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Raymond K Proseus

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Battle at Muddy Creek
By Raymond K Proseus
Monday, January 10, 2011

Rated "PG13" by the Author.

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What happens in small towns, happens all around us

 

I tossed the book indifferently aside, the paperback naturally, to me, falling face down, spine up, a page invariably turned inward in that old fashioned style known the world over as ‘dog-eared’. To me, it was just a folded corner of paper in an otherwise unremarkable book. Well, the book was actually well written with a decent plot, but I took issue with it all the same. See, it’s just one book in a larger series of them. The protagonist is your average nobody that seems to be all the rage in literature, living in a small town that is utterly boring, except it must be the murder capitol of the world. Every single book serves up a fresh whodunit full of murder, intrigue, and just a bit of romance for the feminine set that likely makes up the largest demographic of that book’s target audience. Me, a male, in my late teens, was not who the author was shooting for when she fleshed out the main character. But I was a bibliophile; I simply loved books.

I guess my main problem with the run of books was I felt ripped off. Nothing remarkable happened in my small Texas town; absolutely nothing at all. I mean, hell, we’re just another small town in a state full of them. The most exciting thing to do on the weekend was to hang out at the local Wal-Mart; I wish I was making that up. Of course, it also helped if you were of the vehicular owning persuasion, something of which I was not. So you can imagine that greatly impacted my popularity with the ‘fairer’ sex. Hell, it made me an outright pariah amongst my female peers. I guess the illusion of going somewhere in your boyfriends beat to hell Chevy pickup was far more romantic that waiting at home for your boyfriend to either walk, pedal, or hitch a ride over to see you.

I like a large number of kids in town my age rode my bike all over. My six year old Huffy squeaked, wobbled, and groaned, but got me around, I just wish it was a car and not my brother’s secondhand bike. Of course, to mention my brother Marcus is akin to mentioning Jesus in regards to His miracles. Marcus, you see, served in Afghanistan and Iraq. He was taken out by some drunk driver only days after he got home for the last time. So, being the younger brother, all his expectations of greatness were heaped onto my already loaded shoulders. More than once, my father dropped not too subtle hints that I should forget learnin’ and instead focus on killin’.

My dad may not have been born and raised in town, but he sure, or shore, if you’re feelin’ peculiar, did get the local vernacular down. Well, all my brother’s expectations of greatness were heaped onto me, and I had zero desire or plan to join the military. My higher than most GPA got more than a gentle squeeze under the table from a few more prestigious colleges, I got downright felt up by one that I too was keen on going to, only because it afforded me to get the hell out of the claustrophobic confines of a small town. I’d seen the brain-washed type of eunuch my brother had become after joining the Marines, and having my hair shaved and my brains rearranged into kill, kill, KILL mode did little to motivate me to turn away from my more academic career choice.

So if this isn’t about murder in a small town and my crack team of perky, yet just outlaw enough friends solving it, then what is it about? Two words man: Billy West. See, Billy was your average small town bully. All bulk, no brains. He hung out and on occasion and when he could be motivated to, helped out around Main Street Feed. Guess what they sold? If you guessed chaps, whips, riding crops, and spurs you’d be right, and if you were to guess that any of these implements were strictly for a sexual nature, well, you wouldn’t be as right. Come on now; remember this is small town Texas. S-E-X is not mentioned in proper company, and really, now? Are you that unsatisfied with plain old sex with the missus? Sorry, my small town biddy comes out at the strangest times.

So anyway, back to Billy, the hillbilly prick, and thorn in my side. My nearest and dearest friend, and quite possibly my only friend, Alyssa Murphy, a third cousin on my mother’s side, no we are not dating, shove it. Anyway, she and I are best friends, and so far as I know the only friends that either of us has. I’m not the only quirky member of my family. I was overcome with joy to find a kindred spirit, but that fire was dampened a lot when I found out said spirit was my cousin, three times removed, hot as hell, and more than willing to let me do the horizontal mambo notwithstanding, she was my cousin. Billy has taken a liking to Alyssa, and cannot take no, hell no, or rape! for an answer. He seems to think that because his old man is the town police chief and high school football hero he is immune, and the sad thing is; he’s right. Problem I have with him? Other than wanting to kill my parents for naming me Francis in a town of less than a thousand? The fact that he will not leave my name alone and just let the ‘joke’ die; it kills me.

