An old man is plagued by a cold that won't go away.. |
646 words It was the summer of 1492, and Aldo Cesares felt miserable, as he hobbled to the kitchen. He had slept badly because of the coughing that had plagued him all summer. Aldo was 96 years old, and shaking off a cold was proving to be more difficult than when he was a younger man. The kitchen was a disorganized jumble of junk. Aldo had a bad habit of not cleaning up after himself, and was also a hoarder. There was clutter from one end of the room to the other. Rotting haggis mixed with trash, and broken things covered the table. He muttered to himself, as he searched for a clean pot to cook his porridge in. Aldo put oatmeal, water, and a touch of salt into his pot, and the steam that rose, while the porridge boiled, seemed to relieve his stuffed up nose. He looked around for a bowl, but couldn’t see one so he ate the porridge straight from the pot. As he ate, he noticed, there was something black stuck to the walls in places. No time now, he thought, I’ll give it a wash when I get around to it. Aldo had lived in Edinburgh, Scotland, in a stone dwelling, all his life. He was born and raised here and brought up his family here. The last few years had been lonely, but he carried on. He was the only one left, as all the others had gone afar or were dead. He opened the door and ventured out into the sunlight, picked up his spade and headed out to do a bit of digging. When he was a wee Laddie, he had liked to dig in the dirt, and he’d found some amazing things over the years. Up the hill, he climbed, wheezing and coughing. About half way, feeling defeated, he stopped and leaned on his spade, wiping sweat from his brow. After a short rest, he continued climbing. At the top of the hill grew a large birch tree. There was something odd about the tree, and it had been bothering Aldo. The mysterious tree was surrounded by a strange mist. He leaned his spade against the tree, and sat down in the shade. He dozed off for a few minutes, but awoke with a start. He could have sworn he had heard someone talking. He looked around, but saw no one. Slowly, he stood up and retrieved his spade and began carefully moving the dirt around on the ground. On the other side of the mist Aldo could hear a strange voice, but it was expressionless, flat, and had no accent. He tried to ignore it, thinking perhaps, old age was affecting him. Maybe he was getting demented, like his father before him, seeing and hearing things that weren’t there. “What is he doing?” someone asked. A computer voice answered. “If I were to hazard a guess, I would say his hobby is metal detecting. He seems to have a natural flair for it, as he has no tools except for the spade. The voice was irritating Aldo, and he began shouting into the mist in a weak, and breathy voice. “He is getting agitated and talking to the tree. He seems to be giving it a lecture!” “He is extremely verbose, isn’t he?” “If you mean he rants on forever, then yes!” “He is intelligent though, and is experienced with his spade.” “He could learn so much more if he were living in the present time.” Aldo had returned to his digging, but when he turned over a clump of mossy grass, he began wheezing and coughing again. “Poor Aldo, he has a bad cold, or something worse,” the man sighed. “I think I have discovered his problem.” Aldo Is highly allergic to mold! "Save a forest ~ eat a beaver!" Aldo muttered, as he began coughing again. |