Pawn Takes King Part 15

The snowstorm covered the lower quarter of Iowa. Donnie had a small portable radio and listened to the chatter between songs. The DJ's ran off long lists of cancelations. Donnie could remember being a child and reveling in the days when school closed. It made him lament now, however. Childhood was an unreturnable state. Nostalgic days of Donnie watching daytime TV in his pajamas had turned. Now, he was a grown man lying on his side in a public commons area, trying not to succumb to hypothermia.
    Donnie kept a small hole burrowed in his entrance, as the flakes piled up. He ate sparingly from his last bits of food, which consisted of a few cans of tuna and ramen noodles. His rusty swiss army knife proved effective in opening the cans. The ramen he ate raw. The thin strings of carbohydrates softened in his mouth. He mixed the flavor powder of the ramen noodles with some tuna juice. It was an old trick he learned long ago. Even a bum could scrounge together 15 cents for this cheap treat. The tuna was slightly more expensive, but still attainable at any given time. Donny made sure to get the kind that had oil within, for extra sustenance. For water, he either ate snow, or put some in a tuna can and melted it by the toaster.
     Donny thought back to that day. His femur throbbed deep in the old stress break, a reminder of his injuries. He can still remember Evan's scowling face over the top of the refrigerator. They were lugging the appliance up the steps to Donny's dorm room. It was the beginning of a new semester for Donny's educational endeavors. It was meant to be a favor, but turned into a disservice.
    They had been arguing. Evan had cut a swatch of flesh out of his hand. He was bellowing about the pain, and how it was Donnie's fault.
    "FUCK YOUR HAND!!" Donny had shot back. It had come out so cold and callous, that Evan was momentarily shocked. Evan kicked the fridge like a child in a tantrum. Objects in motion tend to stay in motion. Donnie learned this physics lesson firsthand. The refrigerator tilted forward like a giant leaning in to listen. Donny had a second or two to stare up at the monolithic appliance before it overtook him.
    The fridge crushed Donnie brutally. His upper leg snapped like a broom handle under strenuous weight. His jawbone didn't put up much resistance either, and caved in, altering his once-perfect teeth and square jawline. The corner of the fridge speared him in the shoulder, causing another hairline fracture in his collarbone. Who knew that a container for delicious food could be so deadly?
    Donny had laid there, one leg caught in the banister, twisted sickly. His body trailed on the stairs like a human-skin rug. The worse part was that Donny was awake for the whole thing. He never lost consciousness. The agony hit him in pace with his heart. WIth every beat, his body gained more information on the extent of his injuries. Nerves clamored to give out warnings of pain, which the dendrites carried across synapses to axon counterparts. Donnie could speak only in a low, guttural tone.
    "Call an ambulance," he groaned. Evan's dumb, paunchy face stared down at Donny's prone body. Panic oozed into Evan's body, drenching his tacky tank top with sweat. To Donny's horror, Evan began to descend.
    "Are--are you ok, Donny?" Evan asks dully, his thick blue eyes staring at the ruined wall and plaster of the building.
    "Don't touch me," Donny says chokingly, "just call an ambulance, you stupid fuck."
    Donny kept saying that phrase over and over, calling Evan a stupid fuck. It was a deranged mantra that Donny repeated through it all. As they loaded him on the stretcher, it was "I hope you're happy, you stupid fuck." Into the ambulance, Donny refused Evan a spot to ride. "Get away from me, you stupid fuck." Donny said with all the rage he could summon in his damaged form. It was the final label to the idiotic bastard. Donny categorized Evan and placed him in the league of assholes and idiots. Donny wanted nothing to do with Evan ever again.             Unfortunately, Donny's mom Marissa felt differently.  Marissa was caught between her son and her lover. She rebuked Donny's claims, knowing full well that it would create bad blood between mother and son. She did it anyway.
    Nobody cared about Donny's side of things. The apartment management was only concerned with who would pay for the damages to the stairwell wall caused by the fridge-turned-projectile. Since Donny's name was on the lease, he had to cover the bill. The security deposit Donny had paid to the apartment complex was taken in the dispute. Donny had to shell out his last few hundred dollars in addition to that. Donny was penniless. He had a job, but he eventually gave up and quit. He never even put in a notice, or so much as a phonecall.
    The storm continued for 3 days. The toasters coils burnt out one by one. Once three of the four slots were fried, Donny took the toaster apart. The temperature steadily dropped as he tried to repair the gizmo. Donnie felt like one of those survivalists on the nature shows. He might as well be stranded on top of a mountain, the stakes were equally as deadly. His hands lost feeling as he jimmied and pried on the contraption. He held the charred metal coils in his hands. The rest of the device continued to work. Donny simply needed another material to replace the resistors, which conducted the actual heat. Those tiny electrons were forced through the coils with so much resistance they turned orange, and created heat. Donny searched through his possessions and found a roll of aluminum foil. 

Uploaded 10/19/2012
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