So there you have it. The story of my current plight and God knows the plight of a billion other pimply, scrawny high school juniors who have strange or unique names, and have hot relatives that they wish constantly, and in more than one masturbatory fantasy, weren’t related, being tormented by a small minded bully. That is it man, no aliens, no quiet townies that hide dark secrets (of that I am certain at least half the town holds one form of jacked up secret or another), no convoluted murder plot full of implausible plot holes you could drive a Mac truck through. All we have here is a kid who thinks his cousin is hot, and wants to be left alone from the bully.

Well, this is where it gets sticky. While it is technically true that Billy didn’t get murdered, he is was on life support in some fancy hospital up the road a spell for awhile. I saw what happened, Billy fell and hit his head, I was accused of pushing him, and Alyssa was accused of luring Billy to the site of his ‘accident’. Did I tell you that I hate small towns? Well, I do with a passion. If I were an alien, I’d tell my higher ups to screw this backwater planet and warp factor fifty the hell out of this crappy galaxy. But I’m only lowly Francis Hamilton; just another nobody from a small Texas town that I never wanted to move to, but was helpless to prevent.

 

‘C’mon, Frankie, look!’

‘For the last time, Alyssa, no!’ I yelled back, feeling the heat rise in my face, and groin.

‘Come on Francis, I’ll put my top on if you at least look!’

‘Jesus, didn’t your mom hold you enough?’ I shot back.  I was determined to not lose this battle of sex. I just couldn’t.

‘You go on and leave my momma outta this Frankie, you know I don’t ‘preciate her being mentioned in no way.’ Alyssa growled, sobering up, but not enough, I thought with a flush, to put her top on. She smiled crookedly when she saw my head whip around. She almost had me, the minx, and she knew it. Gah! ‘Well, since I been pressuring you so much, I won’t make you touch ‘em, but at least look, and tell me if they’re not the best set of tits you ever saw!’ Alyssa taunted, and in my overwrought teen imagination giving her pretty well endowed chest a playful jiggle that my hormone saturated brain played in slow motion even though I wasn’t looking or certain that it had even happened.

‘Well, the problem with that is they’d be the only set of tits I ever saw!’ I said finding a lightning struck pine suddenly fascinating, had I paid a bit more attention, I might have caught the sun glinting off of metal. As it were I was too busy trying not to give in to my sex starved cousins taunts. And God help me, I was weakening.

‘Jesus, you’re such a baby, Francis! They’re only tits!’ Alyssa cried, splashing water towards my safe and dry perch on the sandy shore.

‘Again, cousin, they’re attached to you!’ I responded lightly. I closed my eyes, and saw my cousin standing thigh deep in the muddy, cool creek. Too short denim cutoffs that should have been thrown away eons ago, and a red checkered bikini top hung over a nearby low lying tree branch.

Alyssa was the Aphrodite of this backwater hick town. Well, she was one of countless other girls with the long, coltish tan legs, affinity for wearing jeans that were about a size too small, wearing button up cowboy shirts with the top two buttons left undone, so they could show off their growing assets to any male willing to look. However, Alyssa had one thing the others did not have, and that was patience for me. Well, patience and an unnatural sexual attraction to me…

My problem, you see, other than the questionable morality of bedding my cousin albeit far removed down the gene pool was simply the fact that Alyssa and I had grown up from the cradle together. Her mother and my mother were best friends, and our dads went out on this cheap aluminum boat, red Coleman cooler full of white Budweiser cans, caught fish, got drunk, and came staggering home sometime between world war three, and just a minor tiff from the missus; in other words, our families were tied together in ways that I couldn’t possibly begin to unravel, and banging my cousin like a cheap drum wouldn’t help that Gordian knot at all; at all. To me, Alyssa was less of a cousin and more of a sister, and I almost literally retch when I think about that sexual innuendo… ick.

‘Fraaaaaaankie….’ Alyssa cooed from the safety of the creek in a way that shot blood to all the wrong places. ‘Frankie, the water is nice and cool, and I ain’t getting no younger, so what do you say, huh? Come on in here and play with these fun bags baby!’

‘Did you just call your tits fun bags?’ I asked, turning before I thought about it.

