Writing Prompt 23

[Laina]

You have a Dennis The Menace type little boy who roams your neighborhood. He might even live next door. That's up to you. In 500 words or less, tell us what he's done to you and how you handled it.

For cyber cheese popcorn use the five senses. LOLOL :p

Taste
Touch
Hear
See
Feel

[Tommie Lyn]

The Scourge of Jones Street
Word Count: 495

The ice cold milk tasted good, and Martha drank half the carton before setting it on her tray. “Mmm.”

“I've never seen anybody liked milk much as you,” Irene said. “And you know what?”

Martha sighed. “What.”

“I heard that . . .” Irene's voice faded and her mouth dropped open.

“What?”

“Look! Isn't that Jimmy Joe Ledbetter?”

Martha followed Irene's stare. Her eyes came to rest on a tall, tanned boy who stood holding a tray, scanning the lunchroom. Her mouth dropped open. He was the handsomest boy she'd ever seen. He couldn't be Jimmy Joe, the Scourge of Jones Street.

The boy's eyes met hers and an expression of recognition flicked over his face. He started for her table.

“Hey, Martha. Ain't seen you in a long while,” he said in a slow, melodious drawl. “Mind if I sit here. Looks like all the other tables are full.”

Martha recovered her composure and snapped her mouth shut. “Um. Sure.”

He fastened his dreamy blue eyes on hers, and the sounds of the lunchroom receded from Martha's hearing as she lost herself in those eyes, transported to times past. A series of images passed in succession through Martha's memory.

Jimmy Joe tugging her pigtails . . . Jimmy Joe snitching the last piece of fudge when he conned his way into her house by being oh, so polite to Mama . . . squirting her with his water pistol one summer day, wetting her best dress. And Jimmy Joe yanking her feet from under her when she waded into the creek, so that she plunged under the cold water. Everywhere, all the time, Jimmy Joe Ledbetter was the bane of Martha's existence.

Martha's eyes narrowed as she returned to the present. Jimmy Joe had been nothing but trouble to her all her life. She remembered the relief she felt when Daddy announced at supper one night that the Ledbetters would be moving to Atlanta.

Good riddance!

Jimmy Joe brought Martha back to the present when he said, “You look different, Martha. All grown up. And . . . pretty.”

“Um . . . you . . . look different, too,” Martha said, as she took in his handsome face and sun-streaked hair.

He grinned, his teeth white and perfect against his tanned skin. Martha heard Irene's quick intake of breath. She almost gasped herself. When he smiled, Jimmy Joe was the best-lookin' thing she'd ever seen.

“Say, Martha,” he began. “I hear they have a “welcome back” dance to start off the new school year.”

She nodded, seeming to have lost control of her voice.

“Since I don't know anyone here as well as I know you, could I ask a favor?”

Martha cleared her throat. “Sure.”

“Would you go to the dance with me?”

Delicious emotions gripped her, churned in her stomach, tightened her muscles. Jimmy Joe hadn't changed. He still wreaked havoc on Martha. But, instead of pulling her feet from under her at the creek, he'd swept her off her feet with a word and a smile.

[writersprite]

The Neighbor Boy
498 Words


His name was Alton.

I know that’s the reason why he’s so mean. Well, the reason he does what he does. What does he do? A better question would be what doesn’t he do because he does just about everything. He pulls my hair. He puts cats up trees. He blows up Army men with firecrackers…. He once told my little brother to hold a firecracker tight in his hand after lighting it. Said it would blow his hand open and was a cool sight to see.

My brother almost lost his finger. He’s almost five.

When Alton gets beat by the school bully, I don’t feel bad. Which makes me feel guilty, but you don’t know what it’s like to hear about the things Alton does to be funny. I want to hit him so hard sometimes that I can just taste it.

But my mom says girls don’t fight. I hate being a girl.

Now I’m on the bus going home from school glaring at him. He doesn’t care. Every time I hear his voice it makes me want to rip his eyes out. OK, so maybe not. But it just makes me so mad! Why does he have to be so mean just because his mom gave him a stupid name? It’s not our fault.

The bus comes to my stop and I grab my book bag, glaring at Alton the whole way down the aisle. When he looks up, he just grins at me, his green eyes aglow with taunts. That look makes me want to knock him upside the head with my book bag. For my brother and the firecracker lie. For little Spice, the neighbor’s cat, that he put up the oak tree last summer. For Pepper, our dog, that got his tail Super-glued to his nose.

