Nothing Gets Passed Gramma Joannie

Gramma Joannie sat at the window spying over the neighborhood. Mrs. Jones hanging her socks. Wilbur McDavis sweeping the sidewalk. And her son Terry washing his car.

Assorted children rode their bikes, skated, or threw balls in the street. The Elm tree blocked her view of the Sattler house where she knew nothing good hid behind the green leaves and white branches.

She rose from the rocking chair and leaned out the window. Then she saw the ne'er-do-wells sneaking across the grass. Each carried a paint bucket and a brush. They looked back across the street, saw Gramma Joannie, and ran around the porch.

"Terry, there's vandals attacking the Sattler's," she shouted. Terry looked up with a sponge full of soap bubbles.

"Huh?"

"Vandals trying to damage the Sattler house!"

The Sattler's left some time ago and the house stood vacant - a home turned into another foreclosed house. She waved at Terry. He dropped the sponge and ran across the street.

Gramma Joannie waited for word from her son. The minutes ticked by and she wondered if he had been hurt. After a long wait he returned.

"Nothing to worry about," he said. "Your vandals are just painters cleaning up the place. Looks like we might see some new neighbors."

Gramma Joannie huffed, sat back down in the rocking chair, and went back to patrolling the neighborhood.

Day 174: 5 Minute Freewrite: Wednesday - Prompt: vandals by @mariannewest

 

Photo on PxHere