Help Me Finish This Story

I need your help.
I've been working on this story (off and on) for a couple of weeks now. The trouble is, I can't seem to decide how to end it.
Let me clarify.
This story is called Jumprope Politics. As you read, you'll notice it's a rather obvious allegory for the polarization occurring in the United States political system. The trouble I'm having with ending it is that I am torn between the boys (gov't) being remorseful for their actions or being sly and snide, continuing to plot further antics. They seem shy at first, but that's because they've just been busted.  Are they really sorry or thieving punks just waiting for the adults to leave them to their plotting and selfish endeavors once more?
I'm torn between what I think is realistic and what I hope for.
So, finish my story!
Write your own ending! (Use the comment section)
I'll pick one, and maybe there can be a prize of some sort. A printed and bound version of it or something. Or coffee or beer or something. You know, whatever. :)
Tell your friends! Let's have fun with this!
Here is the story. Pick up where I end.

Despite recess ending over an hour before, two oversized 4th graders from Washington Elementary remained fixed at their game. Billy Clifton and Georgie Baum each pulled mightily from either end of a purple nylon jump rope that was showing extensive wear near its middle. Hidden behind the bushes, they had evaded their teacher, Mr. Samson, as he marched the remaining student body back into the classroom. As their peers sweated over fractions, beads of perspiration formed a crown round each boy’s head as he kept his feet firmly planted, angled his body near parallel to the ground, and insisted through clenched teeth that he would not surrender.

Finally the rope snapped in two, sending Billy and Georgie soaring through the air, each landing with a great thud on the ground.  Holding back tears, each boy slowly pushed himself up from the soil. Georgie’s knee oozed a small stream of blood, Billy’s elbow began to develop an instant bruise.

“You big dumb smelly ass, Billy! I’m telling Principal Burgher you made me bleed!”

“Oooh, I’m really scared!” Billy retorted. “Go ahead, Dumbo! If you weren’t so fat, you wouldn’ta broke the rope.”

At this, Georgie lunged and seized Billy by the shirtsleeve pulling him to the ground once more. Entwined, each boy did his best to bring his fist to his opponent’s torso as they writhed and flopped in the playground dust.

“That’s enough, boys!” boomed Mr. Samson’s voice as he pulled the still swinging boys from each other’s grasps.  Holding them at arm’s length, Mr. Samson escorted the duo to their awaiting principal a few feet away. She did not look pleased. He left them to her stare and made his way back into the school.

The boys stood at her feet, Georgie digging his foot into the dirt, Billy suddenly fascinated by his fingernails.

“Sit.”

 Ms. Burgher spoke quietly, but sternly and with great authority. Georgie and Billy quickly took their place on the hard ground, eyes studying the soil beneath them. Dry and cracked, ants scrambled in and out of the crevasses and both boys felt just as small. Surely it was only a matter of time before Ms. Burgher would bring out a magnifying glass and let the sun do its work. They braced themselves for the scolding that was sure to come.

But Ms. Burgher did not speak.

She simply stood, one half of the rope dangling from each hand. Its once brilliant purple fibers now muddied and ruined. She laid each broken piece in front of each of them.  Billy and Georgie shifted uncomfortably, unsure what action to take. Should they speak? Should they continue to wait? The longer Ms. Burgher’s eyes bored into them, the more impossible to stay still.

It was then that Mr. Samson re-emerged from the school; a small girl clutched his hand as he led her toward them. Her face was smudged with dirt and grime, clean streaks present only from the tears that had cleansed away the filth. Her dress had at one time been lavender, soft and lovely, but was now a dull sort of grey. The dingy lace collar clung on by a few scarce threads here and there. Her knees showed dried scabs and mosquito bites. Her toes were evident through shoes too small. Her hair hung stringy and greasy in her eyes as she stared at the dirt below.

“I believe the two of you have something that belongs to Susie, is that true?” Ms. Burgher asked.

Georgie and Billy nodded their heads.

“And how did the two of you come to be in possession of Susie’s new jumprope?”

Several moments passed before Billy finally managed to squeak out the words, “We took it from her.”

“I see,” said Ms. Burgher. “And what reason do you have for taking this little girl’s toy? This is the only toy she has, and she brought it to share with her schoolmates. You, boys, have now not only robbed Susie of her brand new jump rope, but have ruined the opportunity for others to play as well. What have you to say for yourselves?"

Headline: Ignore the Smoke! Focus On Your Family!

If I ever get to write for The Onion, it would read something like this. It should be known that the "detrimental issues," mentioned in the following story were in fact taken straight from the parenting forum on the Focus on the Family website.


In a recent merger of children’s megastore Kids We B and Colorado based Focus on the Family, the company is pleased to announce The Focomatic 1955; the first in a line of what’s expected to be highly profitable products allowing parents to literally do nothing  but focus on their families. Shaped much like the 3D viewfinders made popular by children growing up in the 1980’s, by holding the device up to their faces and peering through the cross-shaped optical holes, parents are able to see their children at all times, no matter the location, near or far, night or day.

