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The sun beat down.
Arthur Hardy stood on the side of the road. His threadbare clown suit rustled in the hair-dryer breeze. He thought of home. He thought of his mother. With his knee, he bumped the double-bit woodcutting axe balanced on the head of blade. It wobbled a bit before the weight brought it upright again. He sidled up to it, feeling the heat of the hickory against his leg.
The reflection of a car appeared on the horizon. Arthur cleared his throat, extended a stained thumb.
As the car approached, a sheet of dust whipped across the road. Arthur whipped up his arm to cover his eyes. His hunting knife slipped from his sleeve and clattered across the pavement. He knelt, picked it up, replaced it. Stuck his thumb out again. The car drew closer.
He fingered the tiny jars of really deadly poison in his pockets.
The huge brown sedan slowed, then stopped. The dusty driver's side window hummed down, revealing a bright-faced eight-year-old. Maybe nine. Maybe seven. A little boy. The kid had a fresh haircut.
"Well, hello, Mister Clown! What're you up to out here? It's so hot out there, Mister Clowny-clown! Come into my car where it's nice and cool!"
Arthur backed away. He skittered crab-like, and tumbled down backward into a dry stream-bed. There were tears in his eyes.
"I have water!" the boy shouted after him.
Date Written: June 10, 2004
Author: Mr. Pony
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