Just read until the end :)

   The Legend of Joe

There lived once a man in a distant land by the name of Joe. He was not one of many possessions or values, yet the one thing dearest to him in his life was his best friend Doug. One day, Joe was strolling along his usual path in life, through the many courses of his schooling, when Doug suddenly slammed into him from round a corner, dropping a barrage of books with a might THUD upon the frail tiled floor, and scurrying to pick one or two up before flipping his head up like a cock switch to face Joe.

“Joe, please I’m begging you, can you spare me a hundred dollars?” His voice drained like a clog was shoved down his throat, and as Joe flipped out a crisp Benjamin with a rush to match his tempo, his mouth beckoned an explanation.

“Doug, what do you need this for? You're gonna give it back or-” Joe was cut off by a screech like cars braking on a Friday afternoon, as 10 burly teenage-come-gangsters spiraled from around the corner with fury painted to their faces like the skull-like tattoos imprinted on their sinewy arms. A shriek like a girl having her Barbie swiped was emitted from Doug before he swiped the bill from Joe’s tense grips and somersaulted down the hallway as if his tail had been lit on fire. Joe was shoved out of the way by the hoard of gangsters, left bruised, battered, and utterly bewildered.

The next day began like no other, only upon meeting Doug in the hallways, instead of a usual “Top of the mornin to ya!” like cheery old Joe had been accustomed to, he gripped his eyebrows to his face and confronted Doug.

“Hey Doug, I’m not even going to begin to ask what yesterday was all about. All I wanna know is when you can give me my money back. That was my entire allowance after all-” 

“Yeah yeah, I can give it to ya tomorrow, just find me,” Doug brushed him off like a fly off his sleeve, a touch of snootiness infused within his once mirrored personality to Joe. And so he followed his words. Day after day, Joe kept pestering him until finally, he disappeared, dissipated off the face of the Earth like his silhouette was taunting him. Every corner Joe turned, Doug turned another, every shadow Joe saw, was overlaid by another, and every time Joe would think he caught even the smallest glimpse of his face, it was gone. The old Doug was gone.

So of course, Joe formulated a plan, a strategy, and a rationale by the old saying. Joe, too, went astray. He went away, and kept going, going, going, separating himself from Doug, until he was but a past memory painted on the wall in bits and pieces of graffiti here and there, never given his attention. Until finally, when the separation was at its peak, Doug confronted Joe, tears in his eyes.

“Joe, my man, I’m so sorry! I never should’ve ghosted you, you saved my butt out there. Those kids out there, they had held me for ransom, and when it came to me paying back my end of the bargain, my pockets just came out empty. You were the only one, the only friend who I knew would repay me, and what did I do, I left you! Here, here's your money back,” Doug handed Joe back that old, familiar crisp one hundo, but he just smiled, and declined.

After all, what he had truly gained that day was the satisfaction of knowing that his plan had worked, and all by the old saying. You know what it is:

“As Doug Owing gets tough, the tough get going.” And go Joe did, all the way back to how things once were.

The End.