Kirk—age ten
"I'll get you back, Sam, if it's the last thing I do!" he shouted hotly at his older brother who was running backward leisurely before him, facing him, taunting him, always managing to stay just out of reach.
"You'll have to catch me first, Squirt, and we both know that's something you can't do." Turning and putting on a burst of speed the barefoot, older Kirk disappeared into the field of nearly-grown corn before him, the whisper-thin, ramrod-straight stalks parting like the Red Sea before him and closing around him just as swiftly with a rustling swish and a puff of dust.
Jimmy stopped, brushing sweat and a stubborn lock of hair from his eyes. Sam could be anywhere now—darting haphazardly through the maze of seven-foot-tall vegetation, not following the plowed furrows in which they were planted, he could have set off in any number of directions. All the older boy had to do was slow down and creep silently through the wall of foliage, careful not to disturb them and give away his position.
I'll never catch him now, Jimmy lamented silently, but that doesn't mean I can't get him back. He returned to the house and plopped down on the back porch, the hazel eyes now a livid green as unmitigated anger swirled in them. It would be dark within the hour. He began plotting his revenge.
This had all started over dessert, prepared especially for them by their mom's friend Minnie. Winona had been at her house all day, the two making jam from the wild raspberries and blackberries the boys had picked for her earlier in the week. Their mom had stopped home an hour ago, staying just long enough to drop off two of Minnie's famous chocolate raspberry single-serving pies before she was off again, running errands that would keep her occupied until well after dark.
Folks in these parts swore it was the best pie in all of Washington County, if not in the entire state of Iowa. Her decadent concoction had actually won top honors at the Iowa State Fair three years running. Winona's boys were definitely of the latter mindset. While their mother was an excellent cook, Minnie's pie was by far their favorite, and they had begged their mom to ask Minnie to make some using the fresh berries they had picked.
With George senior currently in the midst of a six-month deployment as a security officer in Starfleet (Sam's given name was George Samuel Kirk, after his father), the boys—aged ten and fourteen—were on their own for the remainder of the day. Their mother had left them a cold dinner of fried chicken, potato salad and fresh cucumber and tomato salad in the fridge, as well as strict instructions that all of their chores were to be finished before she got home. This included feeding the horses, dogs, and cats in the barn—Jimmy's job, and mucking out the stalls, which fell under Sam's purview.
Sam had gobbled down his own pie after dinner, but Jimmy had opted to save his for later. It was his habit to lie beneath the stars well into the night during the summer months, and to his mind the pie would make an excellent addition to that ritual.
Jimmy had started his chores immediately after dinner, while Sam was supposedly going to watch his favorite vid program on the holoviewer before completing his own. Jimmy had waltzed through the door in the kitchen when finished, only to find Sam cramming the last remnants of Jimmy's pie into his mouth. A scuffle had ensued, Sam bolting for the front door, leaping over the porch railing and making a beeline for the cornfield, his little brother spitting mad and hot on his tail.
Sitting dejectedly on the back porch, Jimmy's eyes came to rest on Sam's barn boots, perched neatly on the bottom step. Instantly a plan began to take shape. He raced into the house, just in case Sam was watching him, and ran to a window in the dining room which couldn't be seen from the cornfield. Throwing it open he carefully removed the screen and dropped into the overgrown bush below. Using the bushes for cover he squirmed through the rich Iowa soil, hugging the side of the house until he reached the back corner of the front porch, which ran the entire length of that side. The spacious structure was three feet or so above the ground, ten feet deep and fifty feet long. In order to keep larger wildlife from nesting underneath, it was covered on all sides by a tightly-spaced wooden latticework which bridged the distance from the bottom of the deck to the ground. Not only did it serve to keep bigger critters out, it would also prevent anyone outside from seeing what was going on within. It was a tried and true hiding place—one Jimmy used often when he needed a bit of breathing room.
While concealing himself under there last week, Jimmy had discovered just the thing he would need to get Sam back. Tugging on a loose end of latticework, he was able to shimmy through the small gap it created. He sat close to the entrance for a few minutes, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark space within. Once he could see reasonably well in the dim light he crawled to the center and stuffed his pockets with those things he would need to make Sam pay for his unscrupulous act.
He retreated, making his way to the back porch, once again using the bushes alongside the house as cover. In a few minutes the deed was done. Sam hated snakes more than anything, and now one waited for him inside each of his Wellington's. The boots were knee-high, the rubber interior slick and unscalable. The non-poisonous baby garter snakes wouldn't be able to climb out and their fangs were so small they could do little damage, but they were sure to scare the bejesus out of the older Kirk. Jimmy wriggled back around to the dining room window, hoisted himself in and ran to the kitchen window to wait and watch. It was almost dark. Sam would have to return soon to do his chores, and would need his boots to keep the manure off his bare feet.
Jimmy smiled to himself. His revenge would be sweet, and he wouldn't have to wait until his dying breath to see it realized, just until the dying of the light.