The boys looked up. To eight-year-old Jamie, the two black bins looked like an exciting spaceship. Papered with blue crescent moons and glittery stars, the bin-rocket stood garishly in the corner of a field. Fiery-red tinsel underneath represented the rocket exhaust.

Dan, at eleven, saw it as a pathetically childish contraption. But he just sighed and went along with the whole charade.

“I’m getting in the top bin!” demanded Jamie.

With a roll of the eyes, Dan acquiesced and clambered in the lower bin, using the makeshift “door” to shut himself in..

Published in
Something Wicked Issue 10