Hey, writer-type folks. AND PEOPLE WHO JUST WANT TO PLAY BUT DON'T IDENTIFY AS 'WRITERS' - all are welcome here! Every Friday, we do a fun free-write. For fun. And Freedom!
Write whatever you want in the 'comments' section on this blog post. Play as many times as you like. #breaktheblog! You have two minutes (give or take a few seconds ... no pressure!). Have fun. The more people who play, the more fun it is. So, tell a friend. Then send 'em here to read your 'two' and encourage them to play.
He looked at the old man's face and saw a twinkle in his green eye. The one that wasn't an opal - the one that wasn't framed by thick, red scars. It'll grow son, trust me. But the boy didn't trust him. Didn't know him. He had been shuttled between houses and families and some were good and some were bad - this old man? He just seemed sad. Sad in a friendly way, but sad. And he was playing a joke on the boy. The dry ground wanted nothing to do with them until they were dead. The boy knew that. But the old man had fed him well and told him stories, so he figured he'd humor the one-eyed man. Respect his elders.
The boy dug with the small shovel until the man grunted. The grunt was clearly a signal. The sun overhead was hot and the boy thought, again, how stupid ... whatever, he'd been the target of worse jokes. Bigger bullies. He dropped the seed in the hole he'd dug. Poured the jug of water. A wide circle around the mound of dirt like the man told him. Then, they went back inside. The man had said something about fishing. It all sounded corny as hell.
Foster homes foster poor short term memory. When the boy woke up the next day, he was not thinking about the seed, and the man did not mention it. It rained heavy that week and they stayed inside for the most part, enjoying the sound of the drops on the roof, speaking rarely.
On a Friday morning, the boy awoke before the man. He went out back to start his chores, but his eyes were snatched by green. Clear as day, rising from the dirt, a sprout of new, fresh green. The boy turned with wide eyes, planning to get the man, but somehow he was already behind him. The boy wondered how long he'd been staring. Must have been longer than he thought. He hadn't realized his eyes were wet.
The man laughed: See, son? I told you. I won't ever tell you nothing that's not true. You can count on that.
The boy repeated the words in his head; they were warm and soft.
You can count on that.
BREAK THE BLOG FOR ME! AND GIVE ME SOME STUFF TO READ! Get 'em! :)
#2minutesgo Tweet it! Share it! Shout it from the top of the shack you live in! I will be out most of the day, but I'll be back...