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Rated: E · Fiction · Children's · #2242213
A Boy Throws His Ball
There was a time when I was a small boy; I think I might have been four years old, that I owned a small rubber ball that had a tiny light inside of it that blinked whenever would throw it. The ball was so small it fit perfectly in the palm of my little hand and very snug inside my pant's pocket. I never went anywhere without my favorite ball. I loved standing up my toys in a row and then rocketing my flashing ball at them, knocking them over with expert accuracy. Sometimes, I would bounce it off the walls inside the house and watch it zoom haphazardly around the room until it would finally run out of steam and end anywhere but my hands. It would often get lost after a good throw, especially in the dark. It had a light in it, remember. I would have to spend so much of my precious time searching for it, and of course, it was stressful for a small boy to be forced to roam around a room in search of a small object. Something like that takes patience. A young boy does not have patience!

There was this one time after I had thrown my ball across the green-carpet-room, it managed to target my mother's favorite lamp. I remember watching in horror as the lamp teetered to the edge and then fell over the side of the end table and crashed to the floor, pieces from it scattering away from each other like mice fleeing a suddenly lit room.

I was lucky that day, though; I didn't lose my ball after that throw.

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