Mike Sutton's Blog: For prose apply within. - Posts Tagged "water-balloons"

It was one of those beautiful summer days, with the clear blue sky, bright sunshine and pleasant breeze. The perfect weather for an adventure. And even if the sky had been grey with a cool breeze crossing the surface of the suburbs, it wouldn't have mattered any. It was summer and they were outside.

The kid crouched in the small cluster of trees and bushes, wearing his camouflage shirt in the hopes that it would magically make him invisible to others, like some wondrous Gods-gifted trinket sort of charm bestowed upon one of the heros of old. He was staring out across the street at a large group of other children his age, they were playing a game that involved riding their bikes down into a pit, and then up the other side where they would ride a foot or two into the air. They called it bike jumping, sort of an suburban sport that was about as extreme as their idyllic surroundings. A childish imitation of what they had seen on television. Their imaginations put to the full test as they saw themselves winning the accolades of millions with this game of theirs.

In his one hand the kid held a balloon full of water that was still managed to retain its cool, even after what felt like hours, maybe even days, of sneaking through the woods and fenced backyards between here and their homes. Probably only fifteen minutes had passed in the real world, but kids don't really live in the real world. The mission called for stealth, and be damned if they didn't give sneakiness their best shot. The other hand was full of sweat brought on by neither the heat of the sun nor the exercise.

He looked over at his friend, who was wearing shorts and a bright orange t-shirt that would be better applied to walking through the woods during hunting season than this clandestine operation of the most sensitive nature. "Are you ready?"

"Damn straight." He said, just a little too loud. A car passed them by in the street and the bikers kept up their game of riding and jumping, the future stars cheering one another on. If nobody else saw it fit to salute their daring, then they would see to it themselves.

The kid looked out across the street once again and hefted his balloon. It wasn't an impressive payload. One balloon. For all of the work, maybe they should have brought an entire cooler full of them, and be carpet bombers. They could make their last stand in this micro-forest. A two person Aalmo. The Aalmo though hadn't gone well for the defenders. Though they were doing something innately stupid, there were limits on their self destructive

Instead they decided to be guerilla warriors, snipers. Fighting their way through the barren and frightening wilderness of the suburban landscape, to burst out on their prey, strike, and then fade away. This was the plan. He had his special shirt along to bring them luck.

"Now," he said, bursting from cover and flinging his balloon up over the road in the vague direction of the other children.

He had played this game before, numerous times. Not once could he ever be sure that he hit any single one of his targets. His friend often claimed amazing feats of accuracy and power, hitting one of the jumpers in the face and knocking him through the air, his body spinning as his heels sailed over his head until he landed in a large pool of stagnant water. His friend claimed this, but then he also had claimed to be a prince and a werewolf on separate occasions.

His friend had his boasts, numerous ones. Which he couldn't begin to argue against, since the moment after the balloon left his hand he was already turned around and running. Maybe the fact that his friend was at his side keeping pace as they sprinted for safety could be taken as evidence of the less than truthful nature of his stories. But then maybe he was too jacked up on adrenaline to much remember the sequence of events that followed the release.

The game had its forms. The two friends launched their payload and then the jumpers gave chase. Now, trying to outrun a group of bikers on open ground is really not a wise tactic. But these two kids weren't the brightest bulbs on the tree as it was and seemed to usually discount this in their plans. Sure, they could have jumped fences and maybe gotten away. Bikes after all can't climb fences, and most children weren't inclined to jump off their bike and leave it to its own devices as they chased their prey.

Nope, instead the two kids decided to try and make their escape down what amounted to being an empty lot that ran the full length of the block. The camouflage charm, it turns out doesn't much help the holder when running through en empty lot in broad daylight. Who knew? Really, it doesn't help you when sitting still in an empty lot either. The Gods though, they do have their wicked senses of humor, and little kids aren't usually savvy enough to catch on quickly.

They deserved a beating. They knew it. The other kids knew it, they were legion and could easily visit their wrath on the two sticks in their midst. But for some reason or another, he bikers were feeling generous and turned around and left.

His friend extended his arm over his head, palm inward and fingers curled into a fist before then straightening his middle finger. "Fuck you all!" He yelled out in the traditional form of farewell as the group of bike riding kids as they began to make their way back to their own little game.

Admittedly, there must have been a mishearing or mistranslation somewhere along the line. Such was the power of the farewell that the other kids took it as a invitation to return to the fun and games.

The kid and his friend ran once again. Out of breath as they were, the game had once again renewed and losing meant - they weren't sure what losing meant in its entirety - that was, they did not grok - they didn't plan on finding out either.

Using their full measure of cunning, the two kids found a hiding spot. On front porch belonging to a complete stranger. Now, this was no walled wrap around porch that would shield them from the view of their perusers, nope, not even close. No, they could be spotted from the street, a block away, which was irrelevant, they were too tired and out of breath to keep running.

Their hunters caught up. Circled around like a pack of wolves, and began to close. When the door behind the companions opened. The owner was home, and he had seen.

"What are you all doing out here? Get off my property!" He commanded. He was an adult and therefore unchallengable by a mere pack of kids and they slunk back, just out of sight. That was enough for the companions and they jumped down off the porch, sprinting towards a nearby wooded lot and leaping into its shadowy embrace.

Safety and escape once more.

They had done something especially stupid, and gotten off scot free once again. One day the natural laws of Karma would catch up with them. But for now they were invincible and invulnerable. Luck's favored sons.