The Village Grows Tired

My first micro-fiction piece (under 300 words). This economy of words is teaching me to be less verbose - this is Trial & Error, after all. I hope you enjoy it!

Wish she could have had a fly swatter…but it gets the idea across - maybe needs a bit more craziness around the eyes though…

It’s summer and the neighborhood continues to expand like a heavy eater that just can’t pull itself away from a smorgasbord of trees, critter homes and walking paths. We were the first to build here and after several years of enjoying the quiet of Harvest Lane, a deep resentment grows; I loathe the sound of saws, the smell of exhaust, and the grit from sand that blows alongside trash.

I notice the little guy - maybe six or seven. I tell his mom several times that he is playing around the building sites, she smiles politely and thanks me. Again, I take hold of his hand and return him to his home - the winds of chaos blow from inside and babies are crying.

Later, the boy returns and is accompanied by his little brother - maybe four or five and I see the two of them trying a balancing act around the poured basement - I should call the police. I am considering this when I notice the two littles raucously starting to play “last man standing”.

Channeling my great grandma, I burst from the door with a fly swatter in my hand…wait…a fly swatter? Great Grandma would be embarrassed.

The boys stop, mouths in an O shape and run toward the safety of their home. Between my cursing and the fly swatter, I worry they may be traumatized, yet, better scared shitless than dead.

I chase them exclaiming, “If I ever catch you over there again, I will beat you within an inch of your lives!” They run into their house crying and screaming as I stand for a moment waiting to be scolded. Nothing happens.

For weeks, I watch but the boys do not return. I think I see Great Grandma smiling.