The idea here is that I will post bits of personal literature and subject them to the harsh criticisms of the online community. That being said, I welcome any, preferably constructive, criticisms. After all, the finest wines are all made from stepped on grapes. So be cruel if need be; these are all living documents which I hope to make better with age.

Thursday, March 18, 2010

Mr. Stranton's Will: Part 1

In spite of spring break, I've not had a lot of free time to do any writing [I blame a recent bout of illness]. Any way, I feel the need to post something so here is Part 1 of a story I've been slowly piecing together.

Marvin Stranton huddled up on the lice infested mattress in the corner of his one room shanty, polishing his double barreled shotgun, Retirement Plan, with the tattered shards of an old tee-shirt.

The light of the afternoon sun broached the rooms darkness through the bungalow's one window at a downward angle, making play of the swirling dust-filled air and the dancing shadows cast across the wrinkled contours of Mr. Stranton's features, as he reached to remove a seething can of soup from a hotplate.

Sometime after lunch, Marvin walked the five miles into town to watch the ''Pick Six'' results on the television in the window display of the local T.V. Repair shop.

It was Mr. Stranton's finest hour as he stood, unmoved, watching the numbered balls tumble into place.

Earlier that day, Marvin Stranton, hardened by a stern resolve, had also walked into town. He closed out his bank account, spent most of his meager life's savings on a lawyer to write and facilitate his last will and testament, and spent the remainder of every cent he had left to his name on lottery tickets and a can of store brand soup – his potential last meal.

It was do or die time, literally. Only victory or death could come next, and as luck would have it, it wasn't Marvin's time – yet.

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