Wednesday, April 8, 2015

250 words for PitchSlam -- Comments Appreciated

I had my entry ready to go by 3 p.m. Monday, but stuck in it my drafts folder for that "just in case" panic edit later on. Oh, how I wish I'd just sent it then. But I had places to be and didn't get home until close to deadline. I sent on time, but to the wrong address!! Aagh!

I'm sure I'm not the only one, so I'd really love feedback on LAWNMOWER, LEAVING.

Leaving Reason, One. Mom thinks I’m stupid enough to run over my best friend. 
My invention goes like this: First, the rope tied to the chassis pulls Brock across the lawn. Second, the wheels hit the pressure switch hidden in the grass. Third, one sprinkler goes off just as Brock rides over it.
He runs out of the spurting water. “You planned that.” 
“Perfect timing.” I check the video and smile. Inventing's one thing I can do.
“What’s with the weird grin?” Brock drops the sled and runs over to see the replay. “It looks like I peed my pants. Delete that part, okay?”
“Fine. But it’s your turn to drive.” I reach for the foot sled I made from welded cookie sheets. 
But then Mom walks onto the front porch. And that's when all the sprinklers go off, soaking the steps and Mom. I forgot to unplug the watering timer.
Mom wipes her wet glasses, then points her pen at me. It’s the one Mom chews when she pays bills. “Mowers have blades, Cole. What if you ran over Brock’s foot?”
The riding mower’s off, but her words buzz louder than engine noise. Going barefoot always felt good. Safe. Until now. 
Mom taps her pen, probably adding stuff to her “Fix Cole Plan.” 
But maybe I can make her smile. “We’re recording a video.” I hold up the camera. “It’s called, ‘Don’t Try this at Home.’” 
Brock laughs. Mom doesn’t. “You can’t try it at our home either. Sorry.” 

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