Creative Writing 2: The 5th Street Flight

Today's prompt asked us to create a story based on the following picture. The only restrictions we had placed on our work were that we had to assume the dog was named Barder and that the orange turban gave the boy the power of flight. The following is my original story.

Joey could feel Barder's muscles ripple as they rode on through the storm. For a boy like Joey, this storm was nothing, not after all he had been through. A torrent of wind flurried around him and he looked down at his hands, gripping Barder's soft brown fur. He watched as the snowflakes attacked them like piranhas before melting slightly, spreading out like slow motion rain. "C'mon Barder," he whispered, "We finally got the turban; we're finally free! Lets fly and fly and fly forever so we never have to think of that place again." The orange turban shouted out like a beacon of hope in the fog and Joey forgot the cold as he climbed higher and higher - subsisting purely off the energy that connects a boy and his dog. It was pure magic, like Aladdin or something. The air, the wind whipping around his face, the power and warmth of Barder's body coursing through the fog, it was too exhilarating. Joey felt like he could laugh and cry and sing all at the same time. "This is what freedom feels like," he thought.

Joey hit the ground with a thud. The orange scarf that he stole from Mrs. Pearson had unwound itself from around his head and he had to push it out of his eyes as he sat up to survey the damage. Barder was there in his face, sniffing around like loyal dogs do, and Joey looked back to see the uneven Boston sidewalk where he must have tripped. The snow no longer felt exciting; it was cold and reminded him of the harsh reality that he was all alone. "At least they haven't found us yet," he whispered to Barder with a hint of defeat as they continued walking toward the 5th street bus stop. Be just at that moment he saw the well known black sedan belonging to Mrs. Josten pull around the corner and even that hope was crushed. "Joey! What on earth were you thinking??" cried the plump social worker as she tumbled out of the car. "The Pearsons have been calling me non-stop; you had them worried sick! You can't keep doing this, Joey. People don't adopt kids that run away. You're lucky the Pearsons still want you."

So that was it. This desperate attempt at freedom ended not even an hour after it started. Joey let his thoughts overtake his will to run. "Lucky they still want me? That's what they said about the last 6 families. But that's the problem: They always want you, but they never want you enough."