AubreyJoHardin

Your work, Prodigal, won't let me comment... so I will just send it as a message ;) 
          
          
          Hi Maddy!
          You've got a beautiful writing style. I love the descriptions. i can totally feel the air, smell the bug splatted boys and feel the lonesome in the girl with the flurry around her. 
          It reminds me of summers with my gaggle of cousins. 
          The only suggestion I have is formatting. This is one huge "paragraph", and stylistically, it could work, if that's what you are going for. But, for me, it almost read as if I needed to come up for air/give my eyes a rest... which, again, might be intentional or might be a cut and paste error. 
          
           example, as presented:
          "You're supposed to put it in a jar." She said more quietly, seeking a friendly face and finding only shadow. "It'll just die in there." Her mother responded with a sigh as she snapped the last bean and placed the dirty ends into the Walmart bag full of scraps that nestled in the mixing bowl next to the fresh vegetables. "You poke holes in it." The girl insisted, but she was nervous, the little insect crawling along her palms raising the hair in goosebumps all up and down her arms. "And put little leaves for them to eat." "Even if you did all that it would still die in a day or two." Her uncle, who sat propped on the brick wall of the porch, shifted so his face came into view. One leg, encased in filthy work jeans and a muddy work boot, was propped onto the wall, the other bent and planted on the cement of the porch. He seemed larger than life...

AubreyJoHardin

See how this might make it a little more readable---
            
            "You're supposed to put it in a jar." She said more quietly, seeking a friendly face and finding only shadow. 
            "It'll just die in there." Her mother responded with a sigh as she snapped the last bean and placed the dirty ends into the Walmart bag full of scraps that nestled in the mixing bowl next to the fresh vegetables. 
            "You poke holes in it." The girl insisted, but she was nervous, the little insect crawling along her palms raising the hair in goosebumps all up and down her arms. "And put little leaves for them to eat." 
            "Even if you did all that it would still die in a day or two." Her uncle, who sat propped on the brick wall of the porch, shifted so his face came into view. One leg, encased in filthy work jeans and a muddy work boot, was propped onto the wall, the other bent and planted on the cement of the porch. He seemed larger than life...
            
            Your prose is lovely, and I would read more of your writing. ;)
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