SMACK! The waxy red skin curled in sliding agony, crawling down the wall.
DONG! The huge iron skillet sent the wielder spinning, flying, slamming into the plywood wall. He got back up and hoisted the shield to the window in preparation for another barrage.
RAID! The commander said the electrifying words. He gave a quick attack plan to the troops. They suited up.
CLUNK! Clunk clunk clunk. The troops marched down the plywood stairs. They were laden with weapons, plywood boards, and containers for holding the collected artillery. The square of light that was the door loomed ahead.
STUPIDHEADS! Out of the lizardhole, into the birds nest, abundant with lethal eggs. The brave soldiers set up a slow moving shield with the plywood boards. Missiles flew overhead. They moved forward silently, inch by agonizing inch. They scooped up the any forgotten ammo as they went.
CHARGE! And they ran, ran like never before, through enemy lines, evading fire and diving and stealing ammo and running and running and never stopping and spinning and running getting hit and falling. They got up and returned, sticky and bruised, with their precious loads. The soldiers came home to praise and hail. Another barrage of smacks, dongs, and spinning window defenders ended the celebrations, and they loaded their weapons and aimed. The excitement of the past hour had drained them body and stomach. They were exhausted and hungry, and the war was now run on adrenaline alone.
LUNCH! Mom yelled the words of peace, and the little soldiers came running. All previous grudges were forgotten. They ate PB&J's under the green artillery trees, while the setting sun glinted of the quickly clean plates. The pie was good, and it made them tired. The grubby, sticky children slept under the apple trees, memories of happiness smacking, donging, raiding, clunking, stupidheading, charging, and lunching through their heads. Mom looked out over the apple covered yard, playhouse, kitchenware, and children. She heaved a huge sigh, and thought,
WHAT A MESS!
