Tom and Jeremy's Kite

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Please read my short story Tom and Jeremy's Kite.

Submitted: August 19, 2013

A A A | A A A

Submitted: August 19, 2013




Tom was an mischievious as boys come. But he wasn't bad for his teachers because he wasn't good at coming up with mischievious plans. His dad was strict and stiffled any engenuity, making Tom, who's sole was evil and dark, unable to cojure and think for himself the evil plans that just lurked below the surface.

Tom, and Jeremy, his friend, spent a time indoors, which was rare, Tom's mother being the type to let the children run free playing outdoors. But, today, they were practicing child-enboldened industry, industrious and making a mess - technically constructing. They were making a kite. They made it with tissue paper, paddle-pop sticks, and PVA glue.

They made the frame, a cross, with paddle-pop sticks, and waited for it to dry, then, glued orange and blue tissue paper. When finished, the... kite was sturdy and the boys had no doubt it would fly.

It was a Spring day, with a close sun that you could almost see the violent fires on. The boys 'trafficing' had worn the grass down, and, now, all that remained under the apple tree, was densly compacted brown, silty soil.

The two boys - freckled faces, white and pink faces, all at once - flew their kite. This is amazing, thought Tom, this kite flys so well. Jeremy who was getting jealous and wanted a turn flying the kite, thought, oh this kite flys well but Tom is doing it all wrong. I'd do it better!

The kite soared in the air. It's orange and blue tissue paper shone in the sun. It darted back and forth with Tom's small adjustments of the string. It got close to the apple tree a couple of times, but didn't get caught in its branches. The two boys craned their necks to see the kite. The sky was glarey so they squinted their eyes.

Tom's mum came out of the fibro house.

"Oh, look at that," she said, "you boys have done very well making such a smart kite. Proves you aren't stupid if you put your minds to something. Pitty you aren't putting your minds to a task like this at the school. Come in and get some lunch," she paused and noticed Jeremy and Tom weren't listening; too absorbed in the kite, and repeated, "I said, you monsers, come in for lunch."

Just then, the kite flew off it's string and floated up into the air. It floated and floated and it was lost. Damn it!

The boys went inside. They sat at a wooden ritch, dark, wood table. The were figeting and disapointed about the kite and were busting to go outside and look for it. Tom's mum roughly lay a plate before them; two sausages, chips, and winter harvest vegetables.

The boys prodded a fork into a piece of vegetable or a chip and put the food hastily into their mouths. They didn't taste the food. They thought about the kite. How couldn't they have made sure the string was secured properly? Why hadn't Tom's mum come out a second earlier and got them into lunch before the string came loose? Would they be able to find the kite after lunch?

They were disapointed. Their hearts were heavey and minds were full of spiraling depression. Tom even felt a little bit sick to the stomach. It was preparation to the let-downs of adult life when childhood was gone, closed like the gates of the museum, when there was never any chance of going back, a death - this was, a garunteed, flat death, never to return, of dim, far-away childhood days.


After lunch the boys went outside to find the kite. They looked everywhere. They knew the chances of finding the kite wasn't good. Jeremy and Tom had their heads craned upwards squinting against the bright, yellow sun.

"We'll never find this kite," said Tom. He had a pair of cargo shorts on that were loose around the waist and he, searching for the kite, would walk a bit, to the base of some structure, the apple tree or the fibro house, crane his neck and, at the same time vexedly, mechanically, abrubtly pulling up these cargo shorts.

"I know," said Jeremy, "the odds are twenty to one that the kite is in this vicinity. It's such a heart twang to see that kite disappear after we spent so much time constructing it - we wasted a whole morning."

Jeremy's forehead showed the signs of stress. Poor Jeremy's forehead, and around his eyes, were crinkled and puffy, and showed, in all the tell-tale signs, the signs of stress and the fruitless search looking ito - the now midday sun - didn't help much either. He looked four years older than his ten years. The stress had aged him to a boy of almost fourteen.

"I can't stand this," he continued, "we spent all morning on this kite. Idon't feel well. I think I've got sun-stroke! I didn't even get to fly the kite. You should have given me a turn."

Tom looked ashamed -

"I know, Jeremy, I should have shared and given you a go. I'll tell you what, tommorow we'll get up early and we'll begin a new kite and you can be the first to fly it."

