|2020-11-23T16:23||[writing/fragment writing/story age/highschool]|
Toby Schleisguth wasn’t a man of class. He didn’t have any manners, no sense of ettiquitte, hardly worked, and he didn’t finish high school. The only class that Toby had was the graduation ring that he borrowed from his friend to impress a girl. He didn’t have a chance, and it didn’t work for any of the other girls after that, either. But, the way that Tony saw it, at least he doesn’t have any babymommas to deal with. Or that friend, for that matter.
Toby, with a stained bathrobe, waddled to the mailbox on the porch. The mailbox still read “Gracie Schleiguth” even though she’s been dead for 10 years. It’s not like he was going to change the address. It’s not like he needed a mailbox of his own. Only people that pay bills need mailboxes.
Toby swished the filth in his mouth around as he approached the mailbox. He was always hoping that there would be a big check with his name on it, but it usually was catalogues. He would get a fantasy football subscription, but then people would trace him to the house. No, better to buy it at the grocery store, right next to the tequila.
Toby walks out, finds the cremains, chokes on the spit, calls his fantasy football bookie, tries to figure out what to do, bookie doesn’t help, and then the investigators show up. Paranoia and a nearly dead morality clash in Toby’s mind. My only plan for the ending is to incorporate the phrase, “what remains” in it. My initial idea is to have Toby get rid of it, and answering a question about the remains, and reponse is ‘what remains?’