Camp

The drill captain roared when little kids wondered into space. He blew his whistle almost running out of breath, tired of them not participating in what they 'so-called' had a passion for. Not giving up just yet, he tried once more, seeing if they'd comprehend. One little rascal, in all black on this summer day, always laughed during practice. Captain didn't and couldn't stand it any longer, he was to the point of pulling his hair from his own head from the madness. Things do out of wack. Children out of choregraphy. He finally left the band on the field by themselves, the irritation got to him.