Spring Themed Writing Contest

Moon Goddess · May 12, 2023

Ang3lyz said: ↑

ok im sorry
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It's ok, there is still time to get in a submission that meets the requirements if you would like

Moon Goddess · May 13, 2023

Two days left before this contest closes and voting begins, please get your submissions in

~Zen~ · May 13, 2023

Ang3lyz said: ↑

ok im sorry
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It's OK, I moved it for you, so it didn't get lost

Ang3lyz · May 13, 2023

~Zen~ said: ↑

It's OK, I moved it for you, so it didn't get lost
Click to expand...

ty i appreciate it again my apologies

Moon Goddess · May 14, 2023

Tomorrow will be the last day for submissions. I hope you all are having a wonderful day

Moon Goddess · May 15, 2023

Right now we have 4 submissions, if anyone would still like to participate you have a few more hours to do so. Voting will begin tomorrow. I hope that you will take a few minutes to read the entries even if you didn't write something. Thank you

Moon Goddess · May 16, 2023

Closed
No more submissions will be accepted.

Thank you to everyone who participated in the contest.

Voting has been announced in a new thread.

Lespaulgui · May 17, 2023

MeAgain said: ↑

Bushy Run Revisited

It was spring in a time in my life when things were different than they are today. Slower, yet always moving on. Faster, yet stuck in the eternal now. There was no future to worry about and no past to make you think of how it was, or who was there, or what you did. Just what you were doing today, and how much fun it was, and how the sun would shine.

There was a park we would go to every Sunday afternoon. It was an old pre-Revolutionary battlefield where the British defeated a combined force of Delaware, Shawnee, Mingo, and Huron warriors. There were lumps of cement arranged in a circle on the crest of Edge Hill to represent the flour bags the British hide behind during the attack from the savages, and a pole with a flag, and some bushes.

From the sides of the hill you could spread a blanket and watch the little two lane road that passed by. We would park our cars alongside the road, making sure the tires were off the pavement, and run up the hill to find a spot, plop down our blanket, and sit in a little circle sipping wine, smoking dope, dropping pills. All around us freaks would be flying kites, throwing Frisbees, walking their dogs, or sitting on their own little island in the grass enjoying the fresh air and countryside. Up and down the road a steady stream of cars would parade before our eyes and someone would shout, or a horn would blow, or doors would open and close. We were young and love was in the air.

But after a few weeks the cops started showing up, just to see what was going on and as the number of people started to grow larger each week and as parking was becoming a problem the cops started handing out tickets. That’s why we had to make sure both tires were off the pavement.

For a while an uneasy balance was maintained between the freaks and the police. We kept our tires off the road, were very discrete with our booze and drugs, and the police were content to hand out tickets for obstructing traffic every now and again.

Things were peaceful and slow, and the sun did shine on those below.

Then one Sunday as I was sitting at my usual spot with ten or fifteen members of the gang soaking up the rays with a couple bottles of wine, some fine weed, and a few hits of Windowpane, things changed. The Grunt had blown in a couple days before with his mother’s wig on his head to hide his short hair, along with two of his Marine buddies from down south. They were AWOL again, a habit they were getting into. They’d thumb up to Penn’s Woods from Cherry Point, North Carolina and stay at someone’s house, or live in the dugout at the ball field for a few days or a week, or two, then thumb back down South, get thrown in the brig for awhile, get let out and do it all over again. As long as they checked in every other week or so it was no big deal. The Grunt had earned a Purple Heart and Silver Star in Nam and he was done with the Marines but he still had two years to go and this was his way of protesting the situation he and his friends were in.

So there we were. It was a fine day and we were living in the present. It was now, but now it’s then, and as I think back to what we did, and who was there, and how much fun we were having the memory of it comes back in bits and pieces, along with the sensation of the now that was then, and how slow time moved...but now I’m reminded that the now then was about to move faster.

On that fine spring day I remember looking down the road to my left and seeing flashing lights, and looking up the to the right I saw some more, and as I watched the lights turned into cars, a long line of cars. And the long line turned into green and white Furies and they had lights on top, and the lights were red, and they flashed.

As it began to sink in, I heard a sound, up in the air. And looking up I saw a helicopter circling above. And it kept on coming, lower and lower, and as the row of Furies ground to a halt it landed in the field, among the spring flowers, and the kites, and the dogs, and uniformed men jumped out, and they proceeded to retake the Hill.
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Enjoy the story, I was a Marine, at Cherry Point.

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