BOYS WILL BE BOYS - a story in 100 words

BOYS WILL BE BOYS

It began with boys climbing the fence and diving into windowless rooms, rat-a-tat-tatting imaginary guns at unseen enemies. Later they sneaked in to smoke, swigging from bottles purloined from parental cupboards. ‘Boys will be boys,’ people said indulgently.

Then Craig hit town, all motorbike, money and black leather. The rampant bougainvillea now hid darker secrets, and an atmosphere of danger seeped from the crumbling plaster along with the smell of pot.

‘The police should have stopped it,’ people said when it was too late – after a local boy was found with a needle dangling from his arm.

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Rochelle is on holiday yet she still remembered to leave us with a photo prompt onher blog  https://rochellewisoff.com/  Thanks to Randy Mazie for the photo. One of these days I will work out how NOT to slip into a smaller font after copying Rochelle's blog title! The only alternative I can find is this which is the next size up on my toolbar! Or I could go really large, but that would be ridiculous.

Pleae leave a comment before you go :)

REPARATION

From outside it was simply an abandoned building, standing eerily silent with its memories.

Tall weeds proved the fire had happened years ago, but when I pushed through the rusted fence I could still smell smoke. 

A shaft of light blinded me momentarily, and when I looked again there was a man working at a bench.

“What are you making?” I asked.

“Reparation.” 

He pointed to the sign above us. “I broke the rule – twelve people died.” He raised his head and I saw a flash of intolerable pain. 

“Me included,” he added before he wavered and vanished like smoke.

The above story was written in response to the photo prompt supplied by Rochelle on her blog

http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com

Other Friday Fictioneers' posts can be found here

http://new.inlinkz.com/luwpview.php?id=351912

Note: I almost didn't enter Friday Fictioneers this week. Why? Because the photo was far too apposite after my daughter suffered a fire at her apartment last Thursday!

MORNINGS AND ANORAKS

Usually my morning walk is a time to put my thoughts in order for the day’s writing. I drag my wandering mind away from last night’s gossip, or what I dreamed about, or the shopping list, and deliberately tell myself, “Right – let’s  sort out this bit of dialogue,” or, “How would a twelve-year-old boy react in that situation?” The mere act of putting one foot in front of the other seems to untangle knots.

The views help too – the blossom is now falling from the flame trees, carpeting the pavement in orange and smelling of sweetish rot. 

The eight-forty bus waits outside the ruined bull-ring.


The old house still stands stubbornly by the huge hump in the road that its owner’s refusal to move forced on the road-builders.

But for the past few days it has been impossible to think about anything other than the forest fire.

On Monday morning there was a towering cumulus of smoke obscuring Mount Teide. On Tuesday one couldn’t breathe without inhaling specks of burning forest, and we learned that the beautiful Barranco del Infierno had succumbed. 

By Wednesday we knew the inhabitants of Villaflor had been evacuated, the volunteer firemen were battling the blaze on several fronts, and hydroplanes flew over our home at regular intervals, collecting water from the sea to drop on the flames. 

The fire is reported to be under control now, but this morning the planes were still flying – I saw both of them and took photos. You can just see it if you look really hard. It was too hot to be wearing an anorak!