That's how it began. Every Thursday I would visit Bertie and he would tell me stories about the war and his life. We learnt sign language together and burnt the chalkboard as a sign of success. I found out what had made Bertie mute; the pesticides they used in Vietnam had destroyed his voice box, leaving him with no sound every time he opened his mouth.
For ten years I had seen this man, and for ten years he had helped me through the toughest time of my life. I was grateful to him and loved him like a father. Now, he was telling me his last story before he left. Strangely, it was no different to all the other stories he'd told me; it was just as meaningful, wise and heart wrenching as the rest.
I wasn't sad to see him go. I knew it was time for him and I let him go in peace.
"Goodbye Bertie," I said as I watched his eyes close for the last time.
'Goodbye Jason.'
STAI LEGGENDO
One Last Story
Storie brevi"He told me one last story. He used his aged, ruined voice like an old man's hands to pick the lock on his past..." This was the stimulus/opening for a short story I wrote for English. Hope you enjoy. [[[Completed]]]
