So, I got bored and decided to make a kid fic of our favorite bohemians. Also, I added in the song "The Kite" from "You're a Good Man Charlie Brown". Here you go. Read and review please.
The 5-year-old Mark Cohen raced as fast as his short legs could take him to catch up with his best friends, 7-year-old Roger Davis and 6-year-old Maureen Johnson. However, due to his kite, which refused to go in the air hampering his ability to run, he ended up tripping his way over to them.
"Mo'ween! Woger!" Mark yelped as he tripped over the strings on his kite and fell to the grassy ground.
"You okay Mark?" Roger asked handing the kite he and Maureen made to Maureen so she could fly it for a while and he could check on his friend.
"Ow…yea…stupid kite," he mumbled.
"You'll get better at it Marky," Maureen called as she made her kite swoop around. "Practice makes perfect."
With a sigh Mark tried again. The kite ended up going into a tree this time. With a groan he sat down and pouted. Maureen came over and climbed the tree to get it down. After a few words of advice and a hug she told him to try it again.
"Little more speed, little more rope,
Little more wind, little more hope,
Gotta get this stupid kite to fly.
Gotta make sure it doesn't snag
Doesn't droop, doesn't drag
Gotta watch out for ev'ry little- whoops!" Mark thought seeing the kite nose-dive into the ground. Looking over at the other two he saw Roger give him the thumbs up and motioning for him to try again.
"Little less speed, little more tack,
Little less rise, little more slack,
Gotta keep my wits about me now.
Gotta make sure it doesn't get the best of me
Till I get it in the air somehow." Mark thought as he tried again.
Sniffling he tried not to let the failing kite see him cry. It wasn't fair. It looked so easy. He had made it just the same way Roger told him to, but it didn't seem to like to listen to him. He began to get frustrated with this as most 5-year-olds would too.
"Millions of little kids do it ev'ry day
They make a kite and-"poof"- it's in the sky.
Leave it to me to have the one fool kite
Who likes to see a little kid cry." He thought wiping his now runny nose and fixing his glasses. He'd try one more time.
"Little less talk, little more skill,
Little less luck, little more will,
Gotta face this fella eye to eye" he thought running with the string held tight in his hands. The kite went up momentarily and then came down with a crash! Tossing it away he sat.
"Now that I've seen you chasing moles,
Climbing trees, digging holes,
Catching your string on everything passing by
Why not fly?" he yelled at the kite. Roger and Maureen went over to comfort the poor boy.
"C'mon Mark! One more try okay? One more and if it doesn't work we can do something else okay?" Roger tried pulling him up again.
"No! It won't fly Woger! It won't!" he told the other boy and pouted some more.
Maureen smiled at him. He was adorable when he did that. Going over she hugged him close and kissed his cheek causing him to blush.
"Please Pookie? For me?" she asked sweetly.
Mark couldn't say "no" to her. With a sigh he took off at a run pulling on the string and hearing Roger and Maureen's cheers. Feeling like nothing was happening he looked back.
"Wait a minute,
What's it doing?
It isn't on the ground.
It isn't in a tree.
It's in the air!
Look at that.
It's caught the breeze now,
It's past the trees now
With room to spare..." he called to his friends pointing at his kite. His wonderful kite that finally decided it would fly for him. It swooped over the trees and around the puffy clouds swimming in the light blue sky. It was everything Mark had been hoping for.
"Oh-
What a beautiful sight.
And I'm not such a clumsy guy.
If I really try
I can really
Fly a ki-" he cut himself off as he saw the kite change it's mind and go head-first into the closest kite-eating-tree and get lost in the leaves. Groaning to complete his sentence he threw the string away.
It was then; Mark gave up all hopes of going into aviation as a job. Perhaps filming, his second dream job, would work out better than flying anything.