Post by ricketts on May 9, 2010 15:48:28 GMT -5
(This thread is closed off to everyone because no interaction is needed with this event. It's to help along with Henry's story and I got permish from an admin to do it. I'll keep this up for a few days before sending it to the archives.)
It had rained fiercely over New York the night before. The thunder rolling around the sky in angry reverberating echoes, frequent flashes of lightning leaped out like swords drawn from dark scabbards. Henry looked about him, and heaved a deep sigh of refreshment. The weather hadn't bothered him, in fast, last night had been fantastic. Normally, it would take a few pills and a prescribed sedative to get him to sleep - but last night, he was dead to the world before he even hit the pillow. A deep, dreamless sleep followed and Henry woke just before his alarm clock chimed. Probably the most peaceful night's sleep he had had in years. No hallucinations, and not one nightmare.
He stepped out onto the pavement, closing the little wagon door and stuffing the keys into his pocket. His features kindled with enthusiasm as he looked on the stretch of dark Wall Street scenery around him, illumined by the brilliant beams of the sun that shone out now in full splendor, as though in glorious defiance of the retreating storm, which had gradually rolled away in clouds that were tumbling one over the other at the extreme edge of the northern horizon, like vanquished armies taking to hasty flight. It was a six-am start to the day, but Henry felt energized and refreshed. A newer, stronger energy pumping through him. It must have been that good sleep.
Approaching the store closely, Henry frowned at the door handle. He flicked it with the back of his hand, and it easily turned downward. Unlocked. He paused and seemed lost in meditation. By-and-by he looked up, and meeting the face of the door, he broke into a short, head-shake of a smile. Hank must have beat him to work in the earlier hours and was probably sitting inside with two Starbucks as per usual. A silence greeted Henry as he entered, and instantly he stepped green paint that was part-dry. The can it leaked from lying cracked against the shop window.
'What th' .. ' He weakly uttered. Slowly and carefully, he descended more into the store, where he found a giant mess. Hammers and nails scattered all over the floor, shelves toppled over and lots more spilled paint where that came from. At that moment, with innocent confusion, Henry's voice pealed upwards. 'Hank! You in? Don't wanna alarm ye' mate, but I think we've been looted or somethin' ... '
It was like being initiated into some mystery, and that was when Henry entered the stock room. He flicked on the light, that lit box after box that at most had been heaved from their resting places - and at that moment a change passed over Henry's face. He grew deathly pale, and put out one hand feebly as though to seek some support. The counter-edge caught it and was pressed hard onto. His pupils shrank under the great shock that took him, as he beholded the sight he see. The little room, with its little stacks and shelves, was smattered all over with a dark, coagulated red. Blood. Blood all over the damn place.
' .. H-Hank?'
Dear faithful, true-hearted Henry dared lower his sight just a tad more, and at that moment felt his own eyes blurring as he thought of all the way he had come, all the things he had accomplished - and Hank, who had practically mothered him, sitting part-slumped against the lightly limed and heavily reddened wall. Pacing the silent way with feeble step, Henry covered his mouth. Smothering out the breathless sounds that his mouth seemed to be making. He kicked away a nail gun that lay in his way, and collapsed to his knees at Hank's side. The look on the old, plump man's face explained his last moments. His mouth was hung in a last wail and his eyes were part shut, pupils lolling back. He looked almost, sad. Like he had been more upset then scared to die. Three rusted nails plunged deep into his face, stood out defiant from his forehead and two cheeks. His long, busy life ended to violent, bloody peace.
'Hank .. ' Henry brokenly tried his name again. Not even the sunlight glinting here and there could break the gloom. ' .. Pap?'
Then he threw his head back and howled with grief.
It had rained fiercely over New York the night before. The thunder rolling around the sky in angry reverberating echoes, frequent flashes of lightning leaped out like swords drawn from dark scabbards. Henry looked about him, and heaved a deep sigh of refreshment. The weather hadn't bothered him, in fast, last night had been fantastic. Normally, it would take a few pills and a prescribed sedative to get him to sleep - but last night, he was dead to the world before he even hit the pillow. A deep, dreamless sleep followed and Henry woke just before his alarm clock chimed. Probably the most peaceful night's sleep he had had in years. No hallucinations, and not one nightmare.
He stepped out onto the pavement, closing the little wagon door and stuffing the keys into his pocket. His features kindled with enthusiasm as he looked on the stretch of dark Wall Street scenery around him, illumined by the brilliant beams of the sun that shone out now in full splendor, as though in glorious defiance of the retreating storm, which had gradually rolled away in clouds that were tumbling one over the other at the extreme edge of the northern horizon, like vanquished armies taking to hasty flight. It was a six-am start to the day, but Henry felt energized and refreshed. A newer, stronger energy pumping through him. It must have been that good sleep.
Approaching the store closely, Henry frowned at the door handle. He flicked it with the back of his hand, and it easily turned downward. Unlocked. He paused and seemed lost in meditation. By-and-by he looked up, and meeting the face of the door, he broke into a short, head-shake of a smile. Hank must have beat him to work in the earlier hours and was probably sitting inside with two Starbucks as per usual. A silence greeted Henry as he entered, and instantly he stepped green paint that was part-dry. The can it leaked from lying cracked against the shop window.
'What th' .. ' He weakly uttered. Slowly and carefully, he descended more into the store, where he found a giant mess. Hammers and nails scattered all over the floor, shelves toppled over and lots more spilled paint where that came from. At that moment, with innocent confusion, Henry's voice pealed upwards. 'Hank! You in? Don't wanna alarm ye' mate, but I think we've been looted or somethin' ... '
It was like being initiated into some mystery, and that was when Henry entered the stock room. He flicked on the light, that lit box after box that at most had been heaved from their resting places - and at that moment a change passed over Henry's face. He grew deathly pale, and put out one hand feebly as though to seek some support. The counter-edge caught it and was pressed hard onto. His pupils shrank under the great shock that took him, as he beholded the sight he see. The little room, with its little stacks and shelves, was smattered all over with a dark, coagulated red. Blood. Blood all over the damn place.
' .. H-Hank?'
Dear faithful, true-hearted Henry dared lower his sight just a tad more, and at that moment felt his own eyes blurring as he thought of all the way he had come, all the things he had accomplished - and Hank, who had practically mothered him, sitting part-slumped against the lightly limed and heavily reddened wall. Pacing the silent way with feeble step, Henry covered his mouth. Smothering out the breathless sounds that his mouth seemed to be making. He kicked away a nail gun that lay in his way, and collapsed to his knees at Hank's side. The look on the old, plump man's face explained his last moments. His mouth was hung in a last wail and his eyes were part shut, pupils lolling back. He looked almost, sad. Like he had been more upset then scared to die. Three rusted nails plunged deep into his face, stood out defiant from his forehead and two cheeks. His long, busy life ended to violent, bloody peace.
'Hank .. ' Henry brokenly tried his name again. Not even the sunlight glinting here and there could break the gloom. ' .. Pap?'
Then he threw his head back and howled with grief.
