Post by Royalty on Dec 25, 2007 17:02:49 GMT -5
December.
The United Kingdom.
Christmas had come and gone for us here in my mansion... and yet still, here he is. Much more quiet than I remember him, despite the incredible progress he's made here while healing from his grave injuries. It had only been four months since he had made his appearance at my door, near death, for, what he described in his incoherent rambling, the third time in just over a month.
He didn't say much more after that.
I've cared for him since his appearance, stunned at how much he had changed. Almost as if every day was his last, although determined to make sure it wasn't. Meaning, instead of living life to it's fullest... he was making sure he saw another sun-rise. One of my, or my late brother's, guns were always on him. Loaded. He wasn't sure if those that had assaulted him to the grave condition he currently was in had tracked him to my home. I'll never forget the first time I had seen him after he had become healthy enough to move.
He was by my window, with a loaded .45 in his hand, keeping a silent watch for anything and everything that was out of the blue. Almost as if he were a soldier with post-traumatic stress disorder. He would look at me with his near dead, bloodshot eyes that were common to see on him, and say, "I'd never let anything hurt you, e........ ..., I truly am sorry for bringing this back to you..."
I'd assure him everything was alright, that I would never look back on taking him in my home, even if I knew what had plagued him. Frankly, I was just happy that he was alive... but sometimes, seeing the states that he is in regarding both his wife, and this constant paranoia of further attack...
I wonder if he would be better off dead?
The United Kingdom.
Christmas had come and gone for us here in my mansion... and yet still, here he is. Much more quiet than I remember him, despite the incredible progress he's made here while healing from his grave injuries. It had only been four months since he had made his appearance at my door, near death, for, what he described in his incoherent rambling, the third time in just over a month.
He didn't say much more after that.
I've cared for him since his appearance, stunned at how much he had changed. Almost as if every day was his last, although determined to make sure it wasn't. Meaning, instead of living life to it's fullest... he was making sure he saw another sun-rise. One of my, or my late brother's, guns were always on him. Loaded. He wasn't sure if those that had assaulted him to the grave condition he currently was in had tracked him to my home. I'll never forget the first time I had seen him after he had become healthy enough to move.
He was by my window, with a loaded .45 in his hand, keeping a silent watch for anything and everything that was out of the blue. Almost as if he were a soldier with post-traumatic stress disorder. He would look at me with his near dead, bloodshot eyes that were common to see on him, and say, "I'd never let anything hurt you, e........ ..., I truly am sorry for bringing this back to you..."
I'd assure him everything was alright, that I would never look back on taking him in my home, even if I knew what had plagued him. Frankly, I was just happy that he was alive... but sometimes, seeing the states that he is in regarding both his wife, and this constant paranoia of further attack...
I wonder if he would be better off dead?