The Return To The Hookah Man

It has been over a year since I have returned from my journey to see the figure on top of the mountain. My life has changed. I am no longer the selfish being I once was. But I am more troubled now than before I went on my quest to find him.

It is because of these troubles that I am returning to see him in hopes of finding answers.

Reaching the 3 paths at the base of the mountain was much more difficult than the last time. The jungle surrounding had become overgrown, almost completely hiding the opening.

Faced with the same 3 choices as before….I chose differently this time.

I picked up the candle and headed into the mountain. With just this single light as my guide I weaved my way through the darkness. It was a difficult trek with many obstacles but my persistence and confidence carried my to the top where the temple awaited me.

Upon exiting the mountain, I walked up to the temple, sat Indian style in front of the Hookah Man and placed the remainder of the candle in front of me. As I looked up he began to speak.

“Seeking me a second time does not increase your chances for enlightenment. Taking the harder route to see me, does not increase your chances for enlightenment. Why take the journey when I have nothing else for you? Trying to fill the void before death?”

He exhaled a large plume of smoke with a smirk, and waited for my reply.

I obliged with more honesty than I knew I had in me.

“No. I accept my fate. I have changed my selfish ways but do not deny your truth. I am here to ask of others not of myself.”

“Very well. Ask. Then I will decide whether it deserves an answer.”

“Will there ever be an end to the horrendous violence that occurs?”
I asked.

“The human race and violence are like the wet part of the ocean…they go hand in hand. Look at the history of mankind…rarely is there a significant event without violence. Your question is too broad for a specific answer.” He flippantly answered.

“Ok……but the violence in our schools? Ever since Columbine it has gotten worse…now children in elementary schools are dying…”

“Columbine?? You do not know your history. The ripple of Columbine did not begin that wave.” He interjected.

“Ripple…wave….you lost me. I’m not a riddle guy.” I replied.

“Imbecile. A wave does not start out as a wave. It begins as a ripple that grows. …a pebble or small stone dropped into calm water creates a ripple that creates another and another, the farther the ripple carries the larger it gets, creating the wave that has to crash somewhere. The Columbine you speak of was a large ripple that created the wave that crashed in Connecticut. NOW your kind is fully aware. But the pebble that started the ripple was in Bath, Michigan in your year of 1929. Learn your history…your kind keeps repeating it.”
The Hookah Man retorted.

“So God is teaching is about guns by repeating history?” I confusingly asked

“God, government, guns, games, movies, laws….all symbols of blame for the human race. The ripple works for good as well….not just evil. Placing blame is easy….creating change is not. Look at another mark on your country…segregation. Tell me the ripple there.” He asked as he inhaled.

“That’s an easy one. Rosa Parks. She refused to sit at the back of the bus. She ignited change.” I confidently replied.

He smiled and exhaled…. Then spoke.

“You know the one who got the recognition….but she was not the first ripple…..the first was Irene Morgan in 1946, then Sarah Louise Keys in 1955, them Claudette Colvin nine months before Rosa Parks… pebble….3 ripples, then the wave crashed and created positive change. The change is not complete….even today in your world, but the ripple effect still grows. Know your history….your kind DOES learn from it.” He kindly answered.

I looked at him. Things were a bit clearer but the fog of his answers remained. He saw that in my gaze and added to his last statement.

“Your kind feeds off 2 things. Fear and change. You must be able to face the fear and create the change. Be the one who creates the ripple. If your effort is worthy, another will follow. And another. And another. Soon your small ripple will create the wave of change that will help to solve the problem.”

With that he reached into a small bag around his neck. He pulled something out of it and dropped it into my outstretched palm. He then placed his hands upon his lap and turned to stone.

I opened my palm and looked at the single pebble he placed into it.

I looked up at the stone figure, smiled, turned and made my way back down the mountain.

Sequel retrieved from the archives of good2begone


The Quest For The Hookah Man

Jaded. Bitter. Indifferent. Wronged.

That was what I felt on the day I decided to leave it all behind.

It took 9 mistakes for me to do 1 thing right. Nothing ever went my way.

Have to be at work by eight…get a flat tire at 7:45…

Favorite show comes on tv….transformer get hit, knocking out the power.

The list goes on. I couldn’t take it anymore.

All my life I had heard about “The Hookah Man”


Envisioned in different forms but basically the same principle. Find him and ask what the meaning of your life was, and the answer will be given.

My quest was to find him. I was done with the way things weren’t working our for me.

