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Discussion in 'Tall Tales & Fabrications' started by Bill Boggs, Jul 18, 2017.
So sorry, was revising and my pen ran out of ink.
Good story even if it's kinda sad and depressing...to me anyway. Even though I'm only 66 I feel my best years are over and it's all downhill from here...
@Bill Boggs , that is some great story telling. I can see it exactly as you describe it. It brought a lump to my throat. You may be old and frazzled and wore out but you have a gift with words.
Well, thank you. My brain has slowed down greatly but In the next life, I plan to be a writer.
Well, Shug, you already are.
BTW, love your siggy.
That's exactly what I thought when I retired at age 63, tired and sick with COPD, never have worked for any one who had a retirement program., retired on social security. But since that time these have been the best years of my life, really.
Not that wore out.
Where's the story ? Where's the ciggie ?
You definitely may not feel that way once you make the possible move to your daughters or somewhere else. You just can't give up that easy!
I haven't given up, Cody! Just don't think I'll have the great years I once had....
Ok. We definitely know what you mean.
@Bill Boggs , why did you change it? Was it something I said?
No ma'am, I removed it. Not because anyone said anything. I decided to put it back after a couple of comments but found I could no longer post in that spot.
No, nothing anyone said. I sometimes feel I'm posting too much at this location. Other times feel I should keep my big mouth shut everywhere else and only post here. I'll work it out.
See, I'm repeating my self. But check below.
A newspaper lies open on the kitchen table where the old man is drawing on his last cigarette of the day.
Smoke curls upwards as he eyes the weather map on the open page.
His mind wanders away from the present, where he has been considering himself old and useless.
As he draws the smoke in deeply, the lines on the map remind him of another map, other lines.
Once again he flies above, studying the contour map of hilly ground where soon a parachute will bear him to a new challenge.
Then he has landed, labours up the hill side, muscles aching, short of breath, before coming to the crest, feeling the exhilaration.
He closes the newspaper, taps the ash from his cigarette.
Is it the smoke that stings his eyes, makes them water?
Spent ash drops like a tiny amputated part of his life, old, grey, and useless now.
The past has gone, he must live in the present.
Stubbing out his cigarette, he reflects on the dead matches, butts, and ashes.
He thinks of death.
I hope he enjoyed the cigarette and please keep posting Bill
When I read this, I picture my brother who served three tours in Viet Nam. I see his hand shake just a little as he stubs out his cigarette. He may consider himself old and useless but he and the many others who server in that hell hole are forever heroes in my eyes.
Bill Boggs you are a masterful writer. Your literary abilities were what first caught my eyes more than three years ago. You have the gift of drawing a person into not just the story, but also the emotions depicted in them.
Thank you for being you.
@Ina I. Wonder Thanks, Ina. You make me blush. I like this avatar you're wearing, Ina.
I hope @Ina I. Wonder sees this.
Bravo Bill....encore please.