It's a Shovel, Dammit
Title: It's a Shovel, Dammit
Prompt: Word #148 - 15minuteficlets
Time: 14:47 [mm:ss]
Words: 772
Edits: None
Notes: I started this around 11:45. I was tired. Because I was tired, my character was tired. And yes, I did nearly fall asleep hanging onto the frame of the door.
---
"Give that to me." I blinked sleepily, and looked at the tool I had gripped tightly in my hand.
"Say 'please,'" I demanded, just as he would always do when I forgot my manners.
"Please can I have to trowel?" I thought it was stupid to call the little shovel thing anything other than a shovel, but Sam insisted that it was a trowel. I handed it over, but I gave him a stern look before I released my grip on the tool.
"Thank you," he said in an overly exaggerated tone. I smiled at him and let go of the tool. It was nice to be able to get back at my older brother with little things like that.
He started making a neat little hole with the trowel. I examined my little hole, and then his. It was not right. How was it possible that two holes created by the same tool could look so different? Mine had the distinct look of destruction while his looked tidy, ignoring the fact anything associated with dirt was, by definition, not clean.
He handed the trowel back when he was finished and sent me one of thank-you grins. He wiped the sweat of his forehead with the back of his hand, but this left a streak of dirt on his head. I laughed half-heartedly because a morning of gardening had already worn me out.
"What's so funny?"
"You. Your forehead." He made a face, and then touched his forehead with his fingers, lightly brushing against the dirt there. The back of his hand also had a smear of dirt. He snorted lightly, as if my revelation was stupid. It was my turn to frown at him.
"It's just. It always happens when you're gardening. Getting dirty is just a natural part of it." He ruffled my hair, which annoyed me even more because it meant I now had dirt in my hair. That meant I would have to wash myself again before Momma would let me into bed, and I was tired. I never realized helping my brother with the gardening would take so much effort.
"Here." He handed me one of the bulbs, and I cupped it carefully in my hands. "It's not going to explode."
I stuck my tongue out at him, and then I carefully placed the bulb into my not-so-neat hole. Carefully, I covered up the bulb with the dirt I had scooped out of the hole. The result did not look to bad.
"There. I did it," I said with a triumphant grin. He rewarded me by ruffling my hair again. I tried to pout, but a yawn overcame me.
"Okay. Now make another hole." I pouted.
"But I'm tired."
He spared me a smile, "All right then. Give me the trowel." I did so. "Go inside and clean yourself. Momma's got some cookies." My eyes lit up, slightly, but a yawn ruined my act of childish delight. "But you have to clean yourself first."
"But I'm tired," I complained again.
"That's not going to help any." I stood up and meandered toward the house, but took my sweet time getting there.
"Mmtired," I said to no one in particular. "Mmtiredtiredtired." I barely reached the door before my eyelids drooped. I leaned against the frame and let myself hang there for a while. "Mmsotired." My eyes closed, and I could hardly open them again. I could hardly keep myself awake.
"Johnny?" Momma was calling.
"Mm?" I didn't even see her, but I felt her hand against my back.
"Come on," she said, "To bed with you."
"But Sam said I had to clean myself. And then I get cookies." I cracked open one eye to make sure I didn't run into anything, but even that took effort.
"You're tired, Johnny. Get into bed."
"But I'm dirty. And I want-" I yawned again. I heard Momma chuckle as she ran a hand through my hair, brushing out some of the dirt that had lodged there. She gave a cursory pat down. I'm sure it wasn't enough to get all the little bits of earth stuck on me out, but if it made Momma happy.
"Now. Bed." I tumbled into the lower bunk, even though I normally sleep in the top bunk. I was much too tired to climb all the way up there. Momma slipped a blanket over me.
"Makeblankdir-" It was hardly intelligible in my mind, let alone to my ears, but Momma still made sense of my words.
"Don't worry," she said, "It'll be fine."
