So, my challenge to myself was to use the keywords people used to get to my site in a short piece.
-pictures of stormy weather scenes
-old school wheelbarrow
This is more of a character sketch than a story. I front loaded all the keywords, which I’m not thrilled with…and I shoehorned empty museum in there. Blah. All-in-all, though, not too bad.
Daphne stood outside on the cracked, concrete patio. Her canvas shoes were untied and their shoelace tips lay in a puddle, soaking up the spillage from her hose. She was filling up the red wheelbarrow.
This summer was so hot that even the mosquitoes couldn’t be bothered to harass her. Earlier that week, she’d sat inside and looked wistfully at pictures of stormy weather scenes in her dad’s photography book. Concentrating on storm clouds didn’t help bring them about.
The old man at the empty museum had once explained that people used to dance to make it rain. She’d tried that: jumping from one foot to the other, hopping in a circle, eyes closed, face turned to the sky. And she’d thought it had worked. Wet, cold and wonderful water drops bombarded her. She’d shrieked and opened her eyes, ready to run in and tell her parents the good news. But there was her father with the hose, his thumb over the nozzle, dispersing the steady flow into rain droplets.
She had almost cried, but her father’s cruel trick had given her this idea.
Once the old school wheelbarrow was full, Daphne gave it a push. Her sweat-slicked hands slipped down the wooden handles and the wheelbarrow didn’t budge.
The barrow itself was metal and rusty. It had been heavy and difficult to steer when she pushed it out of the garage but now, full of water, the thing wouldn’t even budge. She kicked it. Water rippled and bounce off the edge, hitting her in the face.
The hole Daphne had dug in the shade wasn’t the big pool she’d imagined when she started out this morning. Digging turned out to be more work and less fun than she had originally anticipated, but she’d stuck with it and the hole was at least big enough for her to sit in.
Another problem with her pool was the location. The shade she’d dug under was inconveniently under the trees at the far end of the yard.
Daphne found her lemonade cup and dumped the last few sips into the bush next to the sliding backdoor. She scooped up some wheelbarrow water, walked it across the dry, patchy backyard and dumped it into her hole. The water pooled for only second before being swallowed by the thirsty ground. Daphne frowned and went back to the wheelbarrow to try again. She scooped another glassful of water and fed it to the parched ground. This time, the ground slurped it up even faster.
She’d tried the rain dance and that had failed. She’d tried to build a pool and that had failed. There was only one thing left to do.
Daphne kicked off her shoes and pulled off her socks. The ground burned her feet so she ran to the patio and climbed into the wheelbarrow. Some water sloshed over the side, and some flew up her nose as the rest settled over her. Relief.
Comments, good and bad, are welcome.