Short-short stories #1 - let's see how well I can write

A man. He goes by the name Bob Stewart; gray hair, brown eyes, white skin, though it's a bit flaky. He likes to go out sometimes, in the bad part of town, to buy his usual carton of Malboro.


"Ahh, the bitter smell, and sweet taste of my good cigs," he would think to himself.

He never really had a wife or kids, he wanted to live a simple life. He worked, he played, he had fun...but he was lonely though...very lonely. He despised going to an "old folks home", because he "hate[s] it there".

He has a sister, though a tad bit younger than he is. The sister's name? Well, that's not very important you see, because this isn't a story about her, this is a story about an unfortunate man, being in an unfortunate place...

Now, "why the bad part of town," you may ask, "would he decide to get his pack of smokes?" well, that's because where he lives, it's affordable.

"Everywhere else's too "high-tech" and "technologically advanced"" he would say, "I don't need things such as cable or internet, or even a parking space! That stuff's too much money to spend my pension on and I worked for my pension too! Nobody's gonna take it from me!" He sternly said in his gruff voice.

Naturally, the only place to get his favorite brand of cigarettes are at this one corner store just a few blocks down the road.

He went out one night, only to find it to be closed, because he took too much time watching his football re-runs on his television.

This is when a group of gang members showed up and decided to take advantage of an old man...he struggled, and fought, but he was too frail to avoid the gunshot he had taken in his back.

Luckily, there was someone else nearby calling the police, so when the gang noticed this, they fled without delay.

The old man managed to get up and walk to a nearby bench to rest...he wasn't bleeding profusley, and by chance the bullet managed to miss any vital parts to disable him from walking again.

Not much later, an ambulance arrived...

The old man was rushed to the nearest hospital to get help and rest for the night...it wasn't until after a few x-rays did the doctor come back with some bad news for old Bob.

"Mr. Stewart," the doctor began, "I'm afraid I have to tell you something...the bullet in your back has to be removed at no cost since you are prone to infection..." the doctor looked down for a moment at his clipboard to view his papers he had documented about the old man, "...however," he continued, "The removing of this bullet has a chance of paralyzing you from the waist down...now there are some options to dealing with this..."

"No way! Not a chance! I can walk just fine! Even with the bullet in my back! Leave it in there, I'm not going to be a damn cripple for the rest of my years!" the old man yelled.

The doctor sighed, "Well, like I said, you are very prone to infection, regarding your age, and the wound the bullet left on you..."

"I don't care!" the old man retorted, "If I gotta die from infection then so be it! I'm almost 90 damn years old, and I 'aint gonna die a cripple! You hear me?!"

The doctor let out a heavy sigh, "Well...I guess you're not going to give consent to the surgery then?"

"Of course not!"

"Well, alright...I guess I have to do something else then..." the doctor then slowly walked away from the old man talking to one of his colleagues who had accompanied him to the man's room.

Long story short, the sister had to give consent to the surgery since she was legal family.

The surgery took place not too long after.

The old man was paralyzed from the waist down thereafter.

Not too much later, the old man was living in a retirement home, always sitting in his room looking out the window.

A nurse walks into the room with the man's medications and dinner. "Is everything alright Mr. Stewart?"

"Mm?" the old man turned around in his wheelchair, "Ah...just thinking about things..." the man wheels himself over to where his medication and water was and gulped them down within seconds, "I want to ask you something..." the man looked up to the nurse.

"Yes?" the nurse began to listen intently.

"Is it ever good to...take something away from someone and then...give that person a choice, to either have something else taken away from them, or just live the rest of your life miserable?"

"Are you talking about your surgery?" the nurse asked.

"Ah...I guess so, yeah," the man said in his usual gruff tone.

The nurse left his room after looking around a bit.

Bob Stewart then lifted himself out of his chair and into his bed, looked at his meal and began to eat it.