Alyssa stood on a nearby mossy rock with her hands on her hips, red checkered bikini top firmly in place, usual mischievous grin pasted on her face, just enough white showing from her teeth to indicated she’d gotten up to good Dickens; good Dickens. All I could do was stare in disbelief. Alyssa got me good this time. As I stared numbed by her prank, she reached and gave a mighty tug to her top, and the most beautiful, milky white breasts fell out. They were topped with pale pink nipples that stood erect on her goose pimpled skin. I could do nothing; I was entranced, helpless to the boobage of my cousin. I felt the all too familiar curse begin to stiffen the leg of my own cutoff shorts, although a lot looser than my playful cousin who was currently showing me where all the fat on her body lay.

‘There!’ Alyssa cried, pulling herself back together with a jiggle, and a few extra wiggling gyrations that I was sure weren’t needed. ‘That was for not looking when I called you out the first time boy.’ She splashed closer to the shore, and flung a fair bit of creek water my way, soaking the sleeve of my gray t-shirt. It was Texas, summer, and not a whole lot else to do, so I figured that a splash in the creek couldn’t hurt before we headed home. I had designs on the library, even the austere glare of Ms. Applewhite wouldn’t keep me away from the latest adventure in space, or flawed cowboy hero today. It was hot, and the library, small one time general store or not, was air conditioned, God bless it. Before I could get my shirt over my head, though, a familiar shape peeled away from the lightning struck pine I’d stared at earlier.

‘Well, hell, if that wuss ain’t got the balls to take a good long gander at them tits a yours then I ain’t got no problems looking at ‘em. Go on ahead whip ‘em out again sugar, I didn’t get a good look at them the first time.’ Billy said, sauntering up to the edge of the creek to my right.

I dropped my shirt back down over my flat stomach (sometimes being a teen ain’t so bad), glared at Billy, and noticed that Alyssa still had the index fingers of both hands in her mouth. She had been prepared to belt out one of her patented ear splitter whistles. I think it’s a southern small town phenomenon; women being able to deafen you with but a whistle. Alyssa composed herself, and her usual warm blue eyes turned to slivers of ice.

‘Billy, ain’t you got no small critters to be torturing?’ Alyssa asked, slipping further into her Texas accent. You could cut the contempt with a chainsaw.

‘Now Alyssa, that ain’t no way to talk to the man who’s courting you, don’t you know no better?’ Billy asked somewhere between a taunt and seriousness.

Billy, like his dad, it seemed adhered to the beat women first, worry about guilt later school of thought. The only girl brave enough to come forward and admit that she’d actually went out with Billy came forward with bizarre stories of slaps, pinches and insults, insults, insults. The poor girl had nearly turned lesbian because of her Billy experience; or so rumor goes. Who the hell knows around here? I heard a splash behind me, and realized that Alyssa had retreated back to the safety of the rocks. They were somewhere between halfway in the middle of the creek and the sandy drop off that small bodies of water like these inexplicably always had. I thought it wise that she retreated to a distance. If this Billy encounter were going to be anything resembling normal, I’d have to eventually join her in the creek listening to the taunts of Billy. The fat bastard, you see, couldn’t swim. I was prepared to dive into the creek when Billy caught me by the collar of my shirt. I heard it peel away from the rest of the fabric with a sickening purring sound. I hadn’t realized that Billy covered the few steps between us, and hadn’t equally prepared for it either.

For all his worth, Billy is a plodder. The boy never does anything fast; and that includes think. See, while the rocks were in the middle of the creek, true enough, there was a narrow sandbar that ran from shore to shore, and had Billy and the brains between his ears would have noticed my dear cousin standing on just such a portion of that sandbar. One long leg bent at the knee, the other deep in creek water that lapped at the frayed edge of her shorts. Had Billy paid attention to when she moved, he could have gotten the thrill of his life and seen her battered white panties. I knew she wore them because she wouldn’t stop talking about how wore out they were all the way over to the creek, and there was more than one hole in the butt of her shorts that she was happy to point out; let’s just say the panties are also possessed of a few holes in…strategic places.

Finally, out of exasperation, I leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. It worked, and shut her up about her panties. But now that I thought about it, I’m sure that was why we were in our current predicament; her teasing me with partial nudity as payback for my transgression. It fit into her line of thinking easily. Billy, on the other hand was the eternal wildcard, there was just no telling when he’d show up to ruin your good time. I often thought that he had a schedule of days that he tortured people, and to what degree and which level of humiliation. I imagined it written in crayon with all the E’s backwards, and schedule likely spelled like skedool, or something equally heinous to the English language. I don’t know this for a fact, but I do have a vivid imagination.

