Post by Christopher Clearwater on Nov 30, 2018 21:48:20 GMT -4
The sky was a bitter and dark grey, the clouds holding back their tears as if knowing that if they rained down, the man under them would be unable to finish his work. He stood there in the middle of the park alone, surrounded by bricks and cement bags he had carried in himself. The bird were gone and the park was empty beyond the old man who stood there. His body covered in bandages and old dried blood spots hidden under the bandages. He had not participated in the military incident, but he had suffered damages elsewhere. He set his shirt down on the park bench nearby and returned to his supplies and tools. Bricks, metal, cement. He opened the first bag of cement and poured it into the mixer he had brought as well, mixing in the water as the mixer tumbled.
His thoughts were silent, as he went about his work. Digging away the grass and dirt as he waited for the mixture to reach a workable point. His muscles ached with each movement. How many people died because he wasn’t here to save them. Because he had failed as a hero. He laid the shovel down on the pile of bricks as he made his way toward the mixer and transformed, the bandages thankfully stretching with his transformation. He picked up the mixer and walked it toward the ground he had cleared. He poured it out slowly, making sure to not miss any spots as he took his time. Setting the mixer down, he returned to his tools grabbing a leveler.
His hand trembled as he reached for it. The muscles in his arm were tired, old age was an ever present feature of Christopher’s life. A sign that he should be home with his children, watching them grow into wonderful adults. He clenched his hand gently, before opening it and grabbing the leveler. As he did his work, his thoughts were silent. Except for his guilt, but that was an old friend to Christopher in his life. A friend he could no longer stand to acknowledge. He simply went about his work paying no mind to the pain he felt. A pain that would fade in time.
His thoughts were silent, as he went about his work. Digging away the grass and dirt as he waited for the mixture to reach a workable point. His muscles ached with each movement. How many people died because he wasn’t here to save them. Because he had failed as a hero. He laid the shovel down on the pile of bricks as he made his way toward the mixer and transformed, the bandages thankfully stretching with his transformation. He picked up the mixer and walked it toward the ground he had cleared. He poured it out slowly, making sure to not miss any spots as he took his time. Setting the mixer down, he returned to his tools grabbing a leveler.
His hand trembled as he reached for it. The muscles in his arm were tired, old age was an ever present feature of Christopher’s life. A sign that he should be home with his children, watching them grow into wonderful adults. He clenched his hand gently, before opening it and grabbing the leveler. As he did his work, his thoughts were silent. Except for his guilt, but that was an old friend to Christopher in his life. A friend he could no longer stand to acknowledge. He simply went about his work paying no mind to the pain he felt. A pain that would fade in time.
