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Nighttime in Carmichael Farms
“Are you ready?” whispered my friend Brock. “Why are you asking me if I’m ready? You’re the one ringing the doorbell!” I whispered back. Both of us chuckled as
Brock replied “Oh yeah”. We had been planning this event for two days straight: our target, our escape route, everything. With each step towards my neighbor’s house, my heart rate became faster and faster. The escape route we had planned was playing in the back of my mind unceasingly: Ring the doorbell, run back up the street Brock and I had originally walked down, and meet up with a group of friends back at my house. The man who was about to fall victim to our juvenile acts, Mr. Keran, lived in one of the most difficult houses to run away from in our neighborhood. The house that Mr. Keran lived in sat at the bottom of a hill and was surrounded by empty lots, providing no cover for
Brock and I whatsoever. Successfully ding dong ditching this house would result in
Brock and I gaining respect from each of our neighborhood friends. We were about fifty feet from the house when Brock said “You remember the plan, right?” I smiled and said,
“Of course I do”. Before we stepped foot on the lawn of our victim, I looked back at a group of my friends who were watching from a distance and nodded my head signaling “This is it.” I turned my head back toward the house to see Brock running full speed towards the front door. I was unsure as to why he was doing this because we had planned to ring the doorbell together, but I quickly brushed that thought off of my shoulder and focused on the task. I started to slowly gallop backwards to reassure myself that I wouldn’t get caught as Brock tiptoed up the steps to Mr. Keran’s front porch. I was given the
impression that Brock had rung the doorbell because he rapidly turned around, so I started to sprint away. As I looked back to see if Brock was close behind, I heard a small click followed by all
“Are you ready?” whispered my friend Brock. “Why are you asking me if I’m ready? You’re the one ringing the doorbell!” I whispered back. Both of us chuckled as
Brock replied “Oh yeah”. We had been planning this event for two days straight: our target, our escape route, everything. With each step towards my neighbor’s house, my heart rate became faster and faster. The escape route we had planned was playing in the back of my mind unceasingly: Ring the doorbell, run back up the street Brock and I had originally walked down, and meet up with a group of friends back at my house. The man who was about to fall victim to our juvenile acts, Mr. Keran, lived in one of the most difficult houses to run away from in our neighborhood. The house that Mr. Keran lived in sat at the bottom of a hill and was surrounded by empty lots, providing no cover for
Brock and I whatsoever. Successfully ding dong ditching this house would result in
Brock and I gaining respect from each of our neighborhood friends. We were about fifty feet from the house when Brock said “You remember the plan, right?” I smiled and said,
“Of course I do”. Before we stepped foot on the lawn of our victim, I looked back at a group of my friends who were watching from a distance and nodded my head signaling “This is it.” I turned my head back toward the house to see Brock running full speed towards the front door. I was unsure as to why he was doing this because we had planned to ring the doorbell together, but I quickly brushed that thought off of my shoulder and focused on the task. I started to slowly gallop backwards to reassure myself that I wouldn’t get caught as Brock tiptoed up the steps to Mr. Keran’s front porch. I was given the
impression that Brock had rung the doorbell because he rapidly turned around, so I started to sprint away. As I looked back to see if Brock was close behind, I heard a small click followed by all