My belief was that he sat on top of a mountain, overseeing everything. He smoked off a hookah pipe, meditated, prayed, and waited for someone to come to partake in his knowledge.

I knew he was waiting for me. I went in search for him.

I searched every corner, angle, length, width and depth of our world I could find in my journey.

After what seemed like months, I came to a 3 pronged crossing at the base of a huge mountain.

Path A- led to a long rickety old rotted wood walkway around the mountain. At the top stood a temple.

Path B- led into the mountain. A small tea candle was at the entrance. I guessed that would be the light if I chose this path.

Path C- was the road I stood on. It led up the mountain on a gradual slope that also reached the temple.

Reasoning told me I might as well stay on the path that got me here. It ended up at the same place anyway. Up to the top of the mountain I went.

I reached my destination with little struggle. Inside the open temple was “The Hookah Man” exactly as I envisioned him.

I walked inside. He motioned me to sit in front of him. He took along pull from his hookah and said, “Speak of why you have searched high and low to find me.”

“Naturally, I only have one question. What is the meaning of my life?”

He scoffed at my question and shook his head. He paused to regain composure then answered.

“Your kind amazes me. You spend your time in the realm you have been given, and you spend it worrying about yourself. More money, more recognition, more me, poor me nothing ever good happens to me… Quick solutions to lengthy problems are the norm. Forget about the next guy, it’s what about me. The easy way is the only way”

He continued, ” You knew I was waiting for you. I knew you were coming. I always know when someone is coming. They always take the same route. 3 paths are given for a reason. The 2 you chose to disregard are paths to enlightenment. Each have difficulties in traveling but upon arrival here, the traveler is released of their selfish “me”
encompassing ways. Those 2 paths are never chosen. Fear of not reaching the goal of the temple wins out. You were no different. The answer to your question…..there is no meaning. You are born. You live. You die. The answer may have been different, but your selfishness will not allow any other.”

I reply rather stunned,” So that’s it? What kind of God are you? I come all this way and you give me I live then die?”

A long drag is taken off of the hookah. He exhaled and says,” You came here to ask one question. I gave you 1 answer. Had you taken one of the other paths to reach me, all your questions would have been answered. Even the ones you didn’t even know to ask. I have been here for centuries. I sit and wait for a being to enter my temple from the enlightened paths so I may pass along the vital information AND so I may be released to another realm. CENTURIES! I was the first of the selfish to come here. I will stay here until the unselfish one arrives to show ME the way to enlightenment. Your question is answered to the best of my ability. You may take the information I have given you to alter your destiny…or live then die. I have nothing more for you….”

He looked at me….through me…exhaled a large plume of smoke, and turned into stone.

I stood staring at the statue for a long while. Contemplating……pondering…..
Then slowly turned around and made my way back down the mountain.

From the archives of good2begone…..


Mrs. Lane just sat there for a moment behind her desk…stunned. With shaky hands she picked up Deborah’s assignment in one hand and her grading pencil in another. With a pause she set the paper on the desk and placed a grade on the top of the page.


As she was about to place it onto the graded stack with the others, she paused and then reconsidered the grade.

She marked out the initial grade,


And replaced it with one she felt more comfortable with.


“Let’s see what Deborah and the family thinks of that.” She thought to herself with a confident smirk. And placed it on top of the pile……

And smiled as the next round of students filed into class.
The story can’t end like that…..

The Family Tree Assignment” Part II

The following class was her advanced writing class.

All of the students went to their seats and chatted and giggled until the bell rang.


The students quieted down, faced forward in their desks, and awaited instructions from Mrs. Lane.

And waited….

And waited…

Mrs. Lane just sat there staring into space, unaware that the next class had begun.

One of the students in the front row cleared his throat….loudly….and spoke,

“Mrs. Lane?…….Are you ok?”

She shut her eyes and blinked a few times to snap out of it.

“Ohhh..yes I’m fine. I was just lost in thought over your next writing assignment…it’s umm…ummm..right here…here it is.” She stumbled for words and grabbed Deborah’s tree picture from the desk and held it up.

A student from the back spoke up and said, “You want us to act like a tree…and leave? Sweet! Even I can do that!”

Laughter erupted from the room. It broke the spell she was in.

“No. No. What I want is for each of you to find an image of a tree that best represents your family and write about it. Be creative and….have fun with it.”

She paused for a second then continued,

“I need to get some water. Take out your computers and begin. They will be due tomorrow.”