But, just then, Jeremy noticed something orange and blue fluttering on the roof of the fibro house.

"I think that's it," Jeremy yelled, " I think I see the kite stuck on the roof of the house."

They looked and, sure enough, half protruding from the gutter was what was definately the kite. They stood shocked for a moment staring at the paddle-pop stick, orange and blue tissue paper structure and then celebrated, it was definately the kite.

They jumped up and down, laughed boyish laughs and grabbed each others arms in monkey grips, right arm in monkey grip to left arm, left arm in monkey grip to right arm, facing each other, and spun jumping with leg in athletic position, spinning with the momentem caused by the exertion and force, both of them combining in this game of ring around the rosey. They spun and spun and spun. The scenary blured past them, the green of the grass and the folage of the trees smeared together in a teary-eyed, filmy-eyed coliderscope of joy.

Now they just had to get up on the roof. They'd done it many-a-time. They just had to climb the side fence with it's tufs of grass at the bottom (Tom's dad had a lawn mower but not a whipper-snipper so the grass grew thick near fences and the base of the apple tree where the lawn mower wasn't agile enough to manoever). - they just had to climb the side fence and then they were in arms reach of the houses gutter and would pull themselves up with aid of ventelation holes in the brick work.

They were very excited. They could practically feel that kite in their hands with its sturdy double layer of orange and blue tissue paper. They had big ideas and contemplated how much they loved that kite. They loved it, and it would become a regular toy, they thought, and it would bring them many hours of fun. How foolish they'd been to be so cavelier with the welfare of the kite, they'd treat it better from now on, now they knew it's value.

On the roof they quickely went to retrieve the kite. They had to be careful about falling off.

"Wowzers, this is procarious," said Tom.

They could see the sky and felt a certain happyness seeing the familiar surroundings from a new height. The perspective was different, more spacious and they felt not so much a greater importance in themselves, but, just, a new perspective.

Tom gingerly toed his way over the shakey terrecotta tiles.

"Soon," as he tip-toed, "that kite will be within our grasp."

Jeremy carefully crawled over the roof. He was sweating from the exertion. He was quite fit, old Jeremy, from keeping up with Tom, playing in their duo escapades. Jeremy wiped at the glistening globules of sweat on his brow with his sleave. He said -

"It'll be a great day for us if we get that kite back, it'll be one of our greatest escapades. We will show our workmanship to the girls over at the old oak at the last boundary of the school playground."

"Yes, I'll definately be able to get a date, with little Cloe, if we show them the aerodynamics of our kite."

Tom had a crush on a girl named Cloe.

But, just as Tom was about to clasp the kite an protective mother magpie swooped him. It was mating season for magpies and she was very angry, thinking that her nest, which was in the apple tree, was being threatened.

She was a beautiful, slender bird and her back was shiney as if engine oil had been patted and lovingly stroked onto her glistening, jig-saw of feathers. But this was lost on the two boys who clumsily scrambled as the fitful mother bird launched ever-increasing attacks on the intruders.

Finally, the two boys scrambled over the borders of her territory. They puffed and puffed and tried to quel the adrenilin that was puping through their system.

They looked back. The magpie was cleaning her beak, with utter contempt in her eyes, eager for the boys to 'give it another try', sitting perched on a powerline cable.

The squarks still rung in the boys ears and they remembered the flashes of black and white, beady red-brown eye and slapping wing. The boys, stooped, sat against the grey, wooden, weater beaten fence.

"What can we do?" Tom said, dedjectedly, "I can't devise a plan."

"I've got no plan to venture or propose," said Jeremy.

"Under these circumstances one has the inclination of finding ones situation hopeless and destitute."

"I've had a lot of numerous plans in my industrious life time, but - this time all inspirations allude me."

"It is a hand-tying, disasterous situation."

And, from that moment forth, the two boys resigned themselves that they would not get that kite back. They were seen kicking stones, until the street lamps went on, and they were served dinner they didn't even taste and slept dreamlessly in their beds of agony. The kite melted away in the first rains, that fell durring the night, leaving the boys dismal, picturing it, in those beds, as the glistening drops of rain somberly dribbled down their softly-hued-by-streetlamps window panes.


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