Fireworks on the Island

We had just hit South Dakota. When I saw the firework's stand. Tommy said "Don't... You'll blow off your hand!" That made me laugh, as Rob parked the car. Across the street was a Cowboy hat, and boot bar. I purchased bottle-rockets along with black-cats. Lady-fingers and smoke-bombs found their place in my sack. That's when I noticed the new Roman-candle. I pointed and gasped, "Can I feel it's handle?" The boy at the stand, just smiled, he knew. Knew of the havoc, that Bazooka could do. When we reached the Island the game had begun. Capture the flag, without light of sun. Weapons of fire, and smoke with a whistle. Streaking explosions, and running through thistle. The object was simple. The claiming of space. It might be another's, but it's all in good taste. No one expected those fires to start. Or the boats to fill up then rapidly depart. We waved and we begged "Please will you return?" The reply we received was "Try not too burn!" Robby, and Tommy, and I, stood in shock. That's when I pulled out my candle, and aimed for their dock. I said "Step a side guys, we might have to swim back, but better us wet, then face this attack." I dropped the balls in. Not one, but all three. I then lit the fuse and screamed, "We shall see!" With a pop, boom, KABANG! The cannon let loose. One ball went wild, inflaming a spruce. But the others flew true, and found their 'just' marks That was a terrible place for their cars to be parked. A convertible too. Of all the dumb luck. Imagine our faces as we swam for the truck. Well, what could we do? Sucks to be them. They'll think twice next time. If we do this again.