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by t69 Author IconMail Icon
Rated: 13+ · Fiction · Fantasy · #2007169
A man writes a story for his granddaughter about his life in the past.




Prelude









'Numbers, that's all we ever are in our lifetime. Everything, from our birth to our death is a numerical value or property that defines what we are. We're given a number when we are born; multiple in fact. They determine our age, our wealth, even our happiness. If you think about it numbers are everything in society. It determines the value of items. It tells others if we are wealthy or not. It allows us to know and compare different types of matter to each other. Numbers are a good thing.... if looked at like that way.'

Tim scratched his head as he laid down his pencil sighing, "Man, this gets harder and harder every time I try and write." Laughing he grabbed the cup of water next to him and sipped slowly.

"Grandpa!"

The door swung open with a bang causing Tim to spill his water as he started. Glaring at the doorway he watched the 20 year old woman walk inside and sit down opposite of him. She had a stupid grin on her face as she settled in to her spot on the couch opposite Tim's desk.

"Did I scare you old man?"

Tim harrumphed, "Yeah like I'd ever be scared of a little snot-nosed brat like you!" His eyes gazed over her affectionately though. Sarah, his last living relative since his son and daughter died in a plane crash last spring. She had her mother's hazel eyes, her father's rich blonde hair. An odd combination, but it worked for her. Dabbing up the water that she had caused him to spill he asked, "So what brings you here today?"

"Why do you think?" she lounged back freely propping her legs up on the table despite Tim's glare, "I want to hear the story's ending. I've been listening to bits and pieces of your life for the past 10 years so I want to hear the whole thing from start to finish."

Rolling his eyes Tim continued to clean up at a slow pace, not that he could move any quicker. He was old, he knew that, but his eyes still burned with the same intensity as when he was younger, still fighting in the field.

"What makes you so interested in that garbage anyway. It's just old news of a washed up old man."

"That's not true!" Sarah exclaimed. "From what I hear from the other elders down in town, you were a sight to see. Always jumping into the fray of things. Always fighting for what was right! You never backed down from the oppressors, always standing up for the oppressed. You...." She paused seeing Tim shaking from laughter, "Grandpa! You mean old geezer!" Pouting she crossed her arms, sticking her tongue out at him.

"Sorry young one, but my time is short, I won't be able to tell it all to you......" he peeked at her crestfallen expression, letting it simmer for a moment before adding, "... but I suppose I could let you 'read' it." Pulling a stack of papers from under his desk he held them out to Sarah, watching her face go from that of confusion to surprise, then to excitement all in one turn. He was surprised he did not receive paper cuts with the way she jerked the stack from his hand laughing, "Relax, neither I nor it are going anywhere."

"I can't believe you actually wrote it all down!" Sarah gazed at the work in her hands as though it was the most prized possession in the world. Setting it down gingerly on the table in front of her she flipped the first page, reading out loud, "My name is....."



To be continued.
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