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Tuesday, August 2, 2016

Aug 2, 2016

4:10 am
This is a rewrite of something I did when i was about 12.
I no longer have it. My mother claimed to have saved it as it was probably my first writing endeavor and it earned me an A+.
But after she passed one of my siblings tossed it apparently.

I wait
     My name is Tony
     I wait.
     The Door sits in front of Me. I stand, stoic and proud. I am the oldest and have scars and scrapes. I stand here with my memories surrounded by virtual Children.
Daily we wait for the first appearance of light under The Door.Waiting for The Door to open....again. As the Oldest I have see The Door open more times than I can count.
And I have been chosen more times than the others put together. Great times and not so great times. Until that one day. Seems like forever ago. Many times have I witnessed the gradual appearance of light under The Door and then the fade to black as another day passed.
The Door no longer opens. It merely sits, impassive. A dark barrier.
     Every time the light appears there's a babble of tiny excited voices: "ME, ME ME!  Pick ME! Maybe today the Door will open and He'll pick me"? Let them chatter, I'm above all that and I have my memories. Grease, asphalt, oil. And sometimes yes, blood. And an awful day, long ago.......
There WAS grease, asphalt and blood. They came to take Him and forcefully removed me from Him. They were going to leave Me there, on the side of the road and He spoke and said "No, bring them". I stood sentinel beside Him through many cycles of light and dark until one day Someone said:
"Get those dirty old things out of here, He'll probably never need them again anyway". Once again I found my self behind The Door.

     I wait
One day, The Door opens. But this time it is different. It is not Him. I and my companions are silent. We hear a Woman's voice: "Here they are, it's what He wanted". I am Chosen.
Wait! This is not right"!

I am surrounded by weeping People. Many stop and gaze at us with tears in their eyes. Farewells are said and toasts are made. Eventually quiet. The Door again closes. This time from above.

My name is Tony, Tony Llama
A Bikers Boots
And We wait.

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