the sign (a short story clip) / spider hacksaw / ©2014

The man sad, “You can’t bounce you balls here.”
I said, “Sir, would prefer I go huff glue and fry my synapses. Or go vandalize a Mr. Sparky’s. Because I need to do something. So, why is it? Why can i not bounce my balls here.”
The man eye balled me and spat, then he said, “See yon sign in the window. It’s says, ‘No Ball Bouncing Allowed’. Now, you don’t want to break the rules does ya?”
I said, “Sir, whose rules are these?”
He squinted at me as though his spleen were about to explode inside him, “Son, it’s the rules the sign made.”
I queried, “So, this sign makes the rules then?”
The man spat a droop of his chaw in the dirt at my feet, as if to threaten that the next one would be mine to wear. He said, “Son, in this town, the sign makes the rules and the laws. What the sign says goes. What the sign says, we do. That’s the law of this land.”
I pondered internally, then externally, “So, if the sign told you to kill me, or to kill yourself, that is what you would do?”
The man smiled. “That’s right.”
I smiled and stuffed my rubber spheres back into my pants pockets. Then I tipped my baseball cap to him and strode off. With plans to make friends, with the sign.

from:(the sign)by:(spider hacksaw)(2014)©

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