“Charlie,” yelled Hank. “You hit another ball down the storm drain.”
Charlie ran to where Hank was standing. “Hey, I’m sorry, man,” he said. “It wasn’t on purpose.”
Jeff and Tim joined Hank and Charlie. “How many does that make today, Charlie?” asked Jeff.
“Three,” said Tim.
“Well, game over,” said Hank. “That was the last ball.”
“Charlie,” Jeff said, “doesn’t your older brother play lacrosse?”
“Yeah, why?” Charlie responded.
“He has those sticks with nets on the end. Maybe we can use that to snare a ball and pull it out of the storm drain,” Jeff suggested.
Charlie was hesitant. His big brother hated for Charlie to touch his stuff. “I don’t know guys.”
“C’mon, Charlie,” Hank said. “Go get your brother’s lacrosse stick.”
Reluctantly, Charlie ran home, got the stick from his brother’s closet, and ran back to meet his friends at the storm drain. He handed the stick to Hank, who maneuvered it into the drain. “I think I got one,” Hank said. But when he tried to fish it out, the stick snapped in half.
Hank handed the broken piece of lacrosse stick to Charlie and shrugged his shoulders. “Sucks to be you, man,” he said.
Written for this week’s Sunday Photo Fiction prompt. Image credit: A Mixed Bag.