Little Billy's Ball

"There's no use looking pleased with yourself, young man," the nurse gave another rough 'once-over' the plaster of Paris arm cast Billy now wore.

"I'm not, Ma'am."

"It's a wonder no-one was killed, and Sheriff Johnson is gonna go Spider Monkey on your ass, when he catches his breath."

This statement was true. Sheriff Johnson was Billy's next door neighbor, and he often went 'Spider Monkey', over the slightest thing Billy did. A multi-car-pile-up was not that slight, so Billy reckoned it was going to be a pretty bad day.

"Wanna sign my cast, Nurse Pratchett?" Billy asked, hopefully. He got a tut and a well starched turn of heel instead.

The hospital smelled funny, sounded alien, and had too much hustle and bustle for anyone to get any better. He played with a small patch of dressing that poked between his arm and the cast wall, then stared at the shadow puppets cast on the inside of the drawn modesty curtain.

Whoops, there was only one man in the borough who donned a hat shaped like that. Sheriff Johnson was chatting at the staff desk, with his hands on his hip-holster and the posture of a man about to end a conversation abruptly.

Billy squeezed his eyes real tight, as if it might make the world disappear. No such luck. Sheriff Johnson stood over him, all lines and wrinkles pointed to 'disappointed senior'.

"William Merick Happtag, what have I told you about the darn ball and the darn interstate?" his soft Louisiana drawl sounded a death-toll of trouble in the stretched pronunciation of Billy's best Sunday Name.

"Sheriff, you'll be pleased to know that ball won't be an issue anymore, 'cause the big truck with the yellow cab gone bust it good!" Billy beamed, helpfully.

(303 words)