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Royer’s Madcap Experiences: I, River Dick

July 9, 2014 Leave a comment Go to comments
By Ric Royer

By Ric Royer

 

It was a muddy, debris-choked tributary of a much greater but unseen river. Several greying, dilapidated highway overpasses blotted out the sun. The trees along the banks were dead and gangly. But someone wanted it protected. They decided I was the man.

I, River Dick.

My interview took place in a forlorn trailer, littered with trash. The foreman was decidedly obese– his fat rolls could not be contained by his undersized, cheese-stained sweatshirt. He sat behind an overflowing clothes hamper. I sat on a stool. I suspected he lived here.

“You ever do any river dicking before?”

Typical muddy debris-choked tributary. There's a guy and a dog on the banks.

Typical muddy debris-choked tributary. There’s a guy and a dog on the banks.

“Nope.”

“You ever done any carnival work?”

“Once”.

“OK. It’s like that.”

I was hired on the spot and issued a bright yellow pantsuit and a revolver. The first day passed without incident.

On the second day, some droids attempted to fill their pails under the overpass. I confronted them.

“You can’t fill those pails here.”

A long series of computational beeps ensued. One of the droids issued a small, printed-out index card. It read, “CHEESE OFF, HUMAN.”

I didn’t think twice about it. I blew them all away and buried them beneath some rocks.

On the third day, the foreman called me in.

“Did you kill some droids?”

“Yep. You know what– I don’t even feel bad about it.”

“Well, some guys at the lab feel bad about it. And they’re making me feel pretty damn bad about it too.”

“They egged me on. They were asking for it,” I added. “You know it, I know it, they know it.”

“That’s fine,” he said, after a long silence. “We’ll cover it up. Just go back along the banks and make sure the parts are pretty well-hidden.”

I did as I was told. But the parts were gone. The rest of the day passed without incident.

On the fourth day, the foreman called me in again. As I was approaching the trailer, I noticed something odd. There were tracks there, made by rolling droids. They led off towards the woods. There was an overhang there, covered by odd brush that didn’t belong. It was a setup. I was being sacrificed.

I hotwired the foreman’s pickup and headed for Lankville Beach.

I, River Dick.

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