Back in the here and now, Billy gave what was for him a teasing, gentle shake, but was to me, a teeth rattling, bone cracking shake. I felt like a Chihuahua in the jaws of a Rottweiler. Man, I knew that axe was going to fall, but when, and can we get it over with please.

‘Come on sugar, we ain’t got all day.’ Billy’s voice suddenly was years older, and I imagined it would be his courtroom voice. The one that answered guilty or not from behind the defendant’s table, him dressed in that funky old orange jumpsuit.

Alyssa didn’t say or do anything, and I knew that she was gauging the situation; she was trying to figure out how to best handle this latest Billyism.

Billy didn’t give her much time to think; he yanked me towards him like an unruly child, doubled up one meaty fist and gleefully sank it into my flat, but not muscular stomach. All the air in my body exited through my mouth and nose, and I’m pretty sure my butthole. All I know is that I went down like a ragdoll, no air in my body, my lungs protesting that, hey! I should be getting something here, my brain telling my stomach what it already knew; that it was in pain. Billy didn’t wait for Alyssa to make her mind up, he’d found an activity funner than titties and that was beating me. Oh joy, I get all the fun activities during torture hour! He kicked me with his worn black engineer boots. Steel toes, of course they were steel toes. My already battered stomach gave a warning rumble, and I felt it turn over sickeningly. If he hit me again, I’d be splashing him with my breakfast and nothing Alyssa did then short of having sex with him would stop the whipping that would be bestowed upon me.

Billy had a familiar look on his face; I called it his serial killer look. His eyes, normally a dull, muddy brown, not too far away from the color of creek water, went blank, his mouth fell open slightly, and he had a half-grin on his lips. More often he would grunt way back in his throat that chilled your blood. Sure enough, he followed the kick up with a downward punch that landed squarely on my cheek. Even though it was a glancing blow, it still rang my bell, and gray motes danced in front of my eyes. Somewhere distantly I heard a tea kettle whistling, and it took me a second to realize that it was my breath wheezing in and out of my battered solar plexus. I heard a banshee wail, and a loud whack. Another blow, lighter than the first dropped down on my nose, and things went black for a second before right reassessed itself, about that time, I heard Billy grunt in pain, and saw Alyssa standing knee deep in creek with one arm crooked back ready to deliver another rock. Through the hazy veil of pain, she looked like an Amazonian princess warrior ready to take on the world of testosterone.

‘Boy, you want to get off my cousin right this instant, or so help me I’ll find some rocks that’ll actually hurt.’ Alyssa growled low.

Billy’s eyes swam back into focus, and he snapped back to the here and now. His left arm lazily trickled blood where the pebble struck him. Damn, even his blood was slow and lazy. Billy looked to my crumpled, gasping, bleeding form, looked to Alyssa, and decided that I was no longer a threat. Rocks were the immediate threat, and he began wading into the creek against my Amazonian savior. I heard a squeak of surprise and a louder splash as Alyssa dove into deeper waters to avoid Billy. Through the haze of pain, my hormones wouldn’t call a break or even a truce. Instead I was treated to a mind movie of my cousin breaking the surface of the creek with her long blonde hair plastered against her wide, strong shoulders, her bikini top slipping down just enough to accentuate her décolletage. I coughed suddenly, painfully, and saw blood splattered in with the regular old spit, that brought me around, and erased the movie that wanted to repeat itself. Instead, I found that I could move, and furthermore I could get up. Lying on the ground only worked so far, and Alyssa could distract him for so long by swimming away from him. Sooner or later, the lug nut would figure out that he had the upper hand and possessed the ready supply of rocks. Once he did that, nobody would be safe. I stood up, and immediately doubled over in pain. I felt like retching, puking, crying, and curling into a small defenseless ball so bad, but instead found myself unsteadily making my way to the shore. I may have been wounded but by God I was ready for war. Nobody ruined my lazy summer days with my best bud; nobody.

Yeah, my ‘heroic’ charge only wound up getting me caught again, by Billy, and dunked ruthlessly. I honestly believe he would have drowned me had Alyssa not winged him with that flat stone when she did. Instead, he cried out, let go of me, and allowed his hands to fly up to the offended area. His palm came away red with blood, and his eyes lost all vacancy and pinpointed down to murderous rage.

‘You’re going to pay for that bitch.’ He hissed through his rotten teeth.

Alyssa, for her part, just gracefully dove back under to find another rock, saying nothing, not even acknowledging him.

