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Written and copyright © 2011 by Thomas N. Bulkowski. All rights reserved.
Yes, plastic makes the sound of incoming artillery when it's melted. Ask almost any boy. This never happened, but it reminds me of what we did with plastic and fire in my youth.
Written: May 2003
Estimated reading time: 1 minute
Red Truck
Have you seen it? My truck. Not just any truck, but a dump truck made of red plastic with a bed large enough to carry our cat.
I move mountains with my red truck. We swim rivers. I fill it with wooden blocks and race to the end of the hallway, dump my load, and then race back. I love my truck.
# # #
"That's my truck!" I yell and chase after Dave who carries it like a football out the back door.
Five minutes later, I find him behind the shed, hidden from Mom and Dad, a lighter in his hand.
"Where's my truck?"
Dave glances at the red blob stabbed on the end of the stick and smiles. A knowing smile. A smile that spells trouble between brothers.
"You melted my truck?" My eyes open wide, my fists clench. I'm not going to let him get away with it. No way. Not this time.
"Watch."
Drops of flaming red plastic rain down, sounding like incoming artillery.
"Cool!" I said. "Let me drive."
The End
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-- Thomas Bulkowski
Written and copyright © 2011 by Thomas N. Bulkowski. All rights reserved. Good day for water sports! Take a bath with a friend.
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