He passed that stone ten thousand times over the years. Almost every time Stanley Goocher would say to himself, "That stone would look great in my new wall or maybe as a nice step in front of the outhouse. I'm going to grab that stone some day."Bernard Jenson owned the ground the stone sat on. Bernard and Stanley had not spoken for thirty years. Word was it had something to do with a woman. Seems it’s always about some woman. That neither man ever married added to the mystery.
Stanley would not ask Bernard if he could have the stone. No. He would have to steal it.
One day coming home from the dump, Stanley pulled his pickup in next to the stone. Surprised at how large that stone was once he stood next to it, he figured it had to weigh at least 800 pounds. Wanting it more than ever now, Stanley’s granite lust turned to granite schemes.
The next moonless night about 1:30 AM, a pickup with no lights on backed up to the rock. A dark figure carrying a weak flashlight got out. They pulled some chain, some 2x10 planks, and a pry bar out of the bed. Ten minutes later, the stone was secured in the truck and headed down the road.
Next morning Stanley drove to work at the mill. Looking for the space where his rock should be, Stanley saw a large sign instead.
“You stole my woman. You ain’t stealing my rock.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Image taken by me. We don't have sidewalks to photograph, but we's gots lots of rocks to talk about.
6 comments:
I love your 250 word mystery stories. No blood or gore, just unanswered questions. You could expand this one into a novel.
Another fine piece of writing, Mike. I'm enjoying reading your writing more and more with each piece. Keep it up my friend.
Very cool. One rarely expects a tale about a rock. I think you have invented a new subgenre.
Rocks are just so darned loyal, Course, they can be swiped, but I've never heard of one going willingly or cooperating in its removal.
P.S. Blog Fodder reminded me--there's no blood, no gore.
Maybe the rock could have crushed the woman who was stolen, and then the men could have sat on the rock, been reunited, and divided it in half as a symbol of their friendship.
“You stole my woman. You ain’t stealing my rock.”
Henny Youngman would say something different and to be honest I would too.
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