to wake the locusts from their afternoon naps. Jack and me looked at each other, and we knew wherever they were going, we were going too. All secret spy-like. And we looked at Timmy. Jack whispered “if you make a noise and mess this up, we will throw you in the swimming hole with rocks tied on your ears.” Timmy nodded, believing every word.
So we tiptoed behind Sally and Bill, hiding behind trees and they never heard nothing. I know they didn’t. Because they went right up to that horse trailer hiding in the bushes at old man Tate’s farm. And they jimmied the lock like it was a screen door to the porch and a glass of Ma’s cool lemonade waited for them inside. And I thought for a second that maybe we oughtn’t follow them no more. But Jack had that look. The one that told me I was a big chicken if I didn’t follow through, so I knew we were going to find out what the heck they were doing in there whether I wanted to know or not. And my stomach came up my throat. I had no clue why, but I knew they weren’t playing Monopoly in that trailer.
11. PAINT a self portrait ( 8 pts)
both Spawn and Spouseman said I captured my new librarian glasses just fine. I think I’m done pretending portraiture is a possibility.
Comments (12)
Yay! Loved the story! And yay on the portrait!
excellent work all around
awesome picture you paint here. i really like the voice. terrific ending hah
my favorite: Nothing to relieve the angry, hell-bent on finding trouble feeling that stuck to our skin like freckles.
something endearing about that portrait
At first you don’t succeed, try a liberal amount of explosives. An interesting story. My muse left me long ago.
Heh. awesome. Not so much monopoly in there.
Your portraits are great. I am pretty sure mine are going to be abstract. Not because I like abstract art, either.
yep, you got voice, woman. that attitude, of the kids, the feel of them, down to the height, you so remember it all. well-done!
Oh no! I think those. Boys are going to get a real education!!
Well done.
The portrait and story seems homespun. I wonder if there is a better word than homespun? Anyhow I suppose it is good enough to be in the top blog ranks.
@PPhilip - i suppose top blogs is not at all about quality of entries. homespun is a fine adjective.
A very interesting read.
I recognize your eyeglasses you mentioned the other day..that is a very well done portrait..i like it..