Argument of the Past

    One fine summer's day in Propwash Junction, Dusty Crophopper woke up to the sunshine streaming through his open bedroom window, a cool, early-morning breeze making the curtains flutter softly. Dusty himself was feeling cheerful and happy as he got dressed and pratically skipped to Skipper Riley's bedroom and knocked on the door. "You ready, Dad?" he asked.

    All he got as an answer was the door suddenly getting thrown open as Skipper came out. His expression was half-serious and half-angry. Dusty recognized the signs immediately. "What's wrong?" he asked. "Didn't you get enough sleep last night?"

    "Just come on," was Skipper's only reply as he stormed downstairs and slammed the door the moment he stepped out the door.

    Dusty was surprised at this sudden outburst. But nonetheless, he followed him outside, hoping to find an answer.
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    Later that day, Dusty sat on his bed, feeling almost exhausted enough to go to sleep. This morning's training felt like he was in boot camp. Skipper hadn't talked much except for when he was yelling at Dusty to make his turns tighter and snaking at him whenever he even so much as protested. That isn't the Dad I know and love, he thought. Maybe I should go over and talk to him; I just have to get an answer.

    Making his decision, Dusty went over to the door. He was about to open it when it swung open again to reveal Skipper in the same expression from earlier. "What do you want?" he nearly growled.

    Dusty was a little frightened, but he steeled his courage. "I just want to know why you're accruing like this," he explained. "You've been really snappy since earlier this morning, and I wanted to know if you were okay."

    "Well, leave it!" Skipper yelled suddenly, nearly throwing Dusty off his feet. "What I'm dealing with is none of your business!"

    "It is my business!" Dusty snapped, now getting angry himself. "Besides, I'm not one of those people who would gladly leave someone wallowing in their own problems! I'm actually one of those people who would actually help someone with whatever he or she may be dealing with!"

    By now, Skipper's face had turned so red, you would think that it was the color of either molten lava in a volcano or a boiled ham. "WELL IN THAT CASE," he screamed, his anger getting the best of him, "MAYBE I'D BE BETTER OFF WITHOUT A STUPID, WORTHLESS, USELESS SON LIKE YOU!!!" As he said that last part, he raised his hand back and slapped Dusty so hard that he toppled to the floor.

    He then left, leaving Dusty in a state of shock. He never imagined that Skipper would ever say that. But as the words sunk in, he felt more and more sad until finally, he couldn't take it. He got up, ran out of the house, and ran away from town. If Dad doesn't want me, he thought, he'll get his wish.

    He ran for miles into the countryside, following the road as evening started to fall. After running for 10 to 12 miles (Mechanids run faster and farther than even a normal human), he stated to get tired, but he refused to stop. He didn't want to go back and face his father's wrath again. But after running 3 more miles, he could hardly take it. His legs felt like they were on fire from all that running, and his throat was parched from lack of water. He was so exhausted that he could hardly go another mile. Finally, his legs gave out from beneath him as he neared the road's edge, and he fell to the ground, his head hitting the hard asphalt as he then rolled into a grassy ditch. He tried to get up, but he was to dizzy. The last thing he did was give a faint cry for help as he blacked out.
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    Meanwhile, Skipper was flying around, looking for Dusty. He now felt sorry for what he said, and he wanted to make up for it. Why does my anger always get the best of me at these times? he thought bitterly.