Sunday, February 7, 2010

The Adventures of Wee Dickey Drudge, Whoreson

This is a dime story (3 minute stories) I read tonight at the monthly Dime Stories at Barbé in Park Slope.  Thanks for a great event!

 The birds were dead.‭ ‬Every last one of the damn birds was as dead as last week's custard and Wee Dicky Drudge knew it was his fault.‭ ‬He vaguely remembered Oswald the Mystifying giving him specific instructions,‭ ‬something about lighting the small gas heater in the theatre's storage room after yesterday's evening performance.‭ ‬Something about this being a colder winter than anyone in Boston could remember.‭ ‬Something about doves not being penguins.‭ ‬It was all rather hazy in light of his current predicament.‭  ‬Every single god damn bird was frozen solid like a summer icy treat,‭ ‬Oswald the Mystifying was waiting in the wings for his doves,‭ ‬and several hundred already seated patrons had paid up to ten cents apiece to see  doves disappear,‭ ‬reappear,‭ ‬burst into flames and then reappear again.‭ ‬Young Dicky had to think fast,‭ ‬and that was never really something you could have called him good at.‭ ‬His first instinct was to lie,‭ ‬but he wasn't particularly good at that either,‭ ‬and Oswald could always tell and would box his ears.‭ ‬He considered burning the theatre down,‭ ‬but quickly realized that this was probably more than the situation required.‭ ‬As he stood there contemplating arson,‭ ‬his eyes fell on the half‭ ‬open window just behind the cages‭  ‬In that moment his path became clear.‭ ‬You see there was one thing that Wee Dickey excelled at,‭ ‬one talent that he used to compensate for his apparent lacking of all others.‭ ‬Dickey knew how to run away.‭ ‬It had served him well thus far,‭ ‬and it was about to serve him again.‭ ‬He squeezed his small body through the slim window opening and quietly dropped into the alley behind the theatre.‭ ‬And then,‭ ‬he ran.‭ ‬As fast as he could.‭ ‬He ran and ran and never once looked back.‭ ‬He stopped to throw up his breakfast at one point,‭ ‬but that was for just a brief moment,‭ ‬and then he went back to running.‭  ‬He never again came back to Boston.‭ ‬And he never again worked as a magician's assistant,‭ ‬at least not until that time in Bombay after the war.‭ ‬.‭ ‬.‭  ‬But that my friends,‭ ‬is a story for a different time.‭ �

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