Shawn Thornburg

The Unfortunate Death of Franklin Dell

Franklin Dell owned a knife shop. He boasted to all of his customers that he was training to become a knife thrower, and he boasted to all of his friends that he lived on the edge of everything: life, safety, sanity . . . . When he was at his knife shop, he always tossed or juggled knives to pass the time, sometimes scaring people with his seeming carelessness. When he drove home at night, he always drove as fast as he could until his scanner told him a cop was nearby, but then he would still go five over. When he went to the movies, he always snuck in his own food, and if he thought he could get away with it, he would also sneak in bottles of beer. When he listened to his music (usually death metal), he played it loud enough to feel his eardrums tingle. Everything Franklin Dell did, in fact, he did on the edge, and he never ended up with scars to show for it. His luck—even though he didn't believe in the concept—was unparalleled, so he gave himself tattoos in commemoration of his particularly dangerous accomplishments. His friends called him Freaky Frank because of them. On his left arm, he had one that commemorated his victory at a street-racing contest, one that portrayed a motorcycle stunt he successfully landed, and one that memorialized his battle with a boa constrictor. On his right arm, he had a tattoo that told of the time he tried to pick a fight with a bear, one that showed him bungee jumping, with tally marks to indicate how many times he had done so, one that honored his knife fight with a man who tried to steal his drink (it ended in a draw), and a few more that depicted various small accomplishments. Obviously, Franklin was most comfortable when he was least certain of his safety. It’s ironic—or perhaps fitting—then, that his life should be brought to an end by his one foray into mediocrity.