Old Man Bishop

Here is my crack at classical science fiction, something I don't normally dabble in. I took from classics like Ray Bradbury, and hopefully I did them justice.

Bishop awoke slowly to the mornings rays, grunting as his old joints creaked against the effort of standing up. Outside it was the same temperature that it always was at 6:30, a brisk 65 degrees. He took his time getting to the chair that would carry him downstairs, wincing as it lurched forward. Inwardly he noted that every passing day had caused a new pain to pop up across his body. A sigh filled his empty house, wasn’t that just the worst joke you can play on a man? All those years of piss and vinegar just thrown down the drain for a broken down hunk of junk. In his old age he had also found himself a slave to routines, no matter how hard he tried to break them.

Once downstairs he waved for the kitchen to set up the breakfast items, and flicked through the fake news casters. Today, she was an uppity blonde whose smile reminded him of his late wife Janice. He struggled to remember who it had been yesterday, and even two days ago. This proved to be a fruitless endeavor, so he moved back to the kitchen. Inside it was a pleasing off white. Not dirty, and easy on his old eyes, but soothing. On the table he found a neatly arranged soon to be breakfast laid out for him. A simple box of cereal that didn’t make him feel like he was shoving sugar down this throat, a juicy looking grapefruit, and a carton of orange juice next to a presumably chilled glass. To top it all off there was a little plastic gallon of milk. There was something that he would never want to lose from youthful years gone by, simple plastic. Now a days they just snapped and there the damn thing was, perfect to whatever your body needed. Why what was the point of not taking--.Before he could go on he stopped himself, there was no point in getting angry over milk.

While the style may have been somewhat of a throwback, he had forgotten how much of a pain in the a*s it was to handle. Muscles that just weren't meant for that kind of strain anymore insisted he stopped this nonsense. He swore as the whole thing fell from his grip, almost hitting the floor. Almost. Thankfully the house was faster than he ever would be again, catching it with a small beam and moving it back into his old style refrigerator. By the time he had even looked up from the would be accident the house had already corrected the milk problem by pouring it into the bowl for him. Another sigh.

He ate in silence, and whatever splashes of cereal that came out was whisked away, while grapefruit juice evaporated before it even hit the table top to splash all over the place. Bishop finished his meal in silence, and told the house to dress him for the outside weather. This too was done with lightning precision, so by the time he was out the door the clothes were already on. He noted that while it took some getting used to, the house really wasn’t all that bad. Less messes to remind him how old he is, less physical challenges that were once almost like breathing to tell him how frail he had become, or even mental issues that scared the living daylights out of him.

Once outside his old lungs took in fresh air. While everything else may have been broken down, he prided himself in having strong lungs. Never once did he touch a cigar, and no asthma ment as much running as he could handle while he was young. For a brief moment he remembered what it was like to go quickly to places. Of course now that might as well be as plausible as flying on giant chicken wings. Perhaps there would be an inventor who created such a silly idea, and in Bishop’s opinion that man would be very rich. Still, that wasn’t real. Just a silly idea for a silly old man. This was becoming a rather frequent phrase of his, and he swept it aside at the sight of his garden.

Now, there was nothing outstanding about Bishop’s garden, save for how well attended it was. Here there was a row of a few  tomato plants, there a row of onions. He took a moment to enjoy the smell dirt and growing things. There was even a fine mist of morning dew on all the leaves, which cast miniature yet brilliant rainbows. This was an added effect, synthesized to make the place seem just a shade above normal life. Despite the beauty of it all, he was reminded that there was still work to be done here. Slowly, very slowly, he took a knee and pulled a small shear from his gardening pouch. When everything else broke down, Bishop found that his concentration on one task wouldn’t. He thanked whoever was up there for small miracles.

Gardening lasted until the sun rose to it’s peak that afternoon. Just like every day that was at 12:30, and it meant lunchtime wasn’t far away. After one last inspection to make sure that all dead leaves had been properly pruned, Bishop headed back to the house. Today he decided to take a faster route back than normal, which consisted of cutting through the small meadow that surrounded his house. Lofty grass swayed about as air kissed his face gently. Everything was gentle in here, he reminded himself. Home loomed ahead so he waved away the gardening belt. It would go wherever things went when he waved them away. He reminded himself to figure out just where that place was when he walked through the front door.

On the window sill he took down the half full pitcher of sun tea, which had been brewing for the perfect amount of time, and stopped halfway through the living room. A brief memory of a small boy getting sun tea down from a window sill just like this one flashed across his mind like lightning. Tears welled up in the corner of Bishop’s eyes. He had a son once, but now he was here. This was the worst pain, the one you realised had been building up since the moment you have a child. One day they would be gone, off with some pretty fiance making grandchildren as you spent your last days here. Soon however he lost track of why he felt so sad, shuffled into the kitchen once more, and ate a nice turkey sandwich.

The rest of the day was a blur as Bishop performed his daily activities, unaware that he wasn’t supposed to turn on the tv right after lunch. For a few moments there was an advertisement for on old folks home. A happy woman walked around a lake while a handsome young man’s voice informed the listener about how effective a reality sphere was. Bishop scoffed at the idea. What idiot would willingly go into one of those? Especially when they were going to die so soon? He went to bed, still content with his life up on the hill, alone. Once at the foot of the bed, Bishop ran that word through his mind again. Alone.

Francis looked down below the railing at his father, uncomfortable. He reassured himself that this was for the old man’s own good, and turned to face the pretty nurse.

“So, he’s been acting up lately?” Words came somewhat difficulty, Francis had always had trouble speaking to women. Especially pretty ones like this. She nodded, and spoke in a honey voice.

“He’s getting more memories of his youth, which keeps putting him down. I could bore you with more of the details but it’s pretty technical. We really only needed you down here to sign off on some papers.” Awkwardly Francis shuffled through the papers, suddenly unable to remember what they meant. Hope flickered in his eyes, and he took the opportunity.

“Oh I don’t mind. Maybe you could bore me over dinner?” That wasn’t so bad. She even giggled.

“No. Mr.--” He stopped her there.

“Just Francis is fine.” This time she went more slowly. Carefully even.

“Ok, Francis I’m married.” On her right hand she flashed a ring, which triggered blush to flood his cheeks.

“I’m so--. I mean I didn’t--” Her hand tapped the clipboard.

“It’s fine. Just sign here please.” Humiliated, Francis took the pen from her, signed the papers, and walked away.

When the suns rays bathed Bishops face, he had no idea what his name was. Outside, the nurse nodded as the doctor released one more spritz of gas that smelled like freshly made pancakes. The doctor leaned back in his chair, pity this one needed a sedative.

“Oh well, back to work.” And at that the doctor flicked through the thick stack of cases he needed to handle today.

Author's Note

Hello, and thank you for taking the time to review. Anything and everything is welcome so long as it is constructive, and semi professional. If you want to go all the way professional than go ahead. As always, any and all grammar/spelling error corrections are quite welcome. Thanks again!

Reviews

[C. Rose]

smell dirt should be smell of dirt.
When you have dialogue and then a character does an action in the same line, make sure the speaker and the doer are the same person. