VIII – The Roman, A Couch, and . . . ?

Dear Journal:

Things seem to have quieted down somewhat the last few days. I was too depressed to write before, with what happened to my brother, and nearly happened to me. The night of the hearing, I got stone cold drunk on my rear. I drank and drank, but, try as I might, I couldn’t get the image of my poor, beat up brother out of my head.

I must’ve passed out in the early morning hours, as I woke up about noon. I was positioned head down against a wall with a splitting headache (I shouldn’t drink red wine), and my mouth tasted like the City Watch had washed their feet in it. It was all I could do to stagger to my couch where I must’ve passed out again.

I awoke the next morning, bleary eyed, stiff, and too weak to even throw up. I spent the rest of the day sipping water and drifting in and out of sleep. By the morning of the third day, I felt fragile but, relatively, good.

I, slowly, walked to the window and looked out. Sure enough, my vagrant shadow was still sitting at his corner. So it hadn’t been a stray nightmare after all, but grim reality. More’s the pity.

As I looked away from the window, I glimpsed what appeared to be a medium sized bundle of something on my doorstep. Opening the door a crack, I grabbed the object and hauled it inside. Once unwrapped I found, much to my surprise, a large basket full of food. I glanced out of my window again and noted several of my neighbors’ furtively peering back at me. I smiled and nodded my head in thanks. They smiled and nodded back, then disappeared from their windows.

Well, at least my neighbors were still friendly. The gift of food touched me and I was grateful, as I was still too sick to go out myself. Then a though struck me. What if I COULDN’T go out! Maybe I was under house arrest.

As I dug through the basket, a piece of parchment explained things. Seems my neighbors felt that it was unsafe for me to leave my house right now. No telling what might happen to me. They had decided to supply me until such time as it was safe to go out again. I was moved to tears by their actions. I didn’t feel so alone now.

Still, I hoped they wouldn’t get careless. After all, there was still my ever present watchdog. As I ate my meal, I reflected that there were still some good people in the world. Maybe honesty and truth would win out after all. One could always hope. We shall see what the morrow brings.

Chapter IX

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Published in: on August 16, 2009 at 5:46 PM  Comments (3)  
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3 CommentsLeave a comment

  1. A gift of food is always good. 🙂

    • Oh, yes! *grin*

  2. […] Chapter VIII Possibly related posts: (automatically generated)Journal Of A Depressed And Nervous RomanQuestion #2 – How to work at a software company.Trapped in Prison Published in: […]


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