Life

The old man limped down the street with a black cane with all the paint missing off the handle but a few stubborn flakes that were so thin they look more grey then black. People were passing him coming and going as he continued slowly to make his way down the street. The Jacket on his back was also worn and fayed along all the edges like everything he wore. He looked at no one as he saw their legs dodging left and right around him. He hadn't had their speed for twenty years.

The only thought of the younger people on the street was don't touch him as they walked buy. He wasn't dirty but he didn't look kept either. His clothes were out of date and he had about six days of white growth on his face that he hadn't bothered to groom at all. He hadn't cared about what others thought for a very long time and it was just easier if the world didn't notice you.

He walked to the bus stop and slowly crept down to the bench with one hand on the arm of the bench and the other  was shaking heavily on the cane. With relief he felt the pressure of the bench on his butt and relaxed his arm and he settled into the wood. Sitting down wasn't exactly a picnic but it sure beat standing. He thought he was going to have to stand up to relieve the pressure but he saw the bus coming down the road and he started the long climb to his feet.

The bus wasn't crowded as he gazed out the window through the rain that had just begun to splatter the window. He hadn't watched TV or read a news paper in years. His mind was sharp so he was contently being entertained daydreaming about the life. All the triumph and regrets played though his mind constantly and his mood went up and down with them. You could tell if he was in a good place or not if you knew exactly what to look for but he hadn't had people like that around him for years. All his kids moved away from the big city years ago and had families of their own now. He had been away most of their lives so he didn't expect them to go out of there way to come back after their mother had died.

Every once in a while one of his kids would call and ask him how he was doing and he would always wonder what had made them think of him this time but of course he would never know. They would have small talk until his kid was satisfied that everything was fine and that added up to five or ten minutes every month or so. Lately his daughter had been calling every month for the last three but he didn't know if this was because he was getting older or if something else was going on. He hoped for her sake it was the first.

He was back at his old house with thanksgiving dinner on the table, his wife and kids all with the special occasion half empty plates in front of them. The Australian Shepard laying in the corner of the dining room chewing on a big bone. Everybody was laughing and talking at once Since he hadn't been there for Thanksgiving for five years everyone was dressed up for the occasion with their sweats on standby in their rooms for after dinner football and napping. he was teasing his . . . . . .

The air rushing out and the sound of brakes squeaking snapped him back into reality and on his grim face was one corner of his mouth slightly turned up. He was in a good mood.  He got off the bus and limped down the wet sidewalk squinting his eyes against the rain. He Saw sudden movement from his side but his vision and reflexes were too slow to make any difference. He hit the dirty pavement in the alley hard and his cane smacked the cement with a load crack. He could feel his head, hand and knee burning with pain.

"Hurry up, get his f#$$%$$ money." Somebody said in a low growl that was heavily accented from growing up on the streets.

He heard the one of the perpetrators  coming toward him, he mustered all his strength and rolled onto his side to face his attacker. It was all over in a blink of an eye, a load explosion echoed off the close walls and the gunmen's ears rang as he pulled the trigger two more times. Blood seeped out from under the body as the life did too. The gunman blinked a couple of times waiting to see if there was any movement, there was none.

He took a deep breath and grabbed his cane with both hands and planted it in front of him and he was still struggling to get to his feet as people started coming out of the wood work to see what had happened. Two guys Grabbed him and helped him to his feet as he surveyed the three bodies on the ground. None of them moved. "Get me out of this alley" was all that he could manage as the younger guys helped him back to the sidewalk having to step around one of the bodies. All three of the bodies wear dressed in black jeans with black shirts.

"Your dead old man." a guy dressed in black jeans and a black shirt said from the curb of the street and people started to scream and run as he killed the man right there in the street in broad day light in front of the whole neighborhood. Then he turned around slowly and put one more shot into each of the bodies on the ground never raising the .45 above his waist.

Two months later he was sitting on the metal shelf with the thin mattress cushioning his rear listening to the echoes of the prison from his cell in solitary.  If you looked really hard and knew exactly what you were looking for you would see that one corner of his mouth was slightly turned up. He was in a good mood.