1976… 0800 hours… Outpost Sidecut… Saturday morning………
The radio is down. The crackle of a creature feature rustling in the distance is the only audible. We can’t see them, but we know, we know. The make-shift roof held taught off the floor between the wall and couch via tacks and Encyclopedia Britannica, sans 16, where the hell is 16! Cover was drawn and we firmly held our position to defend the empire. It’s quiet, something’s up… Oh crap! We forgot about the flank! The Huns rained water bombs down. Damn the Huns of the hall, damn you! Fall back, fall back!
The quickest means to the valley below was to ride a hovercraft-mattress down the stepped formation. We prepared for descent of Treadriser Mountain. However, pressed for time and we hadn’t resolved the equation of speed vs. flailing limbs. Gathering speed as we hit the 90 degree turn, the pilot made every attempt for a smooth transition out of the apex- not all who started the descent made it to the valley. We poured a SunnyD to the departed and those who survived forged on to the harbor with optimism.
The wounded ship rocked fore and aft against the waves. The crew knew what was not spoken, it was no saving grace, she was going down. Weeks prior we got to know the workings of the ship inside and out as if by Revell. Now a voice screaming “what is that noise and smell” came cracking from the distance. Followed by, “you better not be blowing up another model ship in the bathtub again!” We retreated in haste.
We gathered at the well and drafted our final assault plan, some wouldn’t survive and we made peace with that. We forged on through the forest, past the old Hoyt farm and across the raging trickle creek. The closer to our destination the thicker the air and the more acidic it tasted… this was going to be a battle like no other. The assault began and nothing could stop us, that is except Dad yelling that is was time to come in. We gave up the campaign and ran home for dinner!
2011… 0645 hours… Outpost Summerton… Tuesday morning………
It’s been years since we were born and we never forgot the campaigns or our comrades. Sadly, many let the innocence of childhood slip away. We didn’t make it to our destination that day. However, we would have other days. The important thing was that we knew what we were fighting for and where it was… it was creativity and it resided in our childhood. Our childhood held the prize we were after, the essence of creativity- viewing the world as we want it to be not how the world says it should be. The Assault on Creativity Rages On!
**This post was written as part of the Lets Blog Off series “What is Creativity” although I didn’t read the rules, I think I nailed it! I’ve been careless on properly referencing the image to its source…meaning I haven’t and just used an image search engine. Inform me if I’ve used a copy written image and I’ll remove the image and send you an apology card.