Age: 83
Sex: Rarely, if at all. His glory days are behind him now. Disgusting to think of really. Old people sex. Ew.
Gender: Male.
Strengths: Unusually strong bladder. He's worked on railway systems his whole adult life. He knows about trams. Trains. Monorails. Steam power. Engineering. Diesel. Anything about trains he knows. So he could be a proffessor of trains. But he does no basic engineering. And he has used all the equations. And he loves to teach.
Weaknesses: Constantly constipated. He's older. and frail. And come out of retirement because he was stuck ina rut and his mind was slowly rotting. So now he's in a world that he doesn't really understand. The internet passes him by, he doesn't understand anything about emo culture. He's a remnant of the past. Some would say that he's stuck in the past and that works to his detriment.
Bio:
"I once ate a turtle."
Sure thing grandpa. What a waste of a day. Having to hang out in a fould smelling old peoples home. Visit her grandpa. Ew.
"Thats nice pop"
He could feel her sarcasm coming from inbetween her teeth. It Peirces into his soul he cries a little on the inside knowing that she'll never believe a word that he say's again, blaming it all on age and senility."
"The toilet spoke to me"
Why did her mum force her to show up. It was punishment for something surely. But what had she done wrong to deserve this?
"Ok Gramps. What did it say?"
He tried to stifle the laughter going on in his head. She thought he was being serious. Him a man who used to conduct a railway. Who used to command the respect of his passengers. Who once rail became irrellevant adapted his carreer into a engineer and worked on the conceptial designs of the monorail. All down to this.
"It wanted me to sell it to your mother."
How she wished she was anywhere else. There in the outside world. Rather than being cramped up in here with this nutcase. He didn't know the pain she was going through. He didn't know that she cut herself at night because she hated who she was becoming. He didn't understand what real pain was, stuck in that fanciful head of his.
"How much was the asking price?"
She was playing a game with him, dreading every moment spent in the place. He couldn't help being old. He had to die someday. We all die. But she didn't care about him. She didn't know that he once knew a girl named Rosie, who was a stunner with dark brown hair and bright blue eyes. She only knew the long dead grandma rose that her mother spoke to her about, only seeing her with grey hair and reeking of old age, kinda like how he felt now.
"$12.50"
She wanted to know the real him again, before he went this way. The grandfather she could run to when she hurt her knee, the one who could solve all the worlds problems with a lolly. She wished he could be there to solve her problem now. To take away the words that were said about her. To tell those guys that she was not the town bike. To step on those girls that constantly sent her abusive text messages about how ugly she was. But this guy couldn't handle basic math nowdays.
"Thats nice. What are you going to spend it on?"
He remembered when she was little. She used to sit on his lap and be enraptured by every word that he used to say to her. He used to tell her wild stories about how when her dad was a boy he would get into heaps of trouble and run away from his mother into his own arms for fear of the wooden spoon, or tell her most treasured story about the fairy that lives at the bottom of his shoe. But now as she sat there with an expressionless face he knew she didn't give a crap what he said.
"Sleep. I'm tired now. Come back later. "
"No worries grandpa. have a nice nap."
So she left, the wee lassie she was. She went home to live her life, in the world of the young. So many years ago it was for him. He liked to remember his past, but it came back to him sporadically. He'd be drinking a shot of brandy, one of his only joys in this drab place, and then he'd be back to being 18 and having his first pint at the pub with his dad.
"Henry, you're a young man, but this'll get hair on that chest of yours."
So he'd been young. But now he was older than time itself, he felt. He closed his eyes.
And he was back.
To there.
"Rosie!" "Where the bloody hell are you Rosie?" "Dont leave me like this."
"Your drunk Henry, you know i hate it when you drink."
"You love me anyway dont you." He went to kiss her on the lips but she pushed him away.
"Fuck off Henry"
He'd been a wild drunk when he was young. He'd go to the pub with his mates, and come home roaring drunk to his missus. No wonder he didn't get much action in those days. The stuff that Rosie had to put up with.
"Rosie. I know your the most beautiful woman in the world, but would you let me marry you? Only for a little bit if you like, when a better model comes along you can upgrade. I dont mind. But right now, would you make me the happiest man in the world?"
"Yes. I guess. Till a better model comes along. " She kissed him. Those were the glory days.
"Rosie. I miss you. Please come home soon." She'd left him with the kids and gone to find joy inher life. She hadn't expected what she'd found with kids and a drunk husband, so leaving him with all the responsibility she fled the city and went to write poetry with artistic french people. Now Henry was feeling what rosie must have felt. Abandoned. Under water. Surrounded by kids who need your atention. No wonder she ran away.
'And the award for the yr 2 best book goes to greg." Henry was so proud. His son had spent so much time working on it, and now he was getting the regonition. Sure. A piece of paper meant nothing, but the work meant everything. Greg was growing up.
"Ok dont be afraid. Its only a job interview. For a job you have no chance at getting. With a salary that tripples what you earn now. " He looked down at his resume.
Name: Henry Rawlinson.
Address & Phone Number: 8 Hubgrub rd St Kilda - 8543742234
Date & Place of Birth: 13 June 1954, Edinbourough Scotland
Height/Weight/Physical Description: Burly man, 6ft 1. Matted brown hair.
Citizenship/Ethnic Origin: Celtic background, slight accent.
Parents' Names & Occupations: Jock rawlinson, Welder. fanny rawlinson, homemaker.
Other Family Members: Jessie. Sister.
Spouse or Lover: Rosie. Wife. Poet. Beautiful.
Friends' Names & Occupations: None
Education: Highscool Diploma.
Occupation/Employer: tram driver.
Social Class: Low.
Salary: Bad
Community Status: A man who takes care of his kids.
Job-Related Skills: Cooking. Cleaning. Conducting.
Political Beliefs/Affiliations: The union movement will save us all.
Hobbies/Recreations: Reading to my kids.
Personal Qualities (imagination, taste, etc.): I love a beer at night. I love a beer at lunch. I love beer.
Ambitions: To design a railway system the runs through the sky
Fears / Anxieties / Hang-ups: Abandonment issues.
Intelligence: I know trains.
Sense of Humor: Scottish.
Most Painful Setback/Disappointment: Rosie leaving me.
Most Instructive/Meaningful Experience: Rosie coming back.
Health / Physical Condition / Distinguishing Marks / Disabilities: Scar on left arm from pub brawl.
Sexual Orientation / Experience/Values: Love your life and kids.
Tastes in food, drink, art, music, literature, decor, clothing: Beer. Pie. Veg.
Attitude toward Life: Live it. Love it. Drive it. Sing it.
Attitude toward Death: Drink it.
Philosophy of Life (in a phrase): Live it. Love it. Drive it. Sing it.
A very unusual thing to have as his resume, but thats what they wanted filled in.
"Rosie! Come back Rosie!"
But she wasn't this time. She was dead. She'd lived alife to see her grandkids be born, but now she was just a body in the ground, and there was this gaping wound in Henry's heart. It wasn't worth living now. She'd gone and left him here alone.
So there he was in that old folks home. Eyes open again. It was time for the nurse to give him a shower. As she bathed him he could see the pity in her eyes. She was a lovely girl, but he knew that secretly she was afraid of when she herself could no longer shower.
But when he returned to his room he saw a letter. It was unusual. It stated. "Get out of bed you old fart and teach." It had a name on it. LAville University. So he got up. Got dressed. And ran out of that home as if he was never coming back.
Edited by Goose, 18 March 2008 - 07:44 PM.
