The End... Or Is It
Gordon threw Debbie's remains over the fence. The broken drill tumbled down the rocky hillside. It landed a few meters away from the cabin door.
A greasy college student exited the cabin. He picked up the Drill. "What's this?" He walked into the cabin. The smell of cigarette smoke and booze filled the cabin. A group of other college kids sat on the furniture. The Tv was tuned to a sports station. It was playing a boxing match.
Debbie was placed on the coffee table, beside a half-full bottle of whiskey. "It looks like some kinda drill," one of the crowd said.
The only girl of the group looked at the shelves of appliance parts. "And why do we even meet here? It's creepy."
"Relax, Tiffany, it's out of the way," a burly biker type said.
Steve took Debbie to a small table. "Let's get this thing working again."
"Really? That old thing?" Tiffany asked.
Steve paused to grab one of the cords off the hook. "No, not that one. That's too springy for a drill." He picked another cord off the hook.
"Does anyone know where the parts are from?" A shy nerdy boy asked.
Steve had opened Debbie up and proceeded to fit the new cord in.
"Aw, man," the biker groaned. "Steve, you missed a guy getting a bloody nose."
Steve sealed the drill up. "All right, this thing is fixed."
The students dispersed without cleaning up their mess, leaving Debbie on the table. She twitched.
"Hey, Boss," The tv droned. "You feelin' okay?"
"I got lawn-mowered to death..." Debbie groaned. "And One of those idiot teens repaired me." She wriggled her new cord. "This one I got off another drill." She rolled over onto the table.
"We're glad to see you better..."
Debbie grinned. "My work is never done... though I'm staying away from any house with a lawn mower."