Voice number four for the prompt “rained out picnic.”
She kept waking up to check the forecast on her phone. Little green pixel clouds were jerking across the map with fun-killing rhythm – like the theme from Psycho. She cussed out the screen. Didn’t help. By the a.m. the sky was oozing out gross beads of cloud sweat. She almost chucked her phone at the wall. That stupid party was the only cool thing she had planned all summer. Co-ed and unsupervised. Glow sticks and guitars. Diet Coke and Mentos. Nixed by bleeping weather. EPIC FAIL.
What type of story does this feel like to you? When does it take place? Tell me in the comments!
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