wannabe mechanic

So, if people like this, I may continue it. Thoughts?

  She sighed quietly. It was the sort of day that called for a breathy sigh.  Light grey clouds hovered reluctantly, as if quite wishing that they were storm clouds.  She wondered in the back of her mind if the clouds were ever tired of being clouds.  It seemed to her that these mild, misty confections must wish to be something else--they never seemed to want to commit to anything. The forefront of her mind was preoccupied by the idea of onomonopoea. There ought to be a word, she thought, for that soft whisper of air that passes through the hair next to one's ear. Not quite a shushing noise.  More... expectant.  The sort of noise one might hear if one's thinking was about to be interrupted by--

Squeak!

"Come on, Megs, I can't have scared you that badly," my brother grinned, jostling me out of my third-person thoughts. I smiled wryly.

"When you sneak up on me and grab me when I'm trying to have a good think, I squeak," I told him patiently, as if speaking to a two-year-old.

"Which is exactly why I do it, of course."

"Naturally.  What's going on?" I asked, shaking off the irritation accompanying the loss of a lovely internal monologue.

"Mum wants you back inside," Ryan replied. "She said, and I quote, that you'd 'better hoof it back in here before I have to have a banshee fit.'" Read more »