Week Twenty-One: Spy Mission

I thought that I'd share something that I've written in the writing workshops I attend every Wednesday night.

It's a mostly-true account of myself at age...oh, goodness. Nine? Eight?

I do hope you enjoy. ^__^


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We were young, playing spies and chasing after imaginary villains. Hidden behind ferns in a headquarters made of a sheet and some sticks, the largest danger was mosquitos. That didn’t stop us from sneaking about, buzzing in with walkie-talkies every few moments to check on each other.

I was off on an important mission, a completely arbitrary surveillance case against our neighbor. Armed only with some camouflaging scraps of fabric, one half of the walkie talkie set and a staff to lean on…or beat off wild dogs, should the need arise.

Taking care not to step on a single twig, lest I alert our prey to my presence, I wove my way through the branches. A horrific sight froze me in my tracks. Some sort of bug with far too many legs had decided to take a stroll up my leg. Stoically, while suffering from some sort of internal panic and subsequent potential stroke, I grabbed a nice long stick and flicked it off my leg, only taking a new breath when I saw the poor insect hurled through the air and strike the dirt with a pathetically small thud.

No time for grief over this fallen soldier from the enemy, I still had my mission to carry out. Moving closer, I pulled out one of our more brilliant scientific creations, a high-tech recording device, and set it down, tucked behind the tree and set it’s metal spring in rotation to capture any enemy activity, stacking the wooden discs underneath it for power sources, and securing the whole conglomeration with a few brightly colored ribbons to pick up our signal back at basecamp.

Slinking up to the dense thicket around our neighbor’s pond, I chance a look behind me, and see that I have been followed. In fact, I’m being watched at this very moment. His arms are widespread, and there’s blood on his hands. Unseeing eyes gaze directly at me, and the expression on his face suggests extreme displeasure.
That Jesus statue is one of the more terrifying lawn ornaments I’ve seen. I’ve met this adversary before, and while his appearance is fearsome, he’s nothing to worry about.

I pull out my binoculars, and scan the house for any danger. A thought strikes me, fear coursing down my spine. What if neighbor Bob has a gun? What if he doesn’t recognize me? WHAT IF HE SHOOTS ME? A dilemma has now presented itself. Do I dare show myself and risk getting shot, or do I creep back, and risk being thought of as a thief and shot anyway?

I could radio back to basecamp, but what would they do, other than potentially get caught and gunned down as well? No. It was better to finish this mission alone.
From far away, a voice in anguish called out. My every muscle tense, I wait for the message to finish.

“GIRLS, LUNCH!”

My highly trained senses are detecting that sustenance may be ready. Picking myself and my gadgets from the leafy ground, I begin to sprint back to the house. I will finish my mission another day.