"You never thought about moving?" "And leave this view? Screwdriver." "Huh?" "Screwdriver. Please." "Shane, how many boards do we need?" "As many as this boat gives us."
The sun beat down on the backyard. Grass, which usually felt soft and soothing under our bare toes, felt scratchy and stiff that day. Maggie picked at the wood pile for the fire ring beside the shed. Her chipped painted nails chipped at the dry logs' bark. I brushed anthills away with the tip of a stick.
Fred, just turned nineteen, gripped his rifle tight against his chest. Soot and dirt caked his face, giving him an ashen mask over his pasty, Irish skin. His throat hummed but his lips trembled and chopped up the melodic breathing.
"So, Linus, what do you do for a living?" I'd been here a thousand times, knowing that this potential relationship was already doomed. So, I decided to have fun with it. "I'm a freelancer. Kind of between jobs." She sipped her champagne. Her eyebrows leapt with a feigned spark of intrigue.
My wallpaper never gave me any sense of closure for moving. It should've. Cartoon monkeys peeling bananas that looked like yellow Tic-Tacs. I left a Disney's Cars sticker on the bedroom window. That way, whoever took my room next knew that I was there once.
“Put that flower pot next to the hose… No, not that hose. The one next to the bird bath.” “This one?” “No, the other bird bath.” “Why do you have so many bird baths?” “I like seeing clean birds.”
A 15-Minute Writing Challenge based off the word, "Jostle."