Angry Grandpa Body Bag の小説・ストーリー

GrandPa. I quickly ran to the study and slid the door open and found grandpa lifeless on the floor, in his own pool of blood and with a gun in his hand. This wasn't happening. We didn't know he was this depressed. Oh lord No. " GrandPa" I yelled as I knelt beside him. " Dad" Brandon yelled as he came to my side. " GrandPa No" I cried as looked at the hole in his forehead. He killed himself. No, this wasn't happening. My idol. No, No, I couldn't take this. "GrandPa" I screamed louder as I pulled him closer to me. " Dad, No, I can't believe this, Call an ambulance" Brandon called. Why was all this happening to me?. I have already suffered enough. This wasn't fair. Not even a bit.

I stepped back one step. "No, no… sir, wait— He didn't. He walked towards me, as fast as his arthritic legs could manage, and wrapped me in a squeeze hug. He smelled of soap and dry wood. "Thank God you're okay." I glanced at the real Miles, over on the other side of the room, eyes pink-rimmed, fists clenched up. "I brought your favorite," Grandpa said, waving the bag in his hand. "Chicken yam soup. Made it myself this morning."

I barraged the question in fear, my voice shaking in fear. “Calm down, Sheryl. He was okay an hour ago but suddenly fainted in the supermarket while shopping for the groceries.” Uncle Sam answered me in a serious voice. I was now both angry and scared. My grandpa was a good warrior, but he was severely injured while fighting with rogues in the same rogue attack in which my mother died. That day, we lost so many lives and casualties were also too many for the pack hospital, resulting in a delay in the treatment of so many injured people, including my grandfather.

Most pack members have lined the street where we will bring Grandpa from the viewing area to the crematorium. “Still a most beloved Alpha,” Mom smiles as she waves to the gathered crowd. When we see Grandpa laid out now, cleaned up, in his best suit, I can’t help but cry. “See you soon, my love,” Gran leans down and kisses his head. Everyone takes turns saying goodbye. When Pop gets there, he leans down and whispers to Grandpa. Whatever Pop said made Grandmama chuckle. “I want to give her a chance,” Gran says as the honor guard prepares to wheel him away.

It was threaded through her childhood like a dark cord: the Coles, the company, the dismissal, her father's face the evening he returned home for the last time carrying the cardboard box of his belongings, the way he had set it on the kitchen table and sat across from her in a silence that she, at fifteen, had not known how to fill. She had not filled it. She had made him tea. He had not touched it. She told her supervisor she needed a personal day and she went to the solicitor's office wearing the gray dress that made her feel most like herself — structured, clean-lined, exactly enough. Mr. Adeyemi was apologetic and precise. He explained the will. He explained the condition. He explained,

Grandpa gave me a deep silent look and then shaking his head, he finally answered, “In that awful crash, his car exploded, We found traces of his flesh, and his teeth which proved his death in that crash.” “Which means we never buried him,” I added. “How could we bury a man who got exploded??” Grandpa turned furious, his anger was valid but then, I got a sketch that could subside his anger. “And what if he never exploded, Grandpa? What if Eric was still alive??” I questioned and Grandpa went blank for a moment. “What the hell are you talking about??” He demanded, aggression wrinkling his face further. Without saying a word, I quietly showed him the sketch that Leo sent to me.