I hate driving past those car dumps, where metal is mangled and piled high. An eyesore. This is my 100 word flash fiction story, hosted by Rochelle and runs until this Friday.
What to do with them? They hung about on street corners, lurked in car parks and by playgrounds. They’d consigned themselves to the garbage heap long before their time. Every day they expected to be pampered, but resented regulations. The neighbours and I couldn’t stand it – the screeches and hoots, like laughing hyenas.
We herded them into the field with other discarded things and handed out the spray cans.
“Get on with it. Make something of yourselves.”
Youthful resistance meant sneering at us. For a while.
Nowadays, the field is an open-air art studio.
As for the neighbourhood—quieter.