She left the room to get some air and a drink of water.

“Why did I give them the same assignment? I don’t want to see any more damn trees!…..Get yourself together girl. Don’t be scared of a 14 year old girl…she earned that F….by lying!” She thought to herself.

She returned to class to finish out her day.

The following day she returned. She didn’t fear facing Deborah. She feared of what might or could occur after she faced Deborah.

The writing assignment had to be given back to the students after grading. Any assignment that received a failing grade had to be returned….signed by the parent as acknowledgement that they were aware of their child’s grades and progress.

She started off the class after the bell rang by handing back the papers to the students reminding them that any failing marks had to be returned with the signature. Then returned to the front of the room to explain the next assignment.

As she turned around she noticed a hand waving in the air.

“Yes, Deborah….” She asked

“May I talk with you after class about my grade on this paper, please.” Deborah shyly said as she twirled her pigtail in between her fingers

“Umm…sure.” Mrs. Lane replied.

The bell rang and Deborah slowly got up from her desk. She grabbed her books and pencil and made her way to the teachers desk at a snails pace.

She reached the desk, placed her books down, and retrieved the “F paper” from a folder. She placed it in front of Mrs. Lane (and her wide open eyes) and spoke.

“If you know what is good for you…you will change that grade to an “A”. My family goes not accept failure. AT ALL.” Deborah stated in a stern, perturbed whisper.

“I can’t do that Deborah. You must get it signed and return it to me. Now shoo…off to your ne…”

Deborah interrupted by stabbing her sharpened pencil through the cover of her binder and spoke again.

“Fine. But this is far from over…..c ya later, Mrs. Lane.” Deborah replied as she yanked the pencil out of the binder.

Deborah held the pencil up by the eraser and blew on the broken end as if it were a revolver that had just been discharged, looked Mrs. Lane in the eyes, smiled, and left before the next class fully arrived.

The advanced writing class filed in and awaited instructions for the day. Mrs. Lane asked them to please turn in their assignments. After receiving them, she asked them to sit quietly and excused herself.

She returned with another teacher and explained that she wasn’t feeling well and would be going home for the day. She introduced them to the substitute and told them they could have a free day to use their computers and would hopefully see them tomorrow.

She then gathered the turned in papers and the rest of her things and went home.

She arrived at home and immediately went to the wine cabinet and grabbed the first bottle she saw. She opened it with the wine opener.

Twist twist twist



The sound of the cork exiting the bottle was a nice sound. She didn’t bother with a wine glass. A plastic tumbler was sitting in the counter, so she just filled that and drank. She didn’t sip or let it breathe…..she just drank.

She pulled the advanced class assignments out of her briefcase and considered grading them….but drank instead.

The next thing she remembers is waking up tied to a chair in her own basement.

Deborah, dressed in black, was sitting in front of her sucking on a blow pop.

“So Mrs. Lane….” Deborah began.

“I have been looking over your “advanced class” assignments that were on your table…..looks like all they did was have fun with it. None of these flowery family descriptions are honest.”

Mrs Lane tried to interject, “Why are you..”

“SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP! I’m the teacher here. Look at these!” She picked up a random picture, held it in front of Mrs. Lane’s face and read some of the description that went with it.


“Ohh..I picked a treehouse because I was adopted and I don’t know my real family….but my adoptive parents love me like their own….STUPID LIES!” Deborah said condescendingly.

“Or this one..”


“My family tree is a history of happiness. We have been blessed from the roots up with….LIES…I think I just threw up in my mouth a little….”

Her face got redder as she picked up the next.

“My Mom died when I was a baby. When I was 9, my Daddy married someone else and our 2 families are intertwined like the roots of this tree. MAKES ME WANT TO PUKE!”

She throws that one aside and grabs another.


“I’m so mad I can’t even read this one….our family is as happy a twisty palm tree on the beach?….WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?!!!”

Deborah flings it aside. Then reaches inside the folder she brought from home and brings out a picture of her own and carefully places it on the table in front of Mrs. Lane.


“Look at this one.” Deborah said calmly as she placed the blow pop back into her mouth. She twisted it around for a second, then bit down to get to the gum.


She took the stick out of her mouth and placed it into her pocket. And then calmly continued.

“This is my follow up picture of my family tree. The main trunk is still my Grandma….but the branches that WERE reaching toward the sky are now the roots that are overtaking YOUR house. All you have to do to stop it is change the grade to an “A”. Do that….and all this will be forgotten.”

