Sketch*1

    The young man propped himself on the left elbow while laying down on the left side, trying to refresh himself with the improvised paper-fan.  Soon his right hand started to hurt so he gave up on fanning and let his hand to rest. Although it was mid-afternoon the cicadas where chinking loud and no other sound could be heard. It seemed as if the whole village had went to sleep. Well that probably was it; as most adults go to work only the elderly and the youngsters remain home and on such heat you can be sure they either went to sleep or just hid themselves from the sun...   
    “I hoped summer holiday would be a lot more fun... never have I thought I’d spend my summer stuck at my grandparent’s...” the boy mumbled to himself. “God, it’s so bloody HOT!!! And these cicadas won’t shut up!!! And I’ve nothing to do!!!”
    “Hey, what are you?!  A kid or something?! Stop whining!” his grandmother silenced him. “I thought you had cut your eyeteeth long ago!”
    “What, is it my fault that you have no air conditioner at the country-side?!” the boy took the defence stance.
    “You came here in such a long while and you just idle around... Can’t believe I even missed you. When your mother asked me to let you stay here for the summer I immediately accepted...”
    “Ok, ok you won!!! What do you want?” the boy sighed as he stood up.
    “Oh well, I just need one little favour” the old lady told him, changing back her tone from angry to the old lady tone.
    “You could’ve just asked me to do it for you, not start a quarrel!”
    “Oh, stop whining! You need to get some guts, you’re too much of a weakling. I bet you’re even scared of the dogs. Do girls even come close to you?”
    “Stop hitting so low! And it’s not my fault I got a weak body!”
    “Yeah, yeah I know.”
    “So, what do u want me to do, anyway?” asked the boy with a bored voice, faking a sigh, as he was following his grandmother to the kitchen.
    “Open a pickle jar.”
    “... HUH?! You made me get up just to open a jar?!”
    “Yes, I just thought it would be nice eating pickles with you... But if you don’t want... To think that my own grandson won’t eat pickles with me!” grandma said on a dramatic tone.
    “Ok, ok! I got it, so stop doing that! What are you, a drama queen?!”
    “Ha-Ha-Ha! You have no chance of winning against me so why do you even try?”
    “I wonder myself...”
    The boy sighed again. He liked his grandmother a lot. She was open minded and, although old, she acted as if she was still a teenager – though he wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. Yet, whenever she started quarrelling just to show him she’s better it pissed him off so much! In those moments he could only think how immature she could be and why couldn’t she act like her age. And whenever it didn’t seem to get her way she started acting like an old lady.
    “So where is it?” he asked as soon as they reached the kitchen.
    “Up there.” she showed him.
    He stretched his hand and got the jar then easily opened it.
    “Come on, why did you get me anyway? It was way easy to open!”
    “How could I know that? It was up there!” she said in her defence.
    “So the problem wasn’t that you’re not strong enough but that you’re short!”
    “Watch your mouth young lad!” she shouted, embarrassed, from the boy’s point of view.
    “Yeah, sure. Here’re the pickles. Can I go back to idling on the veranda now?”
    “Sure” the old lady said and she continued savouring her pickles.


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writer's note: So this is one of the short sketches I''ve been working on lately. Instead of doing a big large work I want to train myself for writing about different situations. Hope you like it.