Wednesday, October 24, 2007

david's broken bones story

My friend Megan has a 4 yr old named Gwen and lately Gwen is obsessed with bones. Megan has gotten tired of making up bones stories for every bedtime story so she asked David to make up one for her, and here is what he wrote.

The Mystery of Frank’s Broken Bones

by David Drury

Frank was fed up. Food had nothing to do with it. Frank was a man. Frank was mostly a sometimes sad man. He had bad luck. Frank broke a bone almost every single day.

When he went bowling, he broke his back. Oof!

When he went to Boston, he fractured his fibia. Ouch!

When he boiled turnips, his ankle snapped like a rubber band and dangled at the end of his leg. Darn!

Frank even broke a bone when he blew his nose. But not his nose bone, it was the tiniest bone in his tiniest toe. Who would have guessed?

“What a wimpy wimp you are,” said Frank’s friend.

“You have twigs for bones” said Frank’s other friend. “I don’t even want to shake your hand. It might snap right off.”

“These friendships are really paying dividends,” said Frank.

But frankly, frank was not a weak man. He could run without breaking any bones. He could jump without breaking any bones. He could even play full contact ice hockey with no helmet without breaking any bones. The doctors were baffled. A team of doctors shined lights in his eyes and ears, took x-rays, gave him special gum to chew, and tapped Frank all over with a tiny rubber mallet for days and days.

“I can’t figure it out,” the chief doctor said, throwing his hands in the air. “Your bones look strong to me.”

“What does that mean?” asked Frank, chewing his gum.

“It means I am going next door to see the eye doctor. Goodbye.”

Frank Blew a Bubble and both his arms broke.

Even with two casts on his newly broken arms, Frank carefully kept a journal to see if he could figure out why he was always breaking his bones. See if you can help him solve the mystery of the breaking bones.

Day one: Fed the cat (no bones broke), washed the dishes (no bones broke), but when I Baked a pie I broke my thigh. Crunch! Do you know why Frank’s bone broke?

Day two. Fluffed the pillows (no bones broke). Made a call (no bones broke), but when I Bounced a Ball I cracked my collar bone and shattered my jaw (two broken bones). Tweak! Mangle! Do you know why Frank’s bones broke?

Day three: watched cartoons (no bones broke). Flew a kite (no bones broke). But when I Brought a Big Bargain Box of Baked Bread and Bagels to Betty Bonner in the Blue house down Block I cracked three fingers, snapped four ribs, split open my skull, shattered my kneecap, splintered my elbow, and severed my spine (that’s eleven broken bones). Eek! Ouch! Twist! Bungle! Snap! Crackle! Pop!

“That’s it!” said Frank, smiling through the pain of eleven simultaneous broken bones “Could it be,” (twitch, moan) “that every time I do something that begins with the letter B, I break a bone? And if I do two things that begin with the letter B I break two bones? Yes that is it. I will simply avoid doing anything that starts with that horrible wretched troublesome letter B.”

Just then the mailman Joe came by.

“Are you okay Frank?”

“Yes. I am wonderful. Got mail for me?”

“Oh yes a big stack. Here you go.”

“Wow this is a big stack,” said Frank. “I wonder where it is all from.”

“Actually,” said the mailman with a playful laugh,” it’s Bills. It’s Big Bills. I guess you are going to be spending the rest of the day paying Big Broken Bone Bills from Bunches of Big hospitals and the Best Breed of Brave Bone doctors who Bandaged and Braced your Broken Bones, as well as settling the Burgeoning Bank Bills from the Bank of Battle Bluff (at Broadway and Bell) for all the Buckets of Bucks you Borrowed to Budget for the other Bunches of Big hospitals and Bevy of Brave Bone Doctors to Bandage and Brace your Bowed Blistering Bloated Buttery Bones. Oh, but there is also some good news. A coupon for a free Bacon Bratwurst Burger or Beefy Burrito at Big Brad Buckley’s Burrito and Burger Bar with purchase of another Bacon Bratwurst Burger or Beefy Burrito. You’re going to want to use that right away. It’s a Bargain, wouldn’t you say.”

Frank’s bones all splintered, crackled and disintegrated at once into a fine white powder, leaving him a floppy puddle of skin and hair at the mailman’s feet.

“Oh darn,” said Frank.

The end.


Simone said...

Hmmm, those B-B-Bills really were the end of poor Frank. Is this actually a thinly disguised story from the author's own life?

xoxo, Xtina said...

man. that's a great story. that's a really really great story. also, i think by little Gwen we just may have a future licensed massage therapist on our hands, no? all that bone obsession at such an early age could not be to no avail.

RACHEL said...