“I’m going up to the vampire’s house!” the boy on the bike shrieked.
“She’s a witch, not a vampire!” the holler came back from another boy.
“Then I’m going up to the witch’s house!” the first boy yelled back.
The pack of boys hollered and raced their bikes up the street, riding in a maniacal fashion. In their shorts and bright T-shirts, they defied common sense, for the air was crisp and cold. Shrieking and yelling insults at each other, like all boys do, they dashed and crashed their bikes about. Disregarding the laws of the road, they would jump off their bikes, leaving the wheels still spinning in the middle of the road. Dashing across or just standing there throwing jabs they would dart out of the way when cars would drive by slowly, swerving so as to not hit the bikes and little hellions.
Eventually the bikes were collected by their owners, and the shrieking continued up the street. The day after Halloween was always interesting.
I actually heard this conversation when I was in town the other day, and the picture is of the boys yelling and shouting it. I burst out laughing and was so glad I had my camera to capture some of the madness. Oh are kids fascinating.
Most of the men of the town, if not married with two point five children, were young. That age when they flaunt their virility, waving it about like a finely feathered bird. The way they walked, with that little swagger in their hips and butts, or the naughty twinkle in their eyes; a lazy smile that could melt any girl’s heart. Confidence, or possibly arrogance, oozed off their entire being. They dripped with sex appeal.
Mia would watch them from her storefront as they drove their pickup trucks, jacked up on higher shocks, or revving their engines, a little sigh of longing fluttering through her breast. A hint of missed youth causing a twinge. She had never dated when she was at the age where those young men would have been acceptable. When she was that age, the men hadn’t looked at her.
Now it was too late. Now she was past the time of partying and messing around. Now she looked at men who were more sophisticated and mature. A man who was interested in taking care of her, not needing his vanity stroked.
Even though she was seeing Phil, a small part of her longed for a chance to experience the passions of youth; of letting go and just being in the moment. Of course it would never happen. She would never allow herself to ever contemplate it seriously. But still, a part of her dreamed and wished for a chance.
Flash fiction! I had a moment and as I watched a host of men in their early twenties drive by today, this thought came to my head. Mia is a gal from a novel I’ve been writing for about six years, but it’s never come to fruition. Ah, well, it made for a nice bit of flash fiction. Enjoy.