I’m trying something a little different and giving Chuck Wendig’s story challenge a shot; here’s my 200 word starter kit:
Dale took a deep breath, absorbing the scope of his situation. A cloud of hornets was chasing the children back into the house, thanks to the dog’s mishap with the leaf blower, which was still snagged in his collar and likely to strangle him if someone didn’t turn it off. The unmistakable clatter of Judge Phillips’ Imperial meant that the social workers were almost here for the monthly visit, and beneath that, barely audible through the shattered kitchen window, Dale could hear the pressure cooker whistling because it was about two minutes from going supernova and painting the walls with beans.
And to top it all off, he was stuck up to his thighs in a mud hole that had been a septic tank twenty-five years ago and staring at the back of the Kaiser-Jeep pickup that constituted Dale’s only inheritance from his father. The Jeep’s tailgate was getting closer, probably because the damn thing had popped out of gear again, and it was rolling down the hill right toward him.
“Well, fuck it,” Dale said, looking down at the slingshot in his hand. He had three ball bearings in his pocket, and he’d been in worse scrapes than this.
Edit: Here’s where it went next, courtesy of Bent Eight. Awesome, isn’t it?