Our host for today’s post is Athling2001 and they bring to us JSW Challenge 4-1-2024. The JSW Challenge is open to anybody who wishes to participate. Using the writing prompt, write a flash fiction no longer than 300 words and post it to your page. The Challenge starts on Monday and runs through Sunday each week. Please remember to link your story back to this post so everyone can read your entry.
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“I have a plan,” Sam whispered with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes, crouched behind a bush in someone else’s backyard, clad in a black ski mask that was itchy in the summer heat.
“Is it a good plan?” whispered back Max, skeptically adjusting his own lopsided mask and trying to ignore the fact that his oversized gloves made his hands look like paws.
“I have a plan!” Sam hissed with more enthusiasm than was probably necessary.
Max sighed, “That’s what you said when we tried to wash cars with dish soap. My eyebrows still haven’t grown back properly.”
“But this is foolproof. We’re going to steal Mrs. Peabody’s prize-winning zucchini for the fair tomorrow. It’s huge! We can’t lose.”
Max peeked out from behind the bush, “You mean the zucchini that looks like it ate all the other zucchinis for breakfast? Sam, that’s not a vegetable, that’s a vegetable monster.”
“That’s why it’s perfect! We’ll be legends. The guys who nabbed the Godzilla of squash.”
“Or the guys who got squashed by Godzilla’s vegetable cousin,” Max added dryly. “Remember, we’re the guys who got stuck in a ‘two for one’ pet carrier when we tried to sneak into the cat show.”
“That was strategic confinement! Besides, we got out, didn’t we?”
“After Mrs. Peabody’s prize cat opened the latch for us.”
“Details, Max, details. Now, help me with this net.”
They unfolded the net, which was comically small compared to the zucchini.
“Ready?” Sam asked.
“Sure,” said Max, “Let’s add ‘zucchini wrestling’ to our resumes.”
On the count of three, they leapt out, net first, towards their giant, green adversary. There was a lot of grunting, a fair bit of stumbling, and at least one cry of “It’s got my foot!”
In the end, they stood triumphant, a little squashed, a little scratched, but giggling like fools with the net around their ankles and the zucchini untouched.
“Plan B?” Max offered.
“Plan B,” Sam agreed, “Ice cream?”
“Ice cream.”
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