“See that boat over there? I bet you, if the breeze is just right, I can land a rock right in it.” He smirked. The boat was about a three quarters of a football field away. Even on a good day, I doubt my throwing arm would make that shot. Harvey was always going on about what he could do and rarely about what he couldn’t. Full grown man stuck in a cycle of persistent competition with his former, childhood self.
“Alright tell you what,” I laughed, “If you make that shot, the first rounds on me.” Seeing his intrigue, I stepped back to let him get his perfect shot. Spinning around with force, he whipped the rock and it fell short of the boat about half a yard.
“Ah,” I patted him on the back, “better luck next time. But hey – first rounds on me anyway.”
Word count: 147. This is a response to Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers, a weekly photo challenge, graciously hosted by Priceless Joy.