An afternoon

It is a short story about an elderly lady who observes her neighborhood in one afternoon.

Just like every evening at 4 o’clock I sat myself in the armchair, outside on the porch, hot cocoa in hand, waiting for the children to come back from school. Not much to do at my 82 years of age, you see. Today we had the luck of a good day, weather wise. A warm wind was blowing from the north, moving the leaves from the trees from left to right. It reminded me of when I was just a young child, 5 or 6, riding my bike, with my friends, all around, until we were so exhausted, we would fall asleep in the grain fields that surrounded our town. Oh, how wonderfully playful and naïve we were back then. 

•  - Out on the watch again, Mrs. Donovan? a neighbouring kid shouted from the street. 

He lives across the street from me, little Rony. Even though he’s home-schooled, he’s always surrendered by many friends. Today he seemed to be hanging out with a few kids older than his 9-year-old self. 

• - And what are you up to today, dear? I said in a cunning voice. 

He smiled as he put his finger to his mouth. I shook my head while watching him take off with his friends. I like to play the role of the concerned adult, even though I support his risk-taking behaviour. I believe that’s how children best learn about the workings of the world. But it’s fun pretending to disapprove, it reminds me of the Commander from my years at the Academy. He was a tall man, blond with those clear blue eyes that would make anyone fall for him. They were hard to notice, however, because he was always frowning. He used to be so uptight and follow the rules to a T. He would often scold us for the smallest things. But he never berated us in front of other departments or the superiors. He was strict but fair. Only a few years after did I find out what a rulebreaker he used to be in his youth. That completely changed my opinion of him. It actually made me respect him more and want to step into his shoes now that I have the time and opportunity. 

There aren’t many children living on this street, so it doesn’t get too crowded. However, it does get louder. The Cragner’s kids always shout while running after Donken’s daughter. I thing we will have a love rivalry in a few years. A group of teenagers were walking together, talking and laughing. It made me think of the comedy show from last night, the one with Vincent Noah. I so enjoy his witty comments about our government. Ever since The War they have been too uptight. I will be the last to say it wasn’t a tragedy, I remember the atrocities I saw on the battlefield too clearly. But the main reason we fought was so that we could be more independent, so that we could govern however we considered best. There is no point in being independent if you are scared of every move you make, isn’t that right? 

On the other side of the street, two young adolescences caught my eye. A boy and a girl, walking slowly and talking quietly, as if to not scare one another. The hazelnut haired boy had his left hand around the girl’s shoulders, but he would retreat it when she turned to him, unsure as to what to do with it. At least, he decided to put it back, but not all the way, playing with her long hair, trying to mask how shy and clumsy he felt. That brought a smile to my face. It reminded me of my late husband, how he would sneak into the kitchen after hours to steal a banana cake or a chocolate cookie for me. He didn’t have the courage to confess his feelings until after we graduated from the Academy and I was way too busy training to even consider mine. How clumsy we both were back then. 

When 6 o’clock came around, the street became quiet again. I was about to go inside myself when I heard Rony shouting. 

•  - That is mine! I founded it! End of discussion! 

I looked to my left to see the group of boys coming down the street on their electrical bikes, with Rony in the lead. They were all covered in a purple, slimy substance. 

• - Rony! I shouted. What happened? 

He raised his gaze as he heard my voice and his frown turned into a proud smile. His friends kept going, some looking in contempt at Rony and others glancing in embarrassment at me.  

• - I found a Pocket Flower, Mrs. Donavan! It was growing on its own in the blueberry field. I tripped as I ran to it and fell into the slime they make the blueberries from. 

He gave a embarrassed smile, looking at his clothes that were dripping purple.  I tried to restrain my laughter, assuming the role of the concerned adult. 

• - What will your mother say when she’ll see all this? I said, testing the child. 

• - Oh, she will be so happy! Pocket Flowers are her favourite! he said with the biggest smile. 

Before I could say anything in reply he rushed inside, leaving prints of purple slime in his path. 

Author's Note

This is my first story. Do not let that influence you and please be as honest as possible, any feedback is appreciated. I should also mention that my first language is not English, so if you find any grammatical or other type of problems, please let me know.

Reviews

[Delmar Cooper]

The spellchecker is not always your friend,"surrendered" for surrounded is the first example of many in the text. There is not much dialogue in your text, but none is within quotation marks. That is all the technical criticism I have.

Your story, and I have serious reservations about calling this writing a story, is assumptive of too many things. The Academy is unclear. Readers need more information to form and opinion of what this means. West Point, Starfleet, Academy Sporting Goods it could be anything. Give a hint.
The same applies to the botanical references. Do we deserve to know in what universe blueberries are constructed from purple slime?
In this writing there are characters, there is action and there is a strangely upsetting setting, but there is no story.

Add some plot, please.