Joshua Broadbent 2019
Whipped by the harsh winds of Oklahoma, he sat there. His frayed chair quivered and trembled under the forces of his stout body. His hot mug of tea lessening as his wet lips came into contact with the mug. Ernie would think about what he grew up to be. Coming out of prison after a 15 year sentence with family out of reach was bleak on the old soul. Ernie felt he had nothing left, he was slowing down. He thought what ways to end on a high. There wasn’t the possibility of travelling, he had no money, and he couldn’t apologize to anyone, his family helpless to see him. He’d have to croak under his own voice.
He diligently planted his mug on the worn coaster dozing in the gentle pitter-pattering of the summer rain. He lifted his flabby arms, one by one, squeezed both arms of the chair, and hoisted himself to his tired, crusty feet. He ambled toward the kitchen, incapable of moving at a faster pace. He stopped at the counter, “click,” the kettle started whistling its merry song. But to Ernie it was a depressing tune.
It was evident that Peter had achieved a prosperous life. The epic stories of him almost dying as a consequence of being bullied earned him a nice house neighbouring the city. The Inspiring Stories of Peter Watson had been brought out not too much longer after the incidents had happened, that was his best-selling series. Today marked the 20th anniversary of the episodes that effected Peter so deeply and shaped his life for the better.
He began to think where it all had started. Peter concluded after having some time of speculation that the events had very much gone in his favour. His books had focused on the punishment Ernie and Raymond gave to him. After honest interviews with Peter, police eventually convicted Ernie of assault, growing a lengthy prison sentence.
He wandered around to the site where the conflict occurred, flash backs brimming his mind. To relax, he directed himself to the nearest pub. He treated himself to the finest beer they had, he would have preferred champagne but out in the country, the beer got more unique. There weren’t many people in the pub, three including himself.
The door then swung open on its crusty hinges, creaking and slamming into the busted crimson wall. Although he looked older, Peter was still able to determine who it was leaning over the door frame, the light beaming over him and blinding Peter. It was Ernie. His enormous feet stomping toward Peter. He’d been seen, Peter knew he was in trouble now. He didn’t know whether to run away, fight, or greet him normally. Peter was puzzled, Ernie stopped. Fell to the ground ragdoll like, and didn’t look conscious. Peter walked over, Ernie looking pale and unable to move. Suddenly, Ernie then grasped Peter’s throat, pulling him to the ground. Ernie, soaring like a swan over Peter pulled out his old, rusty 22 rifle and bang!
“Swanee’s gone eh.” Ernie shot himself, his life had been fulfilled.