I pass Alton, still glaring, and force myself not to kick him in the shin. Then I purposefully look away and ignore him. It was the only thing I could do that wouldn’t get me grounded, even though it wasn’t half what I wanted to do.

I may have been a girl, but I wasn’t afraid of Alton. He knew it, too.

The next day was Saturday and my mom let me go to the park across the street by myself. I’m nine. I almost didn’t go when I saw Alton throwing a baseball at the wall of the restroom. But I wasn’t afraid of him, and I wasn’t going to not play on the new swings at the park just because he was there.

He watched me walk to the swings, still throwing the stupid ball against the stupid restroom wall. I ignored him and chose my favorite swing, the middle one, and began to do what I do best: swing. Alton just kept throwing the baseball and I just kept swinging. If he touched me, or even spoke to me, I probably would have punched him in the nose.

He knew it, too.

[Laina]

He Just Had A Big Heart
Word Count: 500

I watched Johnny out my living room window. What’s that little terror up to now?

The phone rang. “Hello.”

“Hey, Susie. You busy?” It was Sally, two houses down.

I sunk into the couch. “No, not really. What’s up?”

“A few minutes ago Johnny was at the Franklin’s. They left for vacation a couple of days ago. Johnny’s feeding their cat and he had a blanket with him when he left. What should I do?”

I crossed my knees; bounced my foot. “Let me think on it.”

“Susie, don't you think we need to talk to his parents? He’s getting to be such a nuisance.”

“That’s a nice word. I can think of others. I had to spend hours in my garden after he got through with it.”

“Sally, hang on a sec. I hear a noise.” I pulled back the sheer. I saw Johnny pulling his radio flyer. He had fruit, and what looked like more of my flowers. Hmm, looks like a gasoline can. “Sally, get over here, now.” I folded my cell and threw it on the couch.

I slipped out the front door. I strode over to Johnny; caught Sally scurrying over out of the corner of my eye.

My hands squeezed my hips. “Okay little man, just what are you up to?”

Johnny looked up at me with wide brown eyes, and tightened his grip on the wagon.

“Nothin,” Johnny said.

“Nothin, what do you mean nothin? Where did you get all of this stuff?” I leaned over and grabbed the blanket. “Sally, is this the blanket?”

Sally nodded. “It sure is.”

Johnny scratched his head. His eyes began pooling. “I . . . I just borrowed it.”

“Johnny, you’ve been taking stuff from the whole neighborhood.”

Johnny’s lip quivered; he palmed his tears leaving smeared dirt behind.

My heart pierced when I realized I was angry, yelling and picking on a kid. Convicted, I knelt before Johnny and rubbed the back of his head. “I’m sorry Johnny, I didn’t mean to be so harsh, but you need to ask people for things and not just take them. You’ve destroyed some of my garden when you took my flowers.”

“I’m sorry,” Johnny choked. I know it’s wrong. I wasn’t doing it for me. It’s for an old lady who lives next to me. She’s lonely . . . needs stuff. I visit her. I don’t have a Grams, but she loves me like she was mine.”

I glanced at Sally, bit my lip; tasted blood. I felt like a jerk.

“Johnny, you need to return all this stuff you took, okay. And apologize too.”

Johnny’s face dropped.

I lifted Johnny’s chin. “Cheer up. We’ll help Grams. She won’t go hungry.” “From now on, ask alright? We’ll always help if you need it. Just let us know, okay?”

I hugged Johnny and gave his shoulders a squeeze.

Johnny’s eyes sparkled. He grinned. He reached over and returned my hug. The “little terror” wasn’t ornery after all. He just had a big heart.

[writersprite]

TL - Laina,

I love your stories! So cute!!

[Laina]

Great story Tommie. You too Writer, I'm glad you joined us and hope to see you more often around here.

[Tommie Lyn]

Good job, Writer and Laina. And y'all actually wrote about little boys, while I wrote about a bigger one, lol.