Me, on the other hand, took the lull to doggy paddle away from the fracas as best my battered body would allow.

Billy was fully enraged when he realized I had managed to swim beyond his reach into the deeper recess of the creek.

Unfortunately for Alyssa and me, Billy was in the shallow part of the creek, effectively cutting us off from one another. After a few minutes of this stalemate, I realized that Billy wouldn’t simply get bored like he always had, that something had changed, and I personally believe, even after all this time that seeing his own blood spilled from what was supposed to be a victim is what set him off. Were he a thinking man, he might have just called things off, but being a hunter, and not too bright, he forwent common sense and focused on revenge. He forgot, wounded as I may have been, I had him surrounded, and managed to root up a couple of rocks from the creek bed with my toes. Something poked the sole of my right foot dangerously, and I instantly thought of broken glass, the one bad thing about swimming in water you cannot see the bottom of. I watched him splash around the shallow area a moment, trying to figure out his next move. And let me tell you, it was a doosie and I actually admire the moron for his forward thinking.

He pushed his way out of the water, and stood on the moss encrusted rock that stood sentinel against the tidal pull of even this small creek. As he pulled himself up, I realized something; he hadn’t taken his boots off, and those rocks were slippery. More than once I had to endure the taunts of Alyssa as I less than gracefully dove from the slippery rocks, and more than once we’d both felt death poke us with his bony finger in warning.

Billy, however, wasn’t possessed of what I’d call common sense, and because of that, he didn’t stop to think that wet boot soles, mossy rock, and creek were a bad combination. Billy pushed himself out of the water, and managed to gain a foothold on the small rock face standing out of the water. He wobbled, and a lesser man would have realized what a bad idea he’d gotten himself into; Billy was no quitter. He ignored the warning no balance wobble, managed to stand erect, and screamed the most blood curdling battle yell I’ve ever heard; even sixteen years later. He turned his eyes from Alyssa who swam in lazy circles nearby like some kind of freshwater mermaid waiting on her wary sailor. Billy watched her with murder in his eyes, and if he had caught her that day, I have no doubt that her virginity and life would be taken from her, in what order is where I get hazy.

Well, Billy had his fists clenched in rage, which was nothing new to either of us trapped here and now in the creek. However, what we didn’t expect was him to be holding onto a fist sized rock. Alyssa never saw it coming and it nailed her right in the eye. She screamed in shock, pain, and rage. Instead of swimming to shore to haul ass home for medical treatment, she inexplicably swam deeper into the creek, really pushing up against the tree lined far shore, the place that water snakes and other unmentionable water predators like to hang out during the warmer parts of the day. I was in shock because I hadn’t expected Billy to be such a good shot, and I saw blood mingling with the brown water from a nasty looking cut under Alyssa’s right eye; my precious cousin, difficult as she often was, wore a mask of red. Her left eye, bloodless was pure murderous rage.

‘Oh, you dumb asshole, you done it now!’ Alyssa cursed from her leafy enclosure. She followed the taunt with an Olympic worthy stone toss. Like Billy, her aim was true , and she managed to drill him dead center of his nose. I heard the crunch of bone breaking from behind Billy where I’d luckily been forgotten. Well, you can imagine what getting hit by another rock did to Billy.

Yeah, he screamed again and did what came natural; something stupid. He went to jump into the creek to apparently pursue Alyssa. But instead, upon his push off from the rock we all heard the unmistakable squeak of rubber trying to find friction where there was none. His mouth flew open in an almost comical O of surprise. He flung his arms out, and his right struck first, snapping the forearm at sharp, unnatural angle. He began a wail of pain before the right temple of his head struck next, cutting off whatever he was going to do. Billy went down in a limp, meaty lump. The fight was now over.

I was the first to approach Billy, and when I saw him, I felt the panic swim up to the surface, almost breaking free. Billy lay on his left side, almost submerged in the shallow water. As I approached him in my hurry, I was causing small eddies of water in my wake. Well, one of these floated Billy over. I saw the right side of his face bob out of the water and wish like hell I didn’t. I’m not sure, but I think I saw brains peeking from a nice ragged hole in his skull. Whatever fight in Billy had gone out in a flash, and so had most of whatever made him up.

