CYOA Life of Crime

Attempt To Break The World’s Record For Running

You decide to break the world’s record for running. Realizing you’ll need someone to witness this, you turn and sprint down the next dirt driveway you see and arrive at an old run-down farmhouse. An old man in coveralls sits on the front porch in a rocking chair with a large piece of grass in his teeth. A beat-up old mutt lies at his side.

“I’m going to break the world’s record for running.” You announce, jogging in place and touching your toes.

The old man looks at you from under his bushy eyebrows and spits on the ground. You wonder if perhaps he hadn’t heard you. You take a deep breath and cup your hands to your mouth.

“I AM GOING TO BREAK THE WORLD’S RECORD FOR RUNNING!” You scream, directly in his face.

“Gahead.” The old man mutters as he creaks back in his chair, “Aint nun stoppin yuns.”

“Yuns?” you wrinkle your face.

“Yuns! Yuns!” The old man repeats, “Doncha speak anglish? Fuggin cityboah re-tahd.”

“Well I always just assumed yuns was plural.” You whisper, twirling one side of an imaginary mustache.

“Assumpshin ain’t nun tuh take prahd in.” The old man sputters, leaning back even further in his chair.

Suddenly there’s a loud crack and the old man and his chair topple backwards through the rotted railing of the deck. The dog struggles to its feet and begins barking wildly. You dash out and around to the back of the deck and find yourself staring down at the old man’s crumpled and lifeless frame. You sniff, brushing some small pieces of wood from his hair and smoothing it lovingly across his forehead.

“I never even knew your name…” You whimper, straightening the lapel of his soiled coveralls, “I’ll call you Mudge.”

Some time later you’re patting down the last of the dirt atop Mudge’s grave. You remove the posy from behind your ear (where you’ve always kept it) and place it in front of the makeshift coffee can headstone.

“Goodnight sweet prince.” You say, turning to wipe away a tear.