Husby was feeling particularly inspired by the Daily Prompt scenario today. Please enjoy this guest post via à la modern dad (he doesn’t actually blog, just go with it).
You’re at the beach with some friends and/or family, enjoying the sun, nibbling on some watermelon. All of a sudden, within seconds, the weather shifts and hale starts descending form the sky. Write a post about what happens next.
You know, I never could get the hang of Thursdays. I mean Fridays were fine, everyone likes a good Friday now and then. A Monday isn’t likely to sneak up on you, as everyone is on the look out for a Monday. But a Thursday isn’t technically the middle of the week, nor the end. It’s always been this grand enigma.
It should have been my first clue when a holiday fell in such a way to give my family a four day weekend. “No need to come to work on Thursday,” they told me, “just feel free to take it off.” Right, so I could just be wary all day, thanks.
You have to understand, that it’s times like these that a plan always takes leave of my wife’s senses. She decides that it’s a grand idea to take everyone out of the nice, comfortable house and stuff them in a car for several hours. The children will inevitably begin to play, “Whose Whine is it Anyway.” I’m sure you understand, that by the time we get anywhere we all wish we’d just stayed in bed.
Those are usually Fridays. Nice, clean, wholesome good Fridays. Sure, the occasional slow but steady Saturday pops in there too.
This, however, was a Thursday. No good could ever come from a Thursday. I didn’t know at the time just how right I’d be.
I don’t suppose you’ll mind if I skip the car ride down to the coast. All the “are we there yet,” and “how long is this going to take” coming from the back seat. You’d also not care to know about the 13 stops along the way for various essentials and necessities.
No, we’ll skip right to the beach, shall we? You arrive at a beach as if you are ready to storm it. Packs upon packs of gear and uniforms, all weigh you down. You have a clear plan in place, and before it even meets the first enemy you have to alter it. Someone is already in this place, a towel lies empty a little further down. Hurry, hurry, hup two three four.
Finally, finding a place to drop our equipment we begin to set up the forward operating base. Umbrella, towels and cooler double as our tent, cot and mess hall.
All that fun had left me feeling completely drained. As the wife and kids decided they would like to swim with the fishes, I decided I’d test out the support firmness of the sand itself. I’m not sure my head had even hit the towel before I was napping.
Imagine my surprise waking up to what sounded like you hear at the movies for an incoming mortar shell. This unholy whistle was first, followed by the sound of a hard impact into the earth. Then multiplied as the number of incoming spheres began to increase. Jumping to my feet, I picked up the youngest just as she crested the top of our little dune and started shouting orders.
“Leave the cooler. Don’t worry about the umbrella. Fly you fools!”
I trusted my wife and older daughter to follow my lead and ran toward the parking lot. This proved to be a mistake. The hail, now roughly the size of a poodle, was impacting the cars with such force it wasn’t just leaving dents. Hoods were destroyed, the glass from windows everywhere. Since most beach attire consists of either being barefoot, or in some style of flip-flops, this was a potential problem.
Veering away from the cars in the lot, I tried to pick up speed toward the highway. Already, I could see that it was beginning to resemble something out of a zombie apocalypse movie. Abandoned and destroyed cars, left hurriedly as their owners fled for their lives. It appeared we all had the same idea, ultimately. Take shelter in the buildings!
I wasn’t content with the first building I came to, however. My wife was yelling at me to stop, come inside.
“Not this little black duck!” I cried. “Onward to freedom!”
My wife couldn’t help but agree with me as the hail, now massive ice balls of death, managed to destroy the glass front of the building she had tried to use for our shelter.
“Look for the yellow fallout shelter signs,” I screamed as we ran further into the sprawling metropolis.
Finally, after finding a building with a reinforced basement, we delved down deep into the bowels of El Diablo. Sighing to myself, I hoped that Friday would be better.