Joseph's Bedtime Dilemma
Here's a brief something I just found that I wrote back in high school. I don't know, I rather like it.
Somehow, the pistol pressed against his left temple reminded Joseph of a case he had six years ago in which a robber was judged innocent because of his victim’s unreliability, which was due to crimes of the victim’s own. Joseph had represented the robbed man, and had lost enough money on the case to stall his plan for installing a security system in his house. During the case, evidence was uncovered that showed that the robbed man had embezzled company funds and cheated on his wife. He was the sole witness, and the jury didn’t trust his testimony. The robber was acquitted, and after another trial Joseph’s client spent the next three hundred and sixty-five days folding towels.
After this unpleasant reminder, Joseph felt angry. Glass and mud combined and conspired to spoil his newly mopped hardwood floor, and the splintered, empty window frame would let in a draft all night. The door wasn’t locked. They could have just used that. Now he would have to cover it up with a tarp or sheet or duct tape or saran wrap or the bones of his attackers or a combination of all of these, or else the geese might get in and spread their turds all over his newly mopped hardwood floor. The nerve of these people.
The next thing Joseph noticed was the smell. Either the jumpy, masked criminal who held death to Joseph’s head with one arm and cut off the oxygen flow to his brain with the other was scared into perspiring rivers of smelly sweat, or else his black clothes were as warm as they looked. Either way, Joseph was reminded of the three cans of Right Guard in his dresser.
While Joseph pondered these things, the smelly man’s partner in crime carelessly caroused throughout the house, looking for something worth risking at least a year behind prison bars for. Joseph thought it strange that the first place he looked after making a general sweep of the place was the refrigerator. Maybe he knew something Joseph didn’t. Maybe some more knowledgeable and wealthy people kept their valuables in the fridge. He, however, had no such desire to preserve the freshness of his Rolexes, and he was glad he wasn’t being asked to represent them in court. These goons were ready-made open-and-shut -- if he could only get that gun pointed away from his brain.
Somehow, the pistol pressed against his left temple reminded Joseph of a case he had six years ago in which a robber was judged innocent because of his victim’s unreliability, which was due to crimes of the victim’s own. Joseph had represented the robbed man, and had lost enough money on the case to stall his plan for installing a security system in his house. During the case, evidence was uncovered that showed that the robbed man had embezzled company funds and cheated on his wife. He was the sole witness, and the jury didn’t trust his testimony. The robber was acquitted, and after another trial Joseph’s client spent the next three hundred and sixty-five days folding towels.
After this unpleasant reminder, Joseph felt angry. Glass and mud combined and conspired to spoil his newly mopped hardwood floor, and the splintered, empty window frame would let in a draft all night. The door wasn’t locked. They could have just used that. Now he would have to cover it up with a tarp or sheet or duct tape or saran wrap or the bones of his attackers or a combination of all of these, or else the geese might get in and spread their turds all over his newly mopped hardwood floor. The nerve of these people.
The next thing Joseph noticed was the smell. Either the jumpy, masked criminal who held death to Joseph’s head with one arm and cut off the oxygen flow to his brain with the other was scared into perspiring rivers of smelly sweat, or else his black clothes were as warm as they looked. Either way, Joseph was reminded of the three cans of Right Guard in his dresser.
While Joseph pondered these things, the smelly man’s partner in crime carelessly caroused throughout the house, looking for something worth risking at least a year behind prison bars for. Joseph thought it strange that the first place he looked after making a general sweep of the place was the refrigerator. Maybe he knew something Joseph didn’t. Maybe some more knowledgeable and wealthy people kept their valuables in the fridge. He, however, had no such desire to preserve the freshness of his Rolexes, and he was glad he wasn’t being asked to represent them in court. These goons were ready-made open-and-shut -- if he could only get that gun pointed away from his brain.
posted by Matthew at 6:32 PM
1 Comments:
Your storytelling is vivid and very creative. I was suprised how satisfying the ending was. I didn't want to see...
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