Children's Fiction
"There's a shooter around here," Skip said in my ear. His voice was choked. It was the first time I'd ever heard Skip sound so frightened. Usually he was so confident, so sunny. Nothing fazed him.
"Let's get outta here," he urged.
Eddie is adjusting to his own hat when he gets a hit. A bit of a tug and a moment of slack, and then the fish strikes again. In a matter of seconds the line is taut. Eddie allows a little more line to peel off. He doesn't pull too hard, or too fast—in fact, the fish quickly uses up the extra line he gives it, and it's all he can do to hold on to it. "Granddad, you'd better wake up."
"Hey," Keely said to her brother, Reg. "This is a good day for a bug walk!"
"What is it with you and bugs?" he asked. "Rocks are so much better."
Keely got a serious look on her face and started to sing,
"Rocks are boring, rocks are dead.
Reg has rocks in his head."
"Rocks don't do anything," she said with a sniff.
"That’s why I like them," Reg said. "They don't fly away, they don't bite and they last a long time."