TL

[Textus Rec]

Beady eyes peeked over the fence and shifted left to right. They were up to no good. The brain behind them was spinning and shifting gears faster than a teenager in a drag race. The head tilted and the eyebrows rose in delicious maliciousness. Those eyes could see the target resting on a hammock in the other yard. Flared nostrils could smell the excited anticipation, and nervous elation tasted like bile in the throat. Jittery fingers caressed the shaving cream filled balloon. It felt like a mushy lump of joy all wrapped up and ready to be released. The arm cocked back like a mighty catapult as the spinning brain calculated loft and distance. Pull back just a bit more and . . .

“What in heaven’s name are you doing?”

The arm dropped limply as the ears heard the shrill voice coming from the deck.

“I was just . . . uh . . . I was looking for . . .” The mouth groped for something to say.

“You were going to throw that at little Billy from next door, weren’t you?” The voice could tell what the spinning mind was up to.

“Well, I was,” the mouth gave up, “Yeah. I was.”

“You, a grown man, about to throw a – what is that, a water balloon of some sort – onto poor little Billy. The young man who painted our cat, broke the car windshield, digs for worms in our front lawn, rings the doorbell in the middle of the night, plays his tuba during supper . . .” The voice paused for a moment and said, “Lemme go get the camera before you throw that thing!”

[Tommie Lyn]

LOL Textus...love it!

[writersprite]

HAHAHAHAH! I love it!!

!thumbsup!

[Laina]

Textus, I loved it too! Great story. It made me laugh. :D

[starlitopal]

Textus, that was really funny! Loved it!

[Textus Rec]

Thanks everybody! I have been having so much fun with these writing prompts. I'm in somewhat of a funk with my current WIP, so these have been helpful to keep me writing.

[writersprite]

I hear you, Tex. >.< In the same boat myself. This writing prompt may have given me the story for NaNo....

[Ink Blot]

Terror in the Neighborhood
444 words

“Sorry” was a word used frequently by William. His heart of gold and willingness to help was often diminished by his uncanny ability to create results that paralleled the aftermath of a major natural disaster. This 10 year-old was able to bring dread and fear to every homeowner in the neighborhood, so much so that it became common practice for us to check our homeowner policies whenever he was out in the street.
This summer was a particularly dangerous time of year for the neighborhood. Mix twelve hours of light each day with the boredom of a child, top it off with William’s special gift for destruction, and find 3 months’ worth of monumental damage. For example, William’s first touch of disaster hit in June, targeting David Mirapin’s BMW, where the rear fender found the scouring side of William’s sponge. The deep, circular scratches created a new texture in the car and added the unexpected surprise of a two-fold increase to David’s auto insurance premium. Last month, William’s effort to build a tree fort in his backyard caused 2 limbs to fall directly on Mr. Ellem’s greenhouse. The crash echoed throughout the cul-de-sac as the tree limbs knocked over the wooden structure, tore through the thick plastic sheeting, shattered ceramic pots and crushed the arrangements of rare orchid plants. The aroma of fresh dirt and fertilizer hung over his yard for days even after he cleared the mess.
The crises continued to increase in severity as we entered into the last weeks of summer vacation. We were desperate for a change and the start of school was too far away for our comfort level. Secretly the neighborhood residents met to strategize a way to minimize any further impact. The suggestions began to fly: buy his family a home in Europe; bubble wrap our houses; duct tape oven mitts to his hands; and to even glue his shoes to the pavement.
But the soft voice of Jim Benson pierced the din of our panicked and unpractical suggestions. “What if we just love him with a heart like Jesus, letting Jesus work out the details?”
The room was quiet for a moment, filled with the conviction of the Holy Spirit. We realized that the drive to protect our worldly possessions far exceeded our effort to love William’s heart above his misguided hands. David Mirapin spoke. “We could ask the Lord for more patience while we pray for William to become more constructive.”
The rest of us quietly agreed with his statement. Mr. Ellem added, “And maybe we can start up a repair fund just in case the Lord chooses not to transform William’s hands right away.”

[Ink Blot]

Sorry for the formatting issues. The paragraphs seemed to find their own formatting with the cut-and-paste option. :-)

[Tommie Lyn]

Love that last line, Ink Blot!

[Laina]

Inkblot, what a great story. Loved it!

[Ink Blot]

Thanks for the kudos. Doesn't our faith mimic that last line sometimes? Trust Him with all your heart and have a repair plan just in case. :-) Thank goodness our walk with the Almighty allows for growth.

This was a really fun one to write. Thanks for the idea, Laina!