"Can you believe this?" Bill grumbled to the cat that was sprawled out on Bills bed. "Raining again. I'm sick and tired of all this damn rain." As Bill stared out into the downpour, he saw a large crow fly up to the roof top garden and land next to an old woman sitting under an overhang watching the rain come down in sheets. "Strange old woman," Bill mumbled to himself.
As he was looking out over Calloway, he saw a young man running along the sidewalk. All of a sudden he saw the man lose his footing. As he tried to catch himself, the young man stepped out into the road. It all seemed to go in slow motion for Bill. He watched as the aspiring boxer tumbled head first out into the street and was plowed over by bus 52.
Suddenly, Bill was no longer in his apartment watching this grisly scene play out before his eyes, but back in Italy during World War II. He saw his brother again. Standing before him just like he had been on The Day. Young, strong, full of energy and life. This all came crashing down as Bill remembered seeing the bombers materialize out of the low hanging clouds over the small village. There was noise everywhere. Bill ran for the nearest house, hoping for a miracle. As he dashed through the door, he turned to help his brother in after him. He was'nt there. Terrified, he looked out into the street and watched as his brother tripped over a piece of rubble. Thats when the bomb hit with a flash of white and an earsplitting bang, Bill's world had come crashing down.
Bill found himself on his knees sobbing. It had been years since he had had a flashback to that terrible day. Slowly, Bill pulled himself off the floor. As he looked out the window, he saw the paramedics arrive. With a cry of pain and sadness, Bill pulled the vlack curtains around the window shut and sank back to the floor with tears streaming down his face.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Capter 2
"AAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!! What?! Who's over there?!" Bill jerked up right with a start. His hand instinctively flinched towards the razor sharp knife on his bed stand. The door slowly swung open with a creak as the the old mans cat sidled into the room. Bill looked down at the clock next to the bed. 4:53.
Bill swung his legs off the bed onto the cold wood boards of the bedroom floor.
"God damn bladder. Can't make it 2 damn hours without having to take a piss anymore."
Bill eased throught the narrow door frame into the too small bathroom. As he relieved himself he felt a low rumbling in his stomach. He remembered the cold soup he had left laying on the grimy counter.
The floor board let out a long shaky creak as Bill shuffled down the hallway in his pajamas that hung off his thin frame, like rags. He made his way over to the stove to heat the small portion of soup that remained. As he turned the knob foo the burner he noticed a huge rat chewing on small bundle of cords that powered the stove. Bill lunged forward in madness but he was too late. The rat had managed to completely gnaw through the cords rendering the stove useless. Discouraged, Bill picked up a dirty spoon from the sink and sat down in the rickety old chair at the table. As he slowly ate the colld chicken noodle soup, he remarked, "Its just as terrible now as it was before." When he had lowered the spoon to the bowl for the final time he thought, " Anice big bottle of whiskey is the only thing to wash a meal this bad down." He put the dirty soup bowl down in the sink and opend the cabinet above the sink. He rummaged through the empty bottles lined up in the cabinet. Bill began grumbling as he walked across the room to the other cabinet. Once again, he opened the cabinet to find only empty bottles occupying the rows of his shelves. "God dammit," he growledas he shut the cabinet. He looked up at the clock hanging crookedly from the wall. The clock read 5:32. "May as well go to the store and get some more. Nothing better to do," he mumbled. He went back to the bedroom to put on his usual clothes. After he pulled on his overlarge white shirt, he donned his worn leather traveling coat and headed for the door. On the way out the door, he picked up a Colt .45 revolver from the table and slid it into his coat pocket. "Just in case one of these young fools steps over the line," Bill growled as he shut the door with a snap.
As soon as he had stepped out of the door, he pulled out his pipe and began stuffing it with tobacco from an old, cheap bag. He struck a match a he began walking down the deserted street. As he puffed away on his wooden pipe, he noticed a movement in the playground off to his right. As he looked a little more carefully, he noticed the man was copletely nude and swinging from the monkey bars. Bill's hand instictively tightened on the handle of his gun. "The older i grow, it seems, the crazier these damn fools get," he said in a low, irritated grumble. Up ahead the lights of his favorite liquor and gun store flashed on and off. His skin tightened into an unfamiliar position as a small smile slid across his face.
Bill swung his legs off the bed onto the cold wood boards of the bedroom floor.
"God damn bladder. Can't make it 2 damn hours without having to take a piss anymore."
Bill eased throught the narrow door frame into the too small bathroom. As he relieved himself he felt a low rumbling in his stomach. He remembered the cold soup he had left laying on the grimy counter.
The floor board let out a long shaky creak as Bill shuffled down the hallway in his pajamas that hung off his thin frame, like rags. He made his way over to the stove to heat the small portion of soup that remained. As he turned the knob foo the burner he noticed a huge rat chewing on small bundle of cords that powered the stove. Bill lunged forward in madness but he was too late. The rat had managed to completely gnaw through the cords rendering the stove useless. Discouraged, Bill picked up a dirty spoon from the sink and sat down in the rickety old chair at the table. As he slowly ate the colld chicken noodle soup, he remarked, "Its just as terrible now as it was before." When he had lowered the spoon to the bowl for the final time he thought, " Anice big bottle of whiskey is the only thing to wash a meal this bad down." He put the dirty soup bowl down in the sink and opend the cabinet above the sink. He rummaged through the empty bottles lined up in the cabinet. Bill began grumbling as he walked across the room to the other cabinet. Once again, he opened the cabinet to find only empty bottles occupying the rows of his shelves. "God dammit," he growledas he shut the cabinet. He looked up at the clock hanging crookedly from the wall. The clock read 5:32. "May as well go to the store and get some more. Nothing better to do," he mumbled. He went back to the bedroom to put on his usual clothes. After he pulled on his overlarge white shirt, he donned his worn leather traveling coat and headed for the door. On the way out the door, he picked up a Colt .45 revolver from the table and slid it into his coat pocket. "Just in case one of these young fools steps over the line," Bill growled as he shut the door with a snap.
As soon as he had stepped out of the door, he pulled out his pipe and began stuffing it with tobacco from an old, cheap bag. He struck a match a he began walking down the deserted street. As he puffed away on his wooden pipe, he noticed a movement in the playground off to his right. As he looked a little more carefully, he noticed the man was copletely nude and swinging from the monkey bars. Bill's hand instictively tightened on the handle of his gun. "The older i grow, it seems, the crazier these damn fools get," he said in a low, irritated grumble. Up ahead the lights of his favorite liquor and gun store flashed on and off. His skin tightened into an unfamiliar position as a small smile slid across his face.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Chapter 1
My name is Bill Donga. I am a 102 year old man who has fought in every major war since World War I. All these wars have really taken a toll on me and I suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I have become extremely paranoid in my later years and have begun to hear voices. I love my guns and liquor and can't stand the young whippersnappers running around the streets these days. Thanks to my cursed long life, I have had to see both of my sons and my wife precede me in death and this has had a profound impact upon my sanity.
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