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.
The water ran thick and fast, brown like chocolate milk. Bobby looked at the water with wonder and fear. Above him, he heard an eagle cry. The eagle was not happy with the water. Nothing was happy with the water. Adults watched the news and talked about rising floodwaters. They saw images of the massive flow tearing trees from the banks of the river they had all trusted. It was shocking on television. It was downright terrifying in person.
Bobby knew this stretch of water well; he had fished it for years. Normally, you could throw a spinnerbait across to the other bank if the wind was working in your favor. Now, the other bank was a ghost, devoured by the appetite of the water. He would not be able to throw a lure even halfway, and, if he did have his rod, he wouldn’t have attempted to throw anything in the water. It would be an insult. And there was a part of him that was convinced the water would pull him in, too.
Most people weren’t worried about the fish, but Bobby was. He tried to think about it rationally. He knew that things like this happened. He knew that Mother Nature tended to take care of her own. But he couldn’t help but wonder what was going on beneath the turmoil on the surface. What do you think with your tiny fish brain when the slow, clear water you are used to is turned into a churning nightmare?
He wanted to reassure them. And he was too young to realize that this meant he really wanted to reassure himself. Sure, folks were losing their homes. Jeremy’s trailer was already gone. Somewhere downriver. They’d never find it. Bits and pieces of it would wash up on the shore miles and miles away. He wondered about the baseball trophy they’d won. Maybe a big bass would eat it. Maybe it would be lodged in a tree or picked up by the frustrated eagle trying in vain to spot something shiny in the chocolate sludge.
He knew it was time to head home – there was talk of evacuation even in his neighborhood now. His mother would be worried sick, but he’d needed to come look at the water. The water had always been there for him. It wouldn’t be right to abandon it without so much as a goodbye.
The sun was dropping now, and Bobby picked up a long stick. He threw it into the river where it promptly disappeared, end over end, sucked into the maelstrom and confusion. He tried not to imagine that it was a house, a trailer, a car that was in the wrong place at the wrong time - maybe with someone trapped inside it.
He tried, but he failed.
#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...