“Those goddam hoodlums are at it again,” Caleb complained to his brother as they headed out to the field to start harvesting their pumpkins.
“Relax, brother,” Jebediah said. “Those young hooligans do this every year right before the pumpkin harvest. It’s almost an annual tradition.”
“Well I don’t like it, Jeb,” Caleb said. “Our work is hard enough without them whippersnappers making it even harder.”
“Look at it this way, Caleb,” Jebediah said. “We would have to haul all of those pumpkins out of the field and over to our truck by ourselves, right?”
“Yeah,” Caleb admitted, “but now we have to unload a bunch of them out of the truck’s cab and away from the wheels and onto the truck bed. It’s just more for us to do.”
“That’s True,” Jebediah acknowledged, “but they were careful with the pumpkins. They didn’t destroy any of ‘em.”
“Oh, you mean like that group of boys from about fifteen years back that we caught smashing all of our pumpkins?” Caleb asked.
“Yeah, Caleb,” Jebediah answered. “And I heard that them very same boys formed a rock and roll band and cut a hit few records. Called themselves The Smashing Pumpkins.”
Written for this week’s Flash Fiction for Purposeful Practitioner from Roger Shipp. Photo credit: MorgueFile May 2018 1413924415vgvbk.