draliman on life

Here is my entry for June’s Storybook Corner, hosted by Adam Ickes.

I usually post my entry with mere hours to go, but I have three weeks yet – are you impressed? Here is the logo.

And here is the photo, to which we are invited to write 300-500 words.

This story was inspired by Evil Squirrel over at the Squirrel’s Nest, who was recently hit by no-good metal thieves. To read this month’s other stories, click on Bracken, the little blue froggy below.

Please note before reading that this story is a little graphic in the “gruesome” department.

“C’mon, Jimmy! Look at that! We’ll get a fortune for that manhole cover. Gimme a hand.” Mark started prying the manhole cover up out of the pavement.

“But Mark,” pleaded Jimmy. “It’ll leave a hole. Someone might fall in.”

“Wot, fall into a honkin’ great hole in the graaand? They’d gotta be stoopid or somefink. C’mon, this is heavy!”

“Yeah, heavy metal!” said Jimmy. He began head banging to a song only he could hear.

After a couple of minutes the two friends had managed to lever the manhole cover up out of the Tarmac and were trying to work out how best to get it home.

“Oy, you, stop!” cried a voice from across the street.

“Mark, it’s Five-Oh!” shouted Jimmy.

Mark looked at him wearily. Jimmy was ever a fan of American cop shows. He looked around and saw the policeman racing towards them, at the same time talking into his radio.

The lads dropped the manhole cover, which clanged onto the ground, denting the Tarmac and rolling around before coming to rest against the curb. They took off at a run.

Jimmy leapt over the hole left by the manhole cover. Mark didn’t.

His foot met empty air and he fell. His scream was cut short as his chin smacked the edge of the hole, his jaw fracturing, his teeth neatly slicing through his tongue. Mouth filling with blood, he reached out desperately for the metal ladder running down from the road to the tunnel below. Meeting with only partial success in this regard, he managed to hook his arm into a rung but his descent was too rapid and his arm splintered at the elbow.

He tried to scream again but only succeeded in choking out the blood spurting from his severed tongue.

After a few seconds he hit the ground. He felt a shock of pain as both legs shattered, and helpless he was washed down the sewer system, eventually becoming lodged at a junction. It took him three hours to die, as rats the size of cats feasted on his entrails.

“And that’s why stealing metal is a really bad career choice!” ended Constable Hawkins, putting his notes down on the table in front of him. He looked around in triumph. His first School Outreach seemed to be going well.

The nine and ten year olds looked at him in shock. From one corner came the sound of retching. Three of the kids were crying, and one at the front was sitting in a puddle of pee. A small red-haired girl was puffing desperately on an inhaler. The teacher stared at him, ashen-faced, already planning the note of apology to the parents.

Constable Hawkins turned to his sergeant, who was staring at him, mouth agape.

“Too much?”