Max was a tornado, always breaking something, always loud. If anyone could spot me, it was him—he noticed everything, especially when it annoyed him. But finding him in this house was like tracking a wild animal. The rumbling started as I reached the bed’s edge, a low tremor that shook the mattress. I froze. Earthquake? No—Max, probably stomping around. I had to move.
I slid down a shoelace, hitting the floor hard. The bedroom was a jungle, but I bolted for the door, squeezing under the gap. The hallway vibrated, the rumbling louder now, like a train approaching. I couldn’t tell where it was coming from—upstairs? Downstairs? I ran, my heart pounding, toward the living room where Max usually wreaked havoc.
The floor quaked, knocking me to my knees. A shadow loomed—Dad’s work boots thundering past, each step a bomb. I dove behind a dust bunny, gasping. The rumbling didn’t stop. Was it Max? The vacuum? I couldn’t wait to find out. I sprinted, dodging a spilled Goldfish cracker the size of a shield. The living room was ahead, a warzone of toys and crumbs.
Inside, the chaos was worse. Max’s Nerf darts littered the floor like missiles, his action figures toppled like fallen statues. The rumbling grew deafening, and I saw it—a remote-controlled monster truck, Max’s favorite, careening across the room. Its tires were mountains, roaring straight for me. I screamed, diving under a couch cushion. The truck roared past, its wind flattening me.
I crawled out, shaking. Max had to be close. I climbed a couch leg, gripping the fabric like a rock wall. From the top, I saw him—wild hair, grinning, sprawled on the floor with the remote. He was a giant, oblivious, laughing as he crashed his truck into a pile of blocks. “Max!” I shouted, my voice lost in the noise. The rumbling started again—the truck, looping back.
I slid down the couch, landing on a crumpled comic book. Max was feet away, but the floor was a battlefield. I ran, weaving through toy debris, the truck’s roar behind me. I wasn’t just small—I was prey. But Max was my shot. If I could climb his shoe, wave in his face, he’d see me. I had to believe that. I dodged a falling block, sprinting for his sneaker. The rumbling shook my bones.
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author