With that, I left the gardening behind and embraced dreams.
Prompt: Word #148 - 15minuteficlets
Time: 14:47 [mm:ss]
Words: 772
Edits: None
Notes: I started this around 11:45. I was tired. Because I was tired, my character was tired. And yes, I did nearly fall asleep hanging onto the frame of the door.
---
"Give that to me." I blinked sleepily, and looked at the tool I had gripped tightly in my hand.
"Say 'please,'" I demanded, just as he would always do when I forgot my manners.
"Please can I have to trowel?" I thought it was stupid to call the little shovel thing anything other than a shovel, but Sam insisted that it was a trowel. I handed it over, but I gave him a stern look before I released my grip on the tool.
"Thank you," he said in an overly exaggerated tone. I smiled at him and let go of the tool. It was nice to be able to get back at my older brother with little things like that.
He started making a neat little hole with the trowel. I examined my little hole, and then his. It was not right. How was it possible that two holes created by the same tool could look so different? Mine had the distinct look of destruction while his looked tidy, ignoring the fact anything associated with dirt was, by definition, not clean.
He handed the trowel back when he was finished and sent me one of thank-you grins. He wiped the sweat of his forehead with the back of his hand, but this left a streak of dirt on his head. I laughed half-heartedly because a morning of gardening had already worn me out.
"What's so funny?"
"You. Your forehead." He made a face, and then touched his forehead with his fingers, lightly brushing against the dirt there. The back of his hand also had a smear of dirt. He snorted lightly, as if my revelation was stupid. It was my turn to frown at him.
"It's just. It always happens when you're gardening. Getting dirty is just a natural part of it." He ruffled my hair, which annoyed me even more because it meant I now had dirt in my hair. That meant I would have to wash myself again before Momma would let me into bed, and I was tired. I never realized helping my brother with the gardening would take so much effort.
"Here." He handed me one of the bulbs, and I cupped it carefully in my hands. "It's not going to explode."
I stuck my tongue out at him, and then I carefully placed the bulb into my not-so-neat hole. Carefully, I covered up the bulb with the dirt I had scooped out of the hole. The result did not look to bad.
"There. I did it," I said with a triumphant grin. He rewarded me by ruffling my hair again. I tried to pout, but a yawn overcame me.
"Okay. Now make another hole." I pouted.
"But I'm tired."
He spared me a smile, "All right then. Give me the trowel." I did so. "Go inside and clean yourself. Momma's got some cookies." My eyes lit up, slightly, but a yawn ruined my act of childish delight. "But you have to clean yourself first."
"But I'm tired," I complained again.
"That's not going to help any." I stood up and meandered toward the house, but took my sweet time getting there.
"Mmtired," I said to no one in particular. "Mmtiredtiredtired." I barely reached the door before my eyelids drooped. I leaned against the frame and let myself hang there for a while. "Mmsotired." My eyes closed, and I could hardly open them again. I could hardly keep myself awake.
"Johnny?" Momma was calling.
"Mm?" I didn't even see her, but I felt her hand against my back.
"Come on," she said, "To bed with you."
"But Sam said I had to clean myself. And then I get cookies." I cracked open one eye to make sure I didn't run into anything, but even that took effort.
"You're tired, Johnny. Get into bed."
"But I'm dirty. And I want-" I yawned again. I heard Momma chuckle as she ran a hand through my hair, brushing out some of the dirt that had lodged there. She gave a cursory pat down. I'm sure it wasn't enough to get all the little bits of earth stuck on me out, but if it made Momma happy.
"Now. Bed." I tumbled into the lower bunk, even though I normally sleep in the top bunk. I was much too tired to climb all the way up there. Momma slipped a blanket over me.
"Makeblankdir-" It was hardly intelligible in my mind, let alone to my ears, but Momma still made sense of my words.
"Don't worry," she said, "It'll be fine."
With that, I left the gardening behind and embraced dreams.