She stepped back and allowed Mrs. Lane to speak.

“All this for 1 failing grade? I don’t understand…no one is perfect…you know I drop the lowest grade anyway why all the fuss? You could go to jail for kidnapping me!!”

Deborah replied,

“No one will believe that sweet, innocent Deborah did this to you….kidnapped you?…in your own house?….there will be no trace of me…you got drunk and passed out. I told you my family were masters at their craft. My family are magicians of crime…have been since that damn family tree was planted. I know the ways… I just choose not to follow them. You change my grade to an “A” and like….Abra-Ca-Deborah….I will be gone. HA…that was funny. Like get it? Abra-ca-DEBORAH?”

“Ok ok I will change it. Just untie me.”

Deborah smiled and went around to untie her teacher.

After releasing her from the ropes she went back to her folder to retrieve the failed assignment.

She pulled it out and looked up with a smirk. But it was too late.


Mrs. Lane has gotten up from her chair, picked it up by the backrest and swung it at the child who held her hostage. Knocking her out cold.

She retrieved her cell phone and called 911.

“I have had a break in. Get me the police.”

What Deborah did not know was that Mrs. Lane lived in an area prone to break ins.

2 years ago her house was robbed and ransacked while she was on vacation. The perps were never caught. They entered through the basement. She has kept it bolted shut since then.

To prevent it from happening again, hidden video cameras were installed throughout the house. They start recording, automatically, once any lights in the home are turned on.

Mrs. Lane went to the closet and retrieved the tapes that recorded the evenings events.

As she heard the sirens in the distance Mrs. Lane looked at the child in black that was knocked out unconscious on the floor and said,

“Class dismissed.”

The Family Tree Assignment

“Ok class. We are beginning a new semester and much to y’all’s amazement…I came up with a great idea for a fun and new project.” The creative writing teacher announced.

A collective discouraging moan was heard in unison from the throats of the students.

“Wow….hold all your excitement to yourselves please.” She replied as a single hand went up.

“Yes, Jimmy…”

“We just got back from Christmas break. Can’t we just ease into the new semester by writing about our holiday?” He asked.

“Ummm….no. You all have been doing that particular writing assignment every year in since you were able to go school. For lack of a better term…it’s boring. Nice try, though. Here is the assignment….”

She opened up her laptop, which is connected to the video monitor on the wall, and started it up. While awaiting for the startup to finish she explained her project to them.

“We have seen each other approximately 1 hour a day, 5 days a week, for the first semester of school…”

Timmy interrupted, “Some of us more than that Mrs. Lane.”

Giggles erupted and Mrs. Lane gave him a stern look and continued.

“Thanks for the reminder, Timmy. Anyway, I have learned a lot about you and have enjoyed watching your writing improve and creativity increase as this time has gone by. This project will be called

“The Family Tree”


“Now, a family tree is the history of your family. To get all that information would be very time consuming. What I would like you all to do, is to use your computers and find an image of a tree that best resembles your family history and write on how you will continue to enhance your family history. Any questions?”

“So, we just find a picture of a tree….and then write about why we picked it and where we fit in to it?” Holly asked.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself, Holly. Thank you. You have the remainder of the class to find your image and to begin the writing part of it. Remember, be creative, honest and have fun with it. It must be turned in tomorrow.”

Much to her surprise, the entire class turned in the previous days assignment….on time!

After the school day ended, she returned home to begin reviewing and grading the assignment.

After getting through 1/2 of the papers. She made the observation that most were not very creative, although fairly honest most obviously did not have much fun with it. They did however try to flower it up with big words and phrases to try to impress her. As for the pictures that went along with the essays most were the trees she expected, oak trees, redwoods, dogwoods, fir and a few willows.

She was about to take a coffee break when she got to Deborah’s turned in assignment.

She stared at the photo for a few minutes, waited for the chill she received to subside, and began to read her essay.


By Deborah Lancer


I picked the medusa tree for my assignment because it best represents my family tree. I do not know my entire family history, just enough about its living members to know that it scares me. The base and main trunk of the tree is my grandmother. She runs the family from her prison cell. Each scary branch represents her offspring of followers that do as she says, when she says to do it. Thugs, criminals, drunks, thieves. I don’t fit in. I won’t keep the roots of the tree growing stronger. When I get older I will cut the tree down. The medusa tree will be no more.

