Dave Doddobly's Break Up

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Please read my short story Dave Doddobly's Break Up.

Submitted: February 15, 2013

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Submitted: February 15, 2013



Dave Boddobly worked at a factory named Top Notch Plastery. The factory was a giant tin number, with really high cielings. Flood lights lit the tin and cement industrial, dead surround.

It was hard work, at the factory, and 7:30 mornings, started the full pace, of the work.

You would have to sand plaster cornacing all day, and stick them on pallets. It was winter and Dave Boddobly would have to, in the mornings, when it was minus two (-2C) degrees celcius, open a huge garage door by pulling a steel alloy chain. The chain was cold and it stung.

"I hate opening the garage door. This is my least favorite time of the day", Dave Doddobly thought.

He worked very hard, day in, day out, rain or hail, for minimum wage. He got congratulated by his boss, for his hard work.

He lived with a girl named Rachel, who wore make up, and liked those big hoop kind of earrings, and could bring down her voices tone to a deep seductive lullaby.

The home was small, but it showed much life, and signs of love and work.

Dave Doddobly, when he got home, placed his car keys on a hall table, and would sit back in his pride, a leather one person, puffy couch, and rest for a moment.

After awhile he and Rachel Doddobly would set to cook dinner. Maybe sausages and potatoe mush, a stir-fry of creamy chicken, or pesto, on pasta and chicken.

On an overcaste day, Dave Dobbodly sanded and stacked plaster on the metal trolley. It was cold and he had goosebumps on his forearms, but the constant movement required, in his work, kept his core temperature warm.

The work kept him happy. He didn't have anything against this type of work, he said it kept him more stimulated than any other job. He was strong and had a big smile for his colleges, when they had smoko, or when he needed to approach one, to see if he had any sand paper.

He got home that evening. The drive was dark, in the overcaste conditions. He shivered, ducking in the balmy conditions, from his car to the door.

Inside, after putting his key on the hall table, he heard russling and a moan from the bedroom, which was draped with crowded, hippy, design. Rachel Doddobly was rooting another man.

The man exited Dave Dobbobly's home, tripping on his pants. Dave Doddobly physically reeled, in health, from this, instantaneously. He felt batrayal, depressed, frightened, and shocked all at the same time.

The sound of arguement echoed, and hung around the walls, of Dave Doddobly's home that night - late into the evening.

The next day Dave went to work. He was distracted whilst sanding. He stroked the plaster with a distracted mind this time. He felt nothing at all. Melancholy. He slipped and cut his hand on the plaster cornacing. He wrapped his hand in his T-shirt, and blood went through the T-shirt. He felt like crying.

At the office/ reception area he felt better though, because everyone, the boss, the receptionist, all fussed over him.

"really there's no need" he'd say.

At hospital they gave him stitches.

That afternoon he opened the door, and put his keys on the hallway table.

Again, that night, much arguement, and both of them screaming, could be heard. Then, a final door slam. She had left him. He sat on the leather light brown, one person, couch and felt his tummy all nervous because he was incredabley alone. In Dave Doddobly's home, Dave Doddobly could hear the floorboards, and the plumbing creak.

He felt his way through the next days and after awhile he began to feel better. Life with only you in the house, is just like one other in the house - you survive - but one other person in the house is just that little bit better.

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