“Wait ‘til your father gets home!”
I’m not sure what I’ve done this time, but something tells me it has to do with the baseball I just hit.
“How many times have I told you not to play ball so close to the house?”
Too many.
Against my better judgement, I run toward the porch. I’d rather hide at Billy’s house.
Mom’s pointing up.
I gawk and shudder.
The ceiling fan looks like the very claw approaching me—Mom’s hand.
She grabs my hair and pulls me inside. “Go to your room!”
Why, oh, why didn’t I hide at Billy’s?
THE END
Friday Fictioneers is a compilation of writers from around the world who gather online weekly, guided by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. The challenge? To write a story in 100 words or less based on a new photo prompt.
And thanks for the photo prompt, yarnspinnerr!
To read more stories in an online flash fiction anthology by Friday Fictioneer authors, click:
Thanks for reading! FEEL FREE TO LEAVE A LINK TO YOUR STORY IN THE COMMENTS! 🙂
Of course, even hiding at Billy’s he’d be found
LikeLiked by 1 person
True, Neil. It never worked for long, did it? 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Those dreaded words–“Just wait till your father gets home!” I wonder if fathers ever got tired of being the threat.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Miscreants are always caught. It gives Mom a reason to not fix the fan.
LikeLike
We’ve all done something like that as kids. It passes. Then we become our parents and mete out the same disciple to our own.
LikeLike
This had an oh so familiar ring about it. I remember long afternoons filled with dread at the homecoming of our father after an enjoyable bout of morning mischief-making.
LikeLike
Brings back memories of the smashed garage windows and my football (soccer) days in the garden! Nice story Jan 🙂
LikeLike
Dear Jan,
Those of us who mothered boys can relate to this, can’t we? Love it.
Shalom,
Rochelle
LikeLike
Hehe.
What a lovely, fun story. Thanks for the smile, Jan.🙂
LikeLike
Ah man… I never did get that “wait till your father gets home” thing… So not fair to dad. But as the mother of boys with two broken doors to prove it… I am right there in this story!
(you just dropped your “r” on your ;0) )
LikeLike
You’ve written this with a lovely, deft touch. It brought a smile to my lips!
LikeLike
Wait til your father gets home!!! The waiting was half the punishment! Good one Jan
LikeLike
These moms, I tell you…Coincidentally, I too came up with a similar scenario, in spirit at least 🙂
LikeLike
A very fun read.
LikeLike
Ugh, he did it again.
Yet kids will be kids.
Let go of the hair, though. Okay?
Randy
LikeLike
Wait till the bad cop gets home is more like it. I think we switched between the good-cop/bad-cop a bit in order to just mix it up 🙂 Nicely done.
LikeLike
Reminds me of my grandson when he’s pretending he doesn’t know he broke something by knocking it over with a ball he’s not allowed to play with in the house, while the ball’s in his hand!
LikeLike
The initial threat draws you in. I am sure his father done something similar once – so why worry, he hopes. A fun read.
LikeLike
Oh dear trouble ahead but if his dd’s anything like mine was he’ll appreciate what a shot it must have been to do the damage.
LikeLike