Sensitive Weather
Aug 2nd, 2012 by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
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It was the eve of the Little League finals. Bobby looked out his window and cursed the gathering storm clouds. He desperately wanted to pitch in tomorrow’s championship.
The clouds, as all the wise men know, are temperamental. They especially don’t take to being ordered about, by God or anyone else. Certainly not by thirteen-year-old boys.
When Bobby woke up the next morning, the clouds were no longer in the sky. They were stuffed into his bedroom. They chased him about for the rest of the week until he finally apologized.
“Next time, don’t be so mean,” the clouds insisted.
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