“It really is a fantastic invention,” says Donald S. Windle, new CEO of the recently merged companies, now known singly as We B Family Inc. Despite sirens raging down the street to extinguish the fire at the Ragtag Homeless Shelter, Windle was gracious enough to take the time to meet with this reporter at his downtown Colorado Springs office.  “We’re very excited about what this could mean for maintaining the spiritual well-being of those most likely to go astray.” Windle begins. He speaks animatedly regarding his company’s new invention. “You know, teenagers and gays and what not. We believe that constant supervision will lead to earlier intervention and thus the thwarting of detrimental issues such boys wearing girls’ clothes, boys and girls wearing earrings sized larger than normal, 17 year olds who want to go to prom or watch the Grammys, or the music of that M and M fellow. You can’t be too careful, you know? These kids are our future! We need to dictate their every move so they don’t end up seriously backsliding and doing something like falling hopelessly in love with someone their same gender who then sign up to adopt unwanted Haitian orphans with special needs. It ends up being a trickledown effect, if you think about it. Not only are teenagers rescued from the harrows of hell, but those orphans are rescued from the horrors of….well, whatever sort of life, if you could call it that, they would have with those people. You can see then, how vital our product becomes.”

The Focomatic 1955 is slated to hit shelves nationwide in a few weeks, but Windle affirms that they have already had countless calls regarding the device, along with the optional earpiece allowing parents to hear every word spoken by their child and surrounding friends, again no matter place or time.  “We’ve had to create a million more apparatuses than expected,” Windle boasts.  “Stores are already issuing rain checks for a product that hasn’t even been released.”

It is rumored that due out early next year is the BuzzWord, a device which will actually allow parents to physically intervene from distances up to three miles. “Now, I can’t say too much,” begins Windle, “but little Timmy will be quite shocked,” Windle pauses here and gives a sly wink and smirks, “when he realizes how powerfully bad those negative Nancy words can be. You know, those ones that generally have four letters? You can bet his language will soon be as clean as a preacher’s pulpit. I probably shouldn’t say too much more about that. We’ve still got to work things out with the Legal department on that one.”

Regarding the expected large profit margin, Windle waves his hands dismissively. “ We've got some ideas up our sleeves.”  Enhancing the Focomatic and BuzzWord, the development of new and more advanced devices, and potentially a brand new retreat center on the Oahu coast, to name a few.  When questioned about the latter, Windle responds, “We want to make sure our staff members are properly rested so as to avoid burnout. It’s a hard job, saving American families. It wears on a person.”

No Haitian orphans, then?

“Oh, heaven’s no!” Windle exclaims. “God’ll take care of them!”

DC Dreamin'

This is what happens on the tail end of an overnight shift, mere hours before departing for the first leg of vacation to the East Coast,Washington DC, included. The beginnings of a story from the over active imagination of a small town girl soon to be roamin' the big city. (I'm great at starting stories, shite at finishing them. I'm pretty sure I have what I've dubbed "Writer's ADD," or probably just ADD in general.) I'll just toss the Flash Fiction label on it and call it done?

"Yep. This seems about right."These were the last words to pass through Thomas' mind before he expired. A gunshot wound to the chest has a tendency to have that effect. Though he couldn't quite be sure, what with his dying and all, it appeared to him that the only car passing by just then was a shiny black sedan,the darkly tinted window scrolling up as it turned the corner.It was merely days before his 26th birthday and he found himself on the steps of the United States capitol; the building that plays host to the civil servants working roughly 58% of the year to make the country a brighter place. Generally a peaceful bystander of American politics, the direction his country was moving (he pictured a rope fraying in the middle as it was pulled harder and harder by either side, its fibers nearly ready to give way) made him both uneasy and motivated.He had been standing ther alone, in silent protest, peacefully holding aloft a simple sign he'd made from tag board and construction papered letters. Across a hand drawn picture of his imagined rope, taut at both ends, perilously frayed in the center, he'd pasted the words
POLARIZATION IS DESTROYING THE NATION
As he sat there isolated on the chilly steps, munching an apple with one hand, holding the sign with the other, the only accomplishment he was shooting for that day was for passersby and capitol entrants to digest the message so dear to his heart.Apparently, message received.

Short Story One- The Runner

I wrote a story several years ago, not for a writing class, but a theology class. Now, as I'm working on compiling and sorting out my writing, I revisited the story. In this re-visitation, it became quite clear to me that it was not complete.
This could simply be because as I've aged and have continued to developed my writing, I am able to see ways in which my writing can and should be strengthened. It also could be because, last year round this time, I wrote something that in the back of my mind, served as a sort of sequel to the afore mentioned piece. And as it turned out, there was more to the story. (There often is, isn't there?)

I had set up a separate page here in which I planned to post some of my short stories. However, upon further review, it seems that I can't make multiple posts on the other pages. At least, I haven't found a way which allows me being completely un-tech savvy to do so. So, I've started posting them on writerscafe.org. If I post one there, I'll make a link here.

I posted the first part of the story as I was revisiting it. Since it once was a stand alone piece, I'll post it. I'll post the second part soon.

Here it is. The Runner