Bad Bones
There stood a boy, speaking as if he were an expert. Only he had no idea what he was talking about. My opinion on the subject of such persons is not kind, I’ll have you know. His mouth was flapping in a distinctly uninformed sort of way.
And the dog knew it. The dog was much larger than the boy, and twice as old. He was quite wise, but nobody understood. The dog didn’t blame them though, he just couldn’t speak their language.
“The bones of it are quite solid.” said ‘the boy who had no idea what he was talking about.’
Buildings don’t have bones.
Well, I suppose some could, but that’s kind of creepy. Like something from a crime novel, or an Indiana Jones movie… Allow me to revise my initial statement: buildings shouldn’t have bones. And when they do, it was probably either built by a level 9 dark wizard or by Steven Spielberg. Neither of which should be taken lightly.
When ‘ignorant’ (that’s his new name. Like it?) said that the bones were good, he wasn’t talking about literal bones. Rather, the overall integrity of the tool shed before him. Clearly, he was wrong. But you already knew that, because you are an observant reader, and I told you all about it a few paragraphs ago. If you don’t remember that, then you might want to set this book down, and call the doctor. Trust me, it’s not a good sign.
Also not good: when the tool shed is leaning fifteen degrees further to the East than it had been yesterday. Any number more than one is bad.
"I mean, it’s not like the bones of it are damaged.” I don’t think he knows anything about… structural engineering.
The dog gave him a sideways glance. The kind of sideways look you might give a surgeon with the whooping cough.
At this point, the wind began to pick up. (If you have ever seen a natural disaster movie, then you’ll know what this is: the exciting bit.) The stalks and blades of dry grass began to fold over sideways, and in the same direction that the shed was leaning.
(This is where I disappoint all my readers.) I can’t think of an epic way to describe what transpired, so I’ll just tell you. So, what happened was…
He DIED.
No, not the boy. The tool shed. That would be a dark conclusion. Too dark to be bound up in a short story collection.
It may come as a surprise that the shed’s ‘bones’ were not the problem. As it turns out, tool sheds with shallow foundations are prone to being pushed over by the wind.
There stood a stupid boy, a dog, and a pile of sticks. Whatever the boy said, he was wrong. You’ll remember he’s the fool. But, whatever the dog was thinking, he was absolutely right. He was quite a bit wiser than the boy. If only he had said something, the boy might’ve learned something.
Perhaps he learned regardless.