She sat back and exhaled a long breathe. She thought to herself, “This can’t be true….Deborah is always in a good mood, gets great grades, and has no enemies….how can this be?”

She decided to have a talk with her after class the next day.

“Deborah, I need to see you after class, please.” She requested.

“Yes, ma’am.” Deborah replied.

“I am concerned about the assignment you turned in, Deborah. It makes for great reading, but it can’t be true. I asked for an honest paper….not a..”

Deborah rudely and sternly interrupted,
“Look Mrs. Lane. I have never lied before, and I’m not now… gave the assignment. I did it. It was not fun for me. The truth is about as creative as I can get. You don’t believe it because of the way I act at school. The reason for that is this- I put on a show that I am the all American good kid because I have to. If I don’t MY world crumbles. If I let out the truth of my home life and family history….my world crumbles. In my short life I have witnessed and heard of things that most could not bear…..but it is kept IN THE FAMILY! The tree will fall when I am old enough to make it fall. Until then just grade the damn paper and move on to the next assignment!!”

Deborah cleared her throat, straightened out her floral print dress and looked sheepishly at the teacher and said,

“Is there anything else Mrs. Lane? If not, I really must go, I would hate to be late for Algebra……”

“ Deborah…that is all.” Mrs. Lane replied with wide eyes and unsure mindset.

“K….see you tomorrow!” Deborah gleefully said and skipped out of the room and off to her next class.

Mrs. Lane just sat there for a moment behind her desk…stunned. With shaky hands she picked up Deborah’s assignment in one hand and her grading pencil in another. With a pause she set the paper on the desk and placed a grade on the top of the page.


As she was about to place it onto the graded stack with the others, she paused and then reconsidered the grade.

She marked out the initial grade,


And replaced it with one she felt more comfortable with.


“Let’s see what Deborah and the family thinks of that.” She thought to herself with a confident smirk. And placed it on top of the pile……

And smiled as the next round of students filed into class.

This post was created after finding the image of “the medusa tree” on Google. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. The words were my 1000.

The story continues….for part 2 click the link below-


The Identity of Grog

I have heard it many times-

A picture is worth a thousand words.

Well….today I will put it to the test.

I went to Google and searched “funny random strange pics”. I started flipping through the images.

My goal was to see if my mind could start a story from any of the pics. I would stop on a few and wait for the wheels of imagination to churn out a starting line to a story. What happened?

Zilcho. Nada. Nothing.

After searching through numerous pages that were indeed random, although not very strange or funny, I came across an image that sent the goo inside my skull into a frenzy.

The photo is courtesy of Google. The story is courtesy of my inner goo.


“GROG!! GET IN HERE RIGHT NOW!” The Mother yelled.

“No….I don’t want to.” He defiantly replied.

“Grogamous Zanderfil Schox….don’t make me tell you again!”

He knew she was mad. That was the only time she used his full name. Still, he defied her.




He knew she had just entered his chambers. He always recognized the angry steps of her heels on the tile floor, and the sound the enormous door made while being opened.

She looked at him as he sat in the corner, elbow on his knee, fist resting on his jaw, sullen look on his face.

It brought a pain to her heart to see her giant of a son huddled in the corner like a scared kitten.

“Grog… are late for work…..there are kids in their rooms sleeping without a closet monster to scare them. What will our neighbors think?” She sternly asked.

“The neighbors all make fun of me. They say I’m too sensitive to be a closet monster. I try to be scary….I really do, Momma. I just don’t want to be a closet monster. Please don’t make me go.” Grog sheepishly replied.

“Nonsense. No one is scarier than you. 18 1/2 feet tall, 1400 pounds last time we checked, strong as an ox, bald as a bowling ball. Now put on the scary costume I made you, get up and get in that closet!”

“No. I won’t. I have been watching the kids I am supposed to scare. And you know what….” He said as he stood up and towered over her.

“What honey.” She replied

“They grow up..and…and..and grow out of being scared….and…and…and do stuff that I wanna try doing.” Grog adamantly stated before he continued.

“I’m over 490 years old and all I get to do is creep in and out of closets. Trying to scare kids…WHO DON’T WANT TO BE SCARED!! They want to get sleep so they can go to school and learn something…well…..I want to learn something too!” He finished as he stomped his foot on the floor, bouncing his Mother into the air.

His agility and size allowed him to gentle catch her before she hit the ground. He put her on top of his gigantic bed and sat next to it.

