They Played in Mud

It's what they do.

Jack and Ben raced across the empty lot after the rain, boots sinking into the mud. The Spring storm had turned the whole place into a giant puddle, and the air had that distinct after rain smell.

“Bet I can make the biggest splash,” Jack shouted, jumping with both feet into the deepest part. Mud exploded, splattering his red hair.

Ben laughed and charged in behind him. “That’s nothing.”

He flopped onto his back and waved his arms and legs, carving a muddy angel. Brown streaks coated his jacket and jeans until only his grin was still clean.

They scooped handfuls and built a lopsided castle, complete with moats that filled instantly. Jack packed a tower. Ben dug tunnels underneath, giggling as the walls wobbled.

“Earthquake!” Ben yelled, stomping hard. The castle collapsed quickly, burying their boots.

Jack scooped a glob and shaped it into a perfect ball.

“Mud bomb!”

Ben ducked too late. The ball smacked his shoulder and slid down his sleeve. He retaliated with two quick shots that caught Jack square in the chest.

Soon they wrestled, slipping and sliding, covering each other until both looked carved from the earth itself. They lay on their backs, panting, watching clouds drift by.

“Best day ever,” Jack said.

Ben nodded. “Definitely.”

They stood finally, dripping and weighted down. Side by side they trudged toward home, leaving a trail of footprints.

At the edge of the lot, Jack’s mother waited on the porch, arms crossed. Ben’s father stood beside her, holding a garden hose.

The boys stopped, looked at each other, and then down at their unrecognizable clothes.

Jack shrugged.

Without a word, they stepped forward together and presented themselves, two proud statues sculpted entirely from the finest mud the lot had ever offered.

Jack said, “Ready to be clean again, sir!”