These two words may seem harmless to the inexperienced, but to me they represent pure terror. The word 'mud' did not always pierce my heart with fear; not until that fateful day, three others and I took a walk around my grandma's lake. That day 'The Mud' changed the lives of not only myself, but also of my mother, brother, close friend.
"Lets take a walk," my mom suggested that fateful morning.
"Yea, lets go around the lake. There's some deep mud that goes all the way up to my shins!" I exclaimed with my friend Patty nodding along vigorously.
"A walk around the lake sounds nice, but I am not going in the mud. These shoes are brand new!" replied my mom.
"I wanna go! I wanna go!" my brother Tyler shouted.
Our walk around the lake started out as a relaxing and fun experience. My mom walked up on the sandy beach, picking up shells along the way, as Tyler, Patty, and I waded in the lake. We had been walking along the still lake for five minutes before we hit the first few traces of mud. Slowly our feet began to sink. The cool mud filled the spaces in between our toes until it had crept up our feet, covering our ankles.
"All right! Here it is! Isn't the mud deep?" I squealed in delight. "Mom, come here!"
"No way! You guys are stupid. I am going to laugh when you get stuck in that mud." My mom warned us.
At the time I thought she was just over reacting. "She is just being my mom." I told Patty. "Don't listen to her, she always says things like that." I never thought that I would look back on that day wishing I had listened to her.
Slowly the mud began getting deeper and thicker. It crept up our legs like the 1968 Blob. It began to encompass us in its wrath of terror. Suddenly we were up to our thighs in mud. The smell of decomposing fish and decaying goose droppings began to fill our nostrils. The mud was getting thinner, causing us to sink faster.
"I'm going up to shore. This is getting scary!" Patty yelled.
...