Passed Life:

• Robert Oxley, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2010

Passed Life:

The Crafty, Grumpy and old Octogenarian woke up from his bland and rough sleep. He slowly crept up as the beaming and bright sun dripped thoroughly through the man’s clear window. He tiredly stood up, and creaked over to the kitchen.

The look on his face was sincere and the frustrated strike of his frown seems like a cool fog of emotional intensity. It was creepy, and there was no way anyone could even come close to reciprocating what he could possibly be feeling at the time. The old curmudgeon found his way to the kitchen and grunted, angrily.

He shuffled his feet over the hard, wooden and hollow floor. He walked over to an oak rocking chair and slowly headed towards it. The petite male, with his wrinkles and his few, grey hairs left flew as the coldness of the day made a brush of wind, still heading for the chair and blinking hardly like bombs were rapidly exploding in some place in his mind.

He finally reached the chair and again slowly started to sit. Once he sat down, he took a massive sigh of relief that entered the world and could go for long, awaited miles. He rocks his chair and looked outside venomously, and glared immediately. He swiftly closed his eyes and one; lonely tear ran down his face.

The tear could’ve filled up the emotional and sensitive beach. He gradually stood up as slow as a snail competing in a fast action packed drag race would. He got up, wiped the tear with his stick like and numb arm and his torn, daggy and pale coloured shirt. He turned around and walked back into the grim and dark life held. With his head down below his shoulders, he felt that the end was near.

Robert Oxley