Weekly Writing Challenge
It's time again for another writing exercise. This week its one picture and five words. I like both the one photo and five words and the two photos version of the weekly writing challenge. Just different, I guess...
As always, if you'd like to join us in our little literary adventure, here are the rules:
1) Use the above photo and the provided five chosen words in your story.
2) Keep your word count 500 or less (or a few more words if they're needed...).
3) You have until next Tuesday night to link up your story.
5) Have fun, don't stress, and let those creative juices flow!
The five chosen words:
Well, here goes!
The Airplane Ride
"Seriously, mom--you should write a novel about your childhood! It's the stuff of legend."
"Oh, I don't think so...we were just poor kids getting through the Depression." She gets up and takes the dishes away from the dinner table. The meal, as always, was delicious.
"No," she says as she returns. "My brothers and me had a lot of fun but we weren't really nice to the neighbor kids. Sometimes I can't believe the things we used to do--oh, how we'd spar with them. I'm sure those kid's parents thought none of us kids had any morals."
"Mom, were you in the airplane that you guys built?"
"No, thank goodness. If so, I might have died. We're lucky none of those dimwit kids weren't hurt more than they were."
I'd heard the story several times, but I wanted to hear it again. "So, mom, how did they get the airplane up in the air? I remember they tied one end to grandpa's truck. Did they tie it to a pulley on the barn?"
"No. They tied it atop the derrick. I still can't believe they did it." I knew I wouldn't need to needle her any more. She loved telling these stories.
"The boys were already in trouble for building that Ferris Wheel--you know, the one that didn't turn once it reached the top and the kids just tumbled out on the ground? Yes, that one. Well, this time they built that rickety airplane out of the top of a stool, an old packing crate that my dad had farm equipment shipped in, and they even nailed on a couple of wings. They put up wind socks at the end of the driveway, as if any wind would have made a difference, then they hooked up a rope to the plane, threw it over the derrick and tied it to the truck's bumper.
"I still can't believe it. Who drove the truck?"
"I can't remember his name--probably one of the Johnson kids. He was way too young to drive."
"So, he gets behind the wheel, starts up the engine, then what?" I ask, even though I know.
"Well, he gunned the engine and the truck jumped down the driveway. The airplane flew straight up until it reached the very top. The rope broke and the plane with those three numskulls fell twenty feet. When it hit the plane disintegrated and the kids all rolled away. They were hurt, but by some miracle, not seriously."
"What did grandpa do when he found out? He must have been spitting mad."
"Oh, he was! I used to complain that my brothers never involved me in any of their adventures. But I tell you, I was glad they left me out of that one."
"Great story, mom," I say. "You really should write a novel about your childhood! I mean, you all survived it for some reason."
"Indeed," she says and we both share a smile.
Word Count: 499