“Sorry, Momma.”

“Groggie, you are nowhere near 490. We don’t age or count like they do. We are who we are and we do what we were meant to do. It is how it has always been.” The Mother concernedly replied.

“Not for me Momma. I’ve been hiding something from you….I found a way into their world without them knowing I am really there.”he said to her without looking her straight in the eyes.

“What have you done, Grog?” She replied as she looked at his down turned face.

He let out a sigh and began.

“While you are out teaching your “scare tactics” classes at the Monster Academy, I have been getting on your computer here. I learned how to use it by watching the kids from the closet….they all have one and I wanted to try it.”

She thought to herself as she waited for him to continue-

“I knew bringing their technology into our world would be a mistake. But my own son?”

She hand motioned him to tell her more, as she was too stunned for words.

“I started a blog…..” He said quietly.

” YOU DID WHAT??? Great, so soon the monster hunters will have an address to find us at. We are doomed.” She frantically stated.

“No Momma….wait…listen. I didn’t use my name or anything….I was going to….but I got so excited about doing something different that I misspelled it…..and I learned how to get a safe email. I have been doing it for months and nothing has happened.” He said all wide eyed and excited.

“Grog….go get me my computer and show me….your…..”blog”.” She calmly asked.

With this request he jumped up off the floor and ran to get her computer.

His Mother bounced up and down on the bed with each booming footstep he took.




He returned, out of breath, computer in hand. He handed it to his Mother with great anticipation of his secret finally coming to light.

She started it up and asked for the website name. He gave it to her and waited for the screen to come alive.

His Mother inhaled. Then exhaled. And asked-

“Ok, Groggie, what is your username?”

He shook with excitement and replied,

“Ok…..ok..ok. Let me tell you first ABOUT the username….I was going to call it good2begrog…..because I like being me!…..but I got too excited…and my fingers are big so I ended up with good2begone.”

His Mother typed the username in and the password he gave her.

“You should start at the beginning Momma, so you can tell me if I have gotten better since I started.”

Grog showed her how to find the first post he had ever published, watched her hit the keys on the keyboard, much more effortlessly that he ever could, and waited for it to appear on the screen.

Post 1 of Grog’s blog

The identity of the son she thought she knew was coming alive, through words, before her very eyes.

She thought to herself as she read-

“No matter how much you know about your kids….you never really know.”

Enemy Gone….Truth Gained


I used to cherish this picture of you. I even had it blown up to poster size and hung it above my fireplace, so I could stare at it and smile for hours. I took it while you stood there, in your usual pissed off stance, from the comfort of my living room, mere hours after I finished my masterpiece hedge trimming, and minutes before you took your chainsaw to it. It made me glow to watch you get your dander all muffled and in a tizzy while you cremated my yard art.

We were neighbors. But by no means friendly. You moved into the house next door to me just as I got used to NOT having a neighbor. I hated you for that. We never even attempted to make nice…..just continued to try to 1 up each other on nastiness.

Instead of calling the proper authorities to intervene…we took matters into our own hands until that busy body down the street thought we were going to kill each other. You put a restraining order out on me…..I put one out on you.

That was when we resorted to lawn warfare. I had been waiting for you to retaliate after my hedge art….but your side of the fence stayed quiet.

I waited as your lawn grew out of order…the newspapers piled up and the mail was left unattended. I should have checked on you, but as often as I had wished for your demise I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

The busy body stepped in and the police came. You had been dead for 3 weeks and no one had cared to notice.

I was happy you were gone.

That was until I found out you left all your belongings to me. House and all.

I was beside myself with rage. Why would you leave your enemy next door everything???

I found out why.

We each-were war veterans.
We each-had no family to speak of.
We each-never got peace once the war ended so many years ago.
We each- thrived on getting under each others collar

I found the box of information about me that you had in the chest next to your fireplace. You knew the similarities before I did. And fed off past anger….like I do.

I have been coming to your gravesite every week for the last three years to make sure it is clean of debris, always has flowers, and looked well cared for. I could not take care of you in life…..but by God, I can since your passing. You and I no longer quarrel and I am filled with dismay by the way I treated you without knowing we were brothers of war. The best I can do now is take this photograph and burn it here, so you and I both know it is gone…..just like our feuding past.

-he flicks his lighter and puts the flame to the portrait, as it burns he places it in the metal tray he has brought and sets it beside the headstone-

Thank you for showing me what true peace is about. I will see you next week, neighbor.