Some girls had dragged an old rifle crate into the woods so he could put stuff he found in there.
An older sister in one of the really big families slingshotted a stone at his back once he walked left at the vine sculpture. He didn't turn around. She shot one at his ankle. (i)OOOWWWwwwah(i), he dropped down to rub the ouching bone. Two guys came close, pushed him over, and picked up the glove with blade fingers. He didn't fight back that time.
The old battering ram actually worked. A lot of people stormed in. Bursts of chuckles-at were met with salient points reaching targets.
Team lead picked a middle kid to seize the contraband. Kid stepped forward and shoved the helmet out of eyes. "Give us the script David." Guy looked around the room like he wasn't David. Like he wasn't sitting on the script. One older to middle kid said, "Yeah? Yeah. God's the author of this soul. (i)Not you(i)."
The holed up gang (i)ooooooooo'd(i). "Bet that news hurts John."
"Wait isn't that David?" Someone asked.
Another older to middle kid growled. Eyes sought a face.
Another kid approached the stolen Church folding table throne. "Gimme the sweater and I'll try to convince all these good people here to let you keep the script."
He put finger under chin and wondered out loud, (i)hmmmmmm(i), and then slammed an open palm on the table top. "NO!"
"SCARED YA!" Another boy said to the room rushers.
While smaller kids joined forces to rally into "Did NOT", an older teenager threw up a palm and started drawing pass-plans above most peoples' heads. A guy looked at that, fished a fistful of newspaper rubberbands out of a jeans pocket and tried to aim for the sitter's face. It hit a known-to-be pretty serious guy's shoulder. He brushed off his shirt where the projectile had (i)whapped(i) and bounced.
The sitting guy rose and pointed to the door. "Everybody (i)OUT(i)!"
One of the smallest kids crawled under the table and swiped the pillowcased script.
No comments:
Post a Comment