Imagine That: Other lives

won't get that far!" I lay on the hillside beside him and placed my feet against the rock. Together we heaved it over and stood up to watch. I was scared. Dead scared. Lew didn't say anything or look at me.

The rock seemed to be moving in slow motion. It rolled over once, twice, then it picked up speed. The first clump of broom swallowed it up and shook violently as the rock pressed a path through, like an angry giant forcing his way through a forest, then we heard it collide with a rock. The ground under our feet shook slightly.

"Its dead." said Lew with satisfaction.

I breathed out long and relieved.

We waited.

But the rock was still moving, very slowly.

It gathered speed again and lumbered through another mass of broom then it came back into view, going faster. Smash, crunch, crack, small trees bent and snapped under its weight. It struck a fence and snapped the top wires as if they were threads, then it dropped over a bluff and we heard the crash. Now it was really moving. Lew and I held our breaths. The broom was offering no resistance. The rock was going as fast as a car down the main road, bounding, spinning, driving forwards like a lump of madness. Nothing could stop it now! The glasshouse lay glittering below, in direct line of the missile.

"Let's get out of here!" yelled Lew. We ran like frightened rabbits.

We didn't hear the sound of splintering of glass, but in my mind I was imagining the fearful sound echoing up the hillside. In my mind I was living out the consequences...

The police car would be there, cruising slowly around the top road. It would stop, and the door would open. A uniformed man would scan the hillside. Lew and I would crouch down, hoping he couldn't see us. Then another man would emerge, and binoculars would sweep across the area. After a while another car would arrive, and an Alsatian would bound out, wagging its tail, and whining with excitement. It would bound across the hill, sniffing us out. And we would be arrested. Lew and I, and taken to the station. Our parents would find out. We would meet the owner of the glasshouse. He would be very angry. He would tell us how much that rock cost him, and he would describe the devastation it caused, the smashed frames, the pulverized tomato plants, the trail of glass shards. We would have to pay. Our parents would have to pay. We would always remember the shock and the pain of