Short Story Spillage 10/12/2008

There once was a man named Jonny, who had a house on top of a hill. Jonny was a simple man, who lead a simple life. He raked his yard and kept his fence mended. Mondays Jonny cooked a stew. Tuesdays Jonny broke bread. Midweek was porridge. Thursday was a treat of cheese. Friday was left over stew. Weekends, Jonny walked all morning Saturday to visit his parents and all event Sunday to return home.

Every day, Jonny built a chair. Every weekend, he sold five chairs to his father. His father owned a shop and sold the chairs. The only interesting thing about Jonny was that every week he made a different style of chair. He had never made the same style twice. He enjoyed the craftmanship. His chairs were popular, although no customers realized they came from the same man. They all looked hewn from different hands. Jonny liked anonymity.

The chairs always stacked up, to make easier to carry on the long walks to his parents every Saturday morning.

It was one of these long walks that made a story about Jonny worth writing about. It was on one of these walks that he came across a young woman, who was trying to sell flowers at the side of the road. She was standing and looking tired and the day was already young. Jonny suspected she had not eaten well that week and was exhausted.

"A flower for whomever you are visiting, sir," the woman asked as he approached?

"My mother. She likes daisies," he replied, trying to seem nice as he felt sorry.

"One pence."

Jonny had no pence. He carried no money with him on his trips. "One chair. Will you trade?" And she did, happily. She sat comfortably on one of Jonny's chairs as he sat it down for her and took a flower. She would be more comfortable, look happier, and sell more flowers.

Jonny knew his father could easily sell four chairs. He often sold only four of five he sent, and the fifth on its own. People often like chairs in fours. He bid the woman a fair day and departed.

Jonny walked further down the road. Eventually, he came across a young boy headed the other way. The boy looked sad and Jonny asked him why.

"My mother and father have gone into down for the day and I have gotten myself locked out of the house. I can't get into the high window and I'll have to wait until nightfall for their return," the boy told Jonny his plight.

"That is a problem, but I am carrying the solution on my back," said Jonny. He felt bad for the boy and he took another chair from his stack and gave it to the child.

"Thank you sir!" The boy gave Jonny a pence for the chair, which was all he had, even tho Jonny had asked for nothing.

Jonny walked further down the road. Some time later, he saw an old man walking down another road which met his at a crossway. He was walking slower and had a cane. The man was carrying with him a basket, with many pieces of wood sticking out of it.

They both got to the crossway and Jonny noticed the wood in the basket was what was left of a broken chair.

"You have a broken chair, and I have three good chairs, sir," Jonny said to the man.

"My chair was nearly as old as I and without it I have no where to sit within my home. I am going to sell its wood for someones stove and hope I can buy a new chair."

"I sell my chairs and will sell you one for that wood," replied Jonny. He liked that he did two good things with his chairs so far that day and would like to do a third.

They traded the basket for a chair and went on their ways.

Jonny walked further down the road. He had the basket of wood on top of the two remaining chairs, all carried on his back. He walked along, getting much closer to his parents.

When Jonny reached his parents house, he had a surprise.

"We've been robbed," exclaimed his mother!

"I'm ruined," cried his father!

"We have no wood to burn, we're a pence short on the store rent. Never in our lives have I been so lost in my own home."

Jonny went to embrace his sad mother, and then realized he could help all of their problems.

"Where are your chairs, son," his father asked him?

"I sold three of them. Here, you may take the remaining two," he said as he placed the two chairs into the empty room for his parents. "Sit and rest after your ordeal."

"I sold the last chair for some fire wood," he said as he began a fire with the wood in the basket, using the basket as kindling.

"I sold the chair before that for a pence," he said handing the pence to his father, "and you will keep your store."

"I sold the first chair for my mothers happiness," he said, handing his mother the flower."

Short Story - Traffic Violation

4:00 on the car's clock radio, and the stars shone above in the night. Michael made his way across town from a shadier side than he lived in. Guys like him drove to across town to that house at this time of the night just one reason, and he held it in his pocket burning a hole into his thigh. The red light flew over his head at just about the time he was thinking about how much weight he carried on him. The red lights were following him with sirens, now, and his car came to a jittery stop when he put the cops and his trip and his pocket together in his mind.

High beams shone in his eyes through the mirrors. He couldn't see the stars from here. Registration, insurance, drugs, check. He had everything he needed for getting pulled over. God, was this guy taking a nap back there or was it going to get over with? Michael just wished the cop would make his way up and get the search and arrest over, at least he could get into the cell to sleep sooner. He was tired anyway.

Finally the doors opened from the police care and an officer stepped out, slowly meandering down the side of the road to his car. He rolled down the window, but just about half way, and was ready to hand over his paper work. He couldn't decide if he should keep the seat belt on to show he wore it or take it off to get out for his body search faster. He didn't want to upset the cop before the stash was found. Maybe that would help everything go a little smoother. Search, arrest, jail, and quick, was the best he could hope for.

Shit, came the thoughts, when Michael began to think about the morning after, when he woke up in jail and had no idea what to do. His parents would see he never made it up, and Sarah wouldn't take long to hear about it when he didn't answer her calls. Michael wondered who she would hook up with by the end of the week and what his parents would do with his room. He handed the paperwork over to the police officer, because he knew that's what he was supposed to do, not because of instructions, which he didn't even hear.

Will and hope drained quickly. His heart sank, thinking about all the friends he knew who had been in jail. They all seemed diminished and he felt himself becoming like them already. The cop spoke, and he nodded and made vague responses, but never once was sitting in his car. He was sitting in his jail cell, wondering where he went wrong. He was having an awkward first shower in the joint, while the officer started writing tickets. His food tray was knocked over, when the ticket was passed over and he couldn't bring himself to read it. The officer told him to get some sleep, and he managed to pick that up, but he couldn't sleep with the looks he got from his cellmate. The officer was walking back, and he came back from his fear.

He read the ticket for running the red light, felt like a gaping hole was ripped in his chest, and pulled, slowly, onto the road to get home, sleep, and flush the toilet.