Imagination

1676

From the imagination of Davy Jones comes fictional stories about romance from the mind of some strange comical characters.

Read how they met Davy Jones and interact with him through his daily life.

We hope you enjoy these pieces of literature, art collected then stored inside

The Loc – R

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THE SHED

1665            Mr. Biggles – Worth

       An outstanding friend of mine.   Whom I have known for many years now. I met  Mr. Biggles – Worth one day while mowing my backyard.   There’s an old shed toward the back corner of the yard.  Where years ago as children we would play and could have ourselves a place outside where as kids we all could hide out from our parents.    This shed was our hangout spot where me, my sister Doreen and our friends would torment one another while playing and the shed just became a meeting place for all us kids.  This old play house storage shed holds many memories for myself.

     One hot summer day I was cutting my tall backyard grass with the mower.  When needing to get out of the hot summer time sun.   I went into the play house to get something, what I don’t remember.   As I am standing at the doorway searching and basically just browsing around to get out of the blistering heat.   I walked over toward the back of the play house, now converted into a shed, to turn on the air conditioner at the far back window.

     As I am making my way toward the back of this shed.  I stumbled over a pile of  yard tools and nearly tripped onto a big card board box that I didn’t realize I had put into the play house.  In fact I know I didn’t put that there, yet it still looked like it had been there for years.  This large box, the type you might get from an appliance store where a medium sized freezer could be shipped in.

       After turning on the window air conditioner. I walked over to open the box and take a look inside to see what might be insided.   I noticed the top of the box was sealed with gray duct tape.   I thought to myself, while wiping the sweat off the top of my head with this dirty old rag which I had found just before starting to mow my grass.  I realized that I don’t have any duct tape around here.  I knew I had ran out about six months ago.  Last time I recalled having any duct tape was when my cousin Nicki, and her bratty kids, had stopped by and made an unannounced visit while I’m getting out of the shower.

     I leaned over this heavy looking card board box. searching the back and around the sides in amazement as to how this monstrosity of an object managed to end up inside my play house shed.

At first I thought, well maybe Nicki’s kids must have brought this card board box inside from somewhere else like down the back alley way which runs behind my house.   Where everyone in my neighborhood places out their trash on Sundays to be picked up on Mondays by the trash men.

    While searching around the area of this box.  I noticed on the backside where someone had created a real nice semi oval shaped cut out opening on the back hidden side of the box.

The opening reminded me of an old doorway my grandmother once had at her house years ago which was an entrance way into her hallway from the parlor that eventually became known as the T.V. room.

   Curiously, I started to remove the duct tape from the top of the box to figure out just what was inside.   After tearing and removing the first layer of gray sticky duct tape from around the sides and across the top this tape, made a loud noise with a ripping effect when I removed the tape.

       Then in a quick sudden moment not expecting any sort of sound.  From inside this card board box,   I am spooked to by an old British mans voice.   I heard him say to me:

         ” I say ole Chap. What’s the meaning of this.  Don’t take me roof apart, I say.”

       As I heard him refer to me as:  ” Governor. “

       I jumped back with excitement my heart beating and wanting to pound out of my chest. Instantly I thought a homeless man had slipped into the play house during a rainy storm and began squatting a home from my shed.

      Quickly stumbling backwards all while tripping over that same pile of yard tools and junk on the floor.    I did my best to stumble out the front door of the shed. Picking up a broken shovel handle I raised back as if to protect myself from an armed burglar.

      Being scarred with fright I hollered out:  ” Hey you, come out of there.  Right now, before I call the police.”

      I heard the voice inside say in return:   ” Now  hear this my good fellow.  No need in fetching the Bobbies.   It’s just me  Mr.  Oliver Stanley  Biggles-Worth. the 6th  at your service. “

      Again he referred to me as: ” Governor. ”    I  am thinking to myself this guy must think my name is Governor or he thinks I am the Governor of the state.   I just couldn’t quite figure out.

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