Sort of Dead

Bonus Chapter: That's the Spirit!

This story takes place between the events which unfold in 'Sort of Dead' and 'Sort of Deadly' respectively.

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Cody was having a bad day.

But then had you asked him how he felt on the day World War II ended he would have said the day was too windy for his taste, even though he hadn't even been a twinkle in his grandfather's eye yet.

The only memory of the only genuinely good day of Cody's life was that of his fourth birthday party, when a magician had performed all sorts of magics to the delight and amazement of young Cody. The miracle-man fetched pink butterflies out of thin air and turned his nose into a claw amongst other things.

Once Cody found out that magic wasn't real he became the grumpy person he was the day this story began.

Had you asked him how he felt on the day when his father got him the brand-new bike he had wanted for so long he would have snarled 'That's none of your business' into your face and then spat on it for good measure.

By the way, he still pedalled that bike to the {Undisclosed} grocery store of {Undisclosed} each day because he is the kind of man that collects bucketloads of coupons so he never actually has to spend any money.

Seriously. His basement is filled with buckets, and these buckets are filled with coupons.

Cody's bike is rust-eaten, the chain a stuttering rope of metal, the wheels sad and deflated. Oiling and cleaning the thing would take time — and since 'time is money' is a popular saying, and it is a universal fact that popular sayings are always 100% bang on the point, Cody decided he'd rather not spend time (and, consequently, money) doing any of that maintenance stuff.

Plus, he mused, antiques sell for hefty prices. Maybe his rusty bike would pull a millionaire out of him someday like the magician had pulled out bunnies from his hat.

Basically, you (yes, you the reader) should be glad you don't know Cody personally.

But I do, seeing as I'm the narrator of this little story, and I find him entirely too disagreeable. Like a wet blanket.

He's the kind of man that curses the wind for blowing in the opposite direction to his bike.

As he was doing presently, riding to the {Undisclosed} grocery store, having a bad day like he did every day.

Cody shoved aside a toddler and a kitten and an elderly gentleman out of his way because the brakes on his bike were not functional.

To stop the bike in front of the grocery store's entrance he smashed it into a car, and blamed the car's driver for not watching where he was going.

Cody grunted and grumbled and growled and gnarled his way to the line in front of the cashier with a brown bag full of baguettes and coupons (where he got these coupons even I don't know, and what he would do with those baguettes alone is an added mystery).

What a bad day, he had the thought that he thought all day, every day, just because the line at the store happened to be a little longer than usual.

When a woman carrying a foetus in the bump of her belly asked him whether he could hold her place in the line he snarled this word at her and made it sound like ten: 'NoOoOoOoOo.'

('No' is what he really said, for any of my readers who have an IQ slightly below average.)

(I'm sorry about what I said in the bracket above. It appears telling people about Cody is turning me into a Cody myself.)