I was around six or seven years old when I volunteered to help my parents clean out one of our buildings below our house. The block building had been built way before my time, the tin roof still held up against the rain, and the blocks were still in good shape. The window had been knocked out at some point and I don’t believe there was ever a door.
With that being said, anything and I mean ANYTHING could be in the shed. Bees, animals, murderers. I was curious though. I could see century old items in there, but I was too small to climb in myself.
When my parents finally made a clearing for me, I crept into the opening and peered inside. To the left, there was a pile of broken junk, to the right, an old dresser. I could look up and see there was a hole that led to a small attic, I wondered what was up there. My dad held me up so I could take a quick glance. There was nothing there but dust. Odd, I had really pegged this place for a hideout of some unknown terror.
It seemed to be that all my worries were in vain there was absolutely nothing in the building, least of all a murderer or something that could hurt us. It was turning out to be a slow day. My mom asked me to step outside so she could take the dresser drawers out. The building was so small, there wasn’t enough room for all three of us to stand there and take things a part.
I was standing outside, looking at the little wildflowers that grew in the grass when an explosion tore out of the door. That explosion was my parents. They were screaming and tossing things as they bolted from the front door, splitting into different directions. Say no more. Depending on how you looked at it, I was a smart kid. I didn’t bother to ask questions. It was knees to chest in any other direction. Now that I think about it, that was dumb. I was the weakest link in that chain, and I shot off in a third direction; I would have been the first to go.
I was FAR from the building when I finally glanced behind me to see what had us. Nothing. I stopped running and stood there for a moment, judging the trees to see if some suspicious something was lurking around, hiding, waiting to pop out at any second. Nope, still nothing. My parents walked back into my line of sight and I watched as they pointed at something inside the building.
Whatever it was, it was still inside. As my parents moved closer to the door, I remember thinking, oh, that’s not a good idea.
I took a couple of steps closer and peered at the door. To my surprise, this round, wobbly ball of white and grey fur, scampered out the door and looked at us. It was an opossum. It took us all in and then wobbled as fast as it could into the near by woods.
THAT was what we were running from? The way they tore out of there, I was sure it was either a python or a serial killer.
“It hissed at me,” my mom told my dad.
Well, mother, imagine if you had been asleep and someone jerked your bedroom door open unannounced. I’m sure you would have hissed too.
With that being said, anything and I mean ANYTHING could be in the shed. Bees, animals, murderers. I was curious though. I could see century old items in there, but I was too small to climb in myself.
When my parents finally made a clearing for me, I crept into the opening and peered inside. To the left, there was a pile of broken junk, to the right, an old dresser. I could look up and see there was a hole that led to a small attic, I wondered what was up there. My dad held me up so I could take a quick glance. There was nothing there but dust. Odd, I had really pegged this place for a hideout of some unknown terror.
It seemed to be that all my worries were in vain there was absolutely nothing in the building, least of all a murderer or something that could hurt us. It was turning out to be a slow day. My mom asked me to step outside so she could take the dresser drawers out. The building was so small, there wasn’t enough room for all three of us to stand there and take things a part.
I was standing outside, looking at the little wildflowers that grew in the grass when an explosion tore out of the door. That explosion was my parents. They were screaming and tossing things as they bolted from the front door, splitting into different directions. Say no more. Depending on how you looked at it, I was a smart kid. I didn’t bother to ask questions. It was knees to chest in any other direction. Now that I think about it, that was dumb. I was the weakest link in that chain, and I shot off in a third direction; I would have been the first to go.
I was FAR from the building when I finally glanced behind me to see what had us. Nothing. I stopped running and stood there for a moment, judging the trees to see if some suspicious something was lurking around, hiding, waiting to pop out at any second. Nope, still nothing. My parents walked back into my line of sight and I watched as they pointed at something inside the building.
Whatever it was, it was still inside. As my parents moved closer to the door, I remember thinking, oh, that’s not a good idea.
I took a couple of steps closer and peered at the door. To my surprise, this round, wobbly ball of white and grey fur, scampered out the door and looked at us. It was an opossum. It took us all in and then wobbled as fast as it could into the near by woods.
THAT was what we were running from? The way they tore out of there, I was sure it was either a python or a serial killer.
“It hissed at me,” my mom told my dad.
Well, mother, imagine if you had been asleep and someone jerked your bedroom door open unannounced. I’m sure you would have hissed too.
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