Alyssa must have seen how white I went and total look of shock because she instantly forgot about her own stinging injury and swam so gracefully and quickly to the shallow end. Upon pushing out of the deeper water, and seeing the horror before her, a hand flew up to her mouth. A scream began in the back of her throat, but some steel reserve within her spine cut it off, and she took over. Did I tell you that she grew up to be a cop, and a SWAT member? I honestly think this incident motivated her.

She began dragging the prone and unconscious Billy towards the shore. I finally caught on, and grabbed his feet, pushing him as best I could.

We made it to the shore, and Billy uttered a groan, but not anything else, his eyes fluttered, and blood oozed out of his battered skull. His broken arm flopped uselessly around, and I had to hold on to everything I had not to lose it and start screaming and or puking right there. Instead, I did the next dumbest thing I could. I passed out.

I woke up slowly, eyes fluttering. I realized my head was lying on something soft. Putting up a hand against the sun glare, I realized that I was in Alyssa’s lap. She was petting my short hair and singing nonsensical things to me. The words may not have meant anything, but she could carry a tune.

‘Oh! There you are!’ She cried as if we hadn’t seen each other in ages. I began to wonder how long I’d been out.

‘How’s Billy?’ I croaked. I ached all over, and my throat hurt for some reason.

‘Still knocked out, but I found his cell phone, he had it in on his bike, I already called 9-1-1 and got the riot act from his daddy. Should be here soon, I reckon.’

I thought I heard the sound of approaching ATV’s. Of course, I could also be suffering some type of brain damage; who knew.

‘How are you doing?’ I asked, ripping the already destroyed collar of my t-shirt loose, reached up to wipe the seeping cut under her eye.

‘I’ve been better, but I’m not in near as bad a shape as you and Billy.’ She answered, leaning in and allowing me to wipe away the blood. I saw the cut would likely require a stitch or two.

Alyssa continued to stare down at me in a way that I couldn’t explain. Suddenly, she leaned in really close, and I could feel her breath in my face. Unlike Billy, her breath didn’t stink, but unlike Billy, the position she was in was offering a first rate shot of her boobs. I tried to look away, but moving my neck was agony. So, I had to suffer looking down my cousin’s bikini top. I suppose it could have been worse. I could have been forced to look down Billy’s shirt. Alyssa leaned in further and a dry strand of her straw blonde hair eased over her shoulder and tickled my battered nose. The noise I made was somewhere between a sneeze and a chuckle; both of which were unpleasant. Alyssa just bent down and kissed me on the forehead. Belatedly, I realized that she’d been holding my hand. As I realized that, she took my limp hand, and placed it on her breast. I was too shocked to do anything smart, so I did something stupid, I rolled my thumb over the pebble of her small nipple. A mischievous smile tickled the corner of her mouth, and she looked ready to say something but we heard a four wheeler rumble out of the underbrush then.

To this day I wonder what she was going to tell me. Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter, Alyssa never married, said she never carried a candle for anyone and her work schedule was too frantic for any romantic notions. Me on the other hand, well, I took a job at the university I graduated from under a fat research grant. Alyssa and I still keep in touch even though our parents now hate one another over money. A stupid debt that nobody was responsible for is what drove the spike between them; go figure.

All I do know is that when Albert West broke out of the dense underbrush and saw his only son lying crumbled on the packed earthen floor, he lost it, and damn near shot me and Alyssa, but a deputy saved our bacon by the sheer bad luck of running into the back of Albert’s stopped four-wheeler. The shot went instead into the dirt to our right.

Alyssa and I were summarily handcuffed, led out of the woods like a couple of criminals despite our pleas of innocence and obvious injuries. Turns out Alyssa needed six stitches to close up the cut under her eye, and my nose was broken. Believe me, it wasn’t Grecian before Billy rearranged it. When our parents were finally made aware of our location, we heard their rather excited arrival at the police station. With no evidence to prove or disprove our account of events at the creek we were let go, and can you believe Albert had the nerve to warn us to not leave town? My reaction was incredulous; Alyssa merely laughed and let it go.

 

So there you have it, the rock battle at Muddy Creek. Billy finally came around, but had brain damage from the fall. I honestly think that accident saved multiple lives across the country and for that I am grateful. Billy has difficulty remembering to go potty in a toilet, drools, has a lisp, drags his left foot, and gets blinding headaches. I almost feel sorry for him.

 

 

 

 

 


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Reviewed by Donna Chandler 1/15/2011
And who says nothing happens in small towns? I'd say that was quite an adventure for everyone involved!

Donna


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