Book Creator

The Great Molasses Flood

by Amelia Pearce

Pages 2 and 3 of 25

Loading...
Loading...
Loading...
Loading...
Loading...
Loading...
Loading...
Loading...
Loading...
Loading...
Loading...
Loading...
Loading...
Loading...
Photos
Loading...
Loading...
Loading...
Part 1 - Wrong Place to visit
Loading...
“Ma it's leaking. Look the tanks leaking!” exclaimed the boy.
He was thin and lean and looked so pale you could mistake him for a bag of flour. He wore clothes that were barely clothes at all but rather rags, barely clinging to his body. You could see his skin through the tears in his clothes and his ribs jotted out of his skin threatening to pierce it. His feet were bare and covered in what you would hope was dry mud. The sun had caked the substance across his legs, arms, face and clothes and the sun was so fierce that day that it had dried it completely, creating cracks in the splotches. Amongst the dirt you could see blisters poking out of his skin where the sun had scorched him. He wore a faded brown ascot cap that hid nearly all of his messy hair from sight - the colour of which was masked by grime and soot.
“Now what have I told you about playing those practical jokes Will,” scolded the middle aged woman who continued to march down the street without the slightest glance or halt in her step.
“Please ma look, it really is!” protested the boy whose name was Will.
“If I look and you’re fibbing you'll be in trouble boy” 
“I know ma but it really is, look!” Will protested pointing up at the looming shadow beside them only 100 or so metres away and tugging on his mother's sleeve. 
The woman finally stops and turns around to face the tank wearing a dull unbelieving look on her face. Suddenly, her face lit up with surprise and her chin dropped leaving her lips to form an ‘O’.
“Oh my. Oh my! It really is!” she uttered in shock, her voice getting louder as she spoke. “Help somebody! It’s leaking! The tank is leaking!”