This weeks prompt: Give me a memory of the color red. Do not write the word 'red' but use words that engender the color red when you hear them. For example: a ruby, a tomato, fire, blood.
Concrit is welcomed!
"Mom are we there yet?" I hate being in the car, especially with my sister trying to climb all over me.
Grandma looks back and smiles, "We will be there soon, Amy."
I respond with a frown and whiny eyes. She turns back around, throwing her arm back threw the open window. My mom checks out the situation in the backseat in the rear view mirror.
"Kim, stop bugging your sister. She's only 3 Amy, give here a little bit of a break."
I glare at Kim. Why do I have a dumb 3 year old sister. I am 7 can't she just leave me alone?
I feel the car turning and look out the open window. The wind hits my face and blows my sticky hair off my neck. We follow the strawberry pictures to the picking entrance. I get excited. This is my favorite thing to do once school gets out.
I jump out of the car and start running towards the little green shed. Mom, Grandma and Kim finally catch up and grab some bins. Well, Mom and Grandma grab bins, Kim and I grab strawberries.
We run into the patch, breathing in the sweet fresh picked smell. I start grabbing berries and shoving them into my mouth as fast as possible, spitting out the stem if it makes its way in.
I turn and look at Kim. She smiles a juicy smile and turns back to the vine.
"Girls, you're supposed to be picking." Grandma reminds us. "How are we ever going to have enough to fill all these bins?"
I grab a bin and throw a couple of berries in. Then I eat 6 or 7. That's just the way its going to have to be.
I save the huge, ripe berries for the bin and eat the mostly green ones. I love the tartness of them. They make my face pucker, but I keep going, keep puckering.
It's starting to cool down as the sun starts lowering. I haven't looked up in a long time. Just pick and eat, pick and eat.
I see the bins piled high circling Mom and Grandma. Kim has laid down in the middle of the patch in a strawberry haze. The evidence is surrounding her mouth and covering her hands and clothes.
I don't look much different, except I'm not laying in the dirt.
Mom calls out, "Amy, time to go. Start heading to the car."
I stand up, stretch my achy back and head out. I look at the overflowing bins in amazement.
How are they all going to fit in our little car?