By Dylan Scott, TIWP student
I’m Josh. There is nothing special about me, unless you think a kid who has mediocre grades, goes to an average school, and lives in an average house is special. In the small town we live in, nothing exciting ever happens. My day starts with waking up, making myself some breakfast, going to school, helping my dad with the farm, then going to bed; this is just like every high school kid in the town, when you grow up become a farmer.
There was an issue though, I didn’t enjoy farming. I wanted to explore the world, learn science, go on trips, and visit new places. But here, this was a foreign subject, and nobody had the boldness to do something new.
After school today, the thoughts of being different were still teeming in my head. The trees in the distance seemed to glitter on this sunny day. Eventually, when I got home, I found the tractor all ready for me to start. Every time I did something on the farm it felt like a huge imposition. I hopped on the tractor, moving up and down the field, the monotonous task making me fall even further into my desolate state.
Then, I felt a drop of rain fall onto my light skinned arm. Then it became faster until a torrential rain was soaking me. I still had to finish my job though so I kept going. Slowly, I started to become more exhausted each time the wheel of the tractor turned over. My foot started to move slowly off of the tractor without me knowing. Creak, creak, creak. My foot each time getting closer to the ground. Finally, I fell, tumbling over myself, rolling through the thick wheat. Then, I just fell.
I couldn’t see, but I felt myself flying through somewhere. Had there been a hole in the ground? Suddenly, I was back on the ground. Although, now I was not on my tractor but in a field with a short man with grey hair running down the back of his neck, and the most open forehead you have ever seen. He was holding a kite. The rain was still pouring down, and he had a kite and a metal key. That was a recipe for disaster. I ran over truly concerned that the man would kill himself doing that, but then realized he looked strangely familiar. He slowly looked over to me, and took a step back.
“Hello, my name is Benjamin,” he stated.
“Haha, very funny,” I said, even though he did have some resemblance to him.
“What?” he asked in confusion.
“What year is it?” I asked, hoping he did not give me the answer I assumed.
“1752,” he responded.
This had to be more than a coincidence, I thought. Finally, without even taking a look, the man threw the kite with the metal key attached to it into the sky full of lighting above us. I sat, jaw dropped, mouth open. The lightning struck the kite. Out of a need to mark this encounter I had with Benjamin Franklin, I stole all his hair, then fell into a sinking hole in the ground.
Quite suddenly, I sat up, back on the tractor with a piece of grey hair in my hand.