The Kickers

It's a late night at the Collegian, so I decided to occupy myself by recalling this scene weeks ago. Leave comments and criticisms, if you please.

The sidewalks are too icy, so I walk in the middle of the street to get back home. The storm did a number on the town, knocking out power for a week. It created a nomadic group of off-campus students seeking warmth wherever they could find it – old dorms, old homes, couches in the Union, wherever. I've managed to survive in the Suites for the past four days. But I need to change my clothes, forcing my body to endure a house which makes the outdoors feel warm and inviting. I do not look forward to the cold.

So I trudge home, glaring at the ground and grit at my bad luck. BAM-BAM! BAM-BAM, BAM! BAM!

The noise came from two kids kicking the side of a steel shed to my right. BAM-BAM! The small one, no older than 7, took an extra swipe. He missed and nearly fell backwards. He carefully balanced on his grounded leg, like a bad figure skater. The older one, the wiser one, laid out the attack strategy: kick the shed at any cost. BAM!

The small one regained his composure and jumped back into the fray. BAM-BAM!

The shed, with a hat of snow and concrete foundation, stood stoic, indifferent to the war waging on its side.

What the hell? 

I kept walking to my house, but as I went the two developed a new method of warfare. A flank. The older one instructed the small one to head to the shed's western side, while he attacks the eastern wall. 

The small one eagerly ran around. BAM! POW!

BAM! POW!...Bam-Bam!...Pow!

As so goes Hillsdale when there's no power.

I reach my house and unlock the door. I can still hear them in the distance...bam!..pow!...bam!

“People here need to get out more,” I think. I go inside, and brace my body for the cold.