A Short Narrrative

Discussion in 'Tall Tales & Fabrications' started by Bill Boggs, Oct 5, 2021.

  1. Bill Boggs

    Bill Boggs Veteran Member

    May 13, 2015
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    A Short Narrative

    He was cleaning the back end of his property. A few old trees and brush, one couldn’t see where he was putting his foot, the weeds and grass were so high. If this had been snake country a big ole timber rattler could have bitten him and he’d never have seen the rascal.

    There were low mounds where once he had thrown his coffee grounds and other rubbish so that someday he might raise worms. Berms they were called. You didn’t just raise worms anymore. Worms were specialized. What kind of worm did you intend to raise? He was informed, he knew it all. He had to know, he was a self made man.

    He took an old house and redeemed it. Remodeled it so that it now had value. It was important your stuff had value or maybe value added was the right tern.

    Anyway when he thought of picking up his back yard a little bit he didn’t realize so much was involved. This job wouldn’t take only a few days, it might take all summer. And what about his other property where he had built the cabin and was going to fix up this summer. There wasn’t enough time to get things done. A man had to work smarter, be smarter, think for himself. Life could be complicated. He didn’t have any choice, he decided,

    the old berm had to be taken down. It was now in the way. He decided to stop all other activity and remove the old berm. It was in the way of everything else he intended to do. Decision made, execute.

    He got his shovel and his rack and started to work. The berm was no longer a berm but piles oof very hard dirt. He might need a pick. He worked and sweated, muscles getting sore, digging and busting out large chunks of hard dirt, then busting the old clouds into s haller ones.

    He wiped the sweat from his forehead and with his weight stuffed the shovel in to the ground. Ugh, something solid. Maybe a rock. He would need a pick.

    It was not a rock but a metal gallon bucket, not one but a dozen of them.

    He got a screwdriver and pried open the first bucket. Ugh. Water or maybe oil. But were they ever heavy. Dark heavy bars beneath the water or slush.

    Turns out they were buckets of bars, silver bars, all but two which were gold. Damn! He was rich. He wouldn’t have to put in another berm, nor raise another worm. He could hire somebody to repair his house. He might even buy a new one. And a new car. He might even quit this work from home job. Oh happy day, oh happy day when cleaning the back yard took

    my cares away. And that’s what he did.

    He bought a new house and turned his cabin into a desirable get-away. He bought a new car, a pair of them and on a Friday he and his Mrs went out for a fine steak and then came home and what did they do? They planned a fabulous vacation. And so it went. They lived happily ever after.

    And all it took were a few buckets of money.
  2. Shirley Martin

    Shirley Martin Supreme Member

    Jun 9, 2015
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    I just love happy endings. :)

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