The Case of the Red Paint

It was in the wee hours of the morning just like any other day, when her beloved bunker boy got out of his bunk, put on his overalls and headed up to deck to begin his 12-hour shift. Working on board a dredger sure was tough but he didn't mind it at all. He knew that come month end he would have money to send back to the folks, some to put away in his stash which he was saving up to get married perhaps, and a little balance to get by. He didn't need much as he had lead a simple life growing up.

Mid day and already feeling the effects of the hard labor getting at his thin yet muscular physique, he decided to pause for awhile to catch his breath. As he stood in the corner, he reached for his cell phone  which was tucked away in the right pocket of his overalls. Taking it out, he opened it and had a look at the screen. Of course there were no incoming messages as they were far out at sea and there was seldom any reception. However, it was not for that reason that he drew his phone, rather it was so that he could have a view of his beloved which was the wallpaper on his fragile flimsy yet still usable phone. Every time he looked at her, it was as if he had a breath of fresh within him. It got him through the rough times and always reminded him that back on shore she was always there, waiting patiently for his return. Every night, after a hard days work, he would call her at their usual time. It was like a 12.35am routine you might say and even though their conversations were  short and most of the time she would be either busy or half asleep, getting to hear her voice was more then he could ask for.

He gave the screen a short peck and then slipped it back before returning to his work. It was only  awhile later that he realized his right pocket was feeling a little bit lighter then usual. You know how things are when you put them in your pocket, they add a little bit of weight as you move around. As he moved his hand over his overalls to feel for his cell phone, a sense of horror struck him. He had been sure he had put it back in its place but where was it?? It wasn't there??

He looked around for a bit before hurrying back to the corner where he had taken a short breather.To his misery it was there that he discovered his cell phone swimming in a red bucket of paint. With  a heavy heart, he dipped his hand to retrieve it. As picked up the soaked phone, it had gotten from "Scratched up Silver" to a new "Solid Red.."

Would this be the end of his calls to his beloved?? Would he ever get to hear her voice again?? Well for most that would have been the end, but not for our young lad as he would find other ways. He would not give up that easily and be beaten by a bucket of red pain, no sir he wouldn't. And you can bet your bottom dollar at exactly 12.35am that night..... "ring ring..." , "ring ring...."  *incoming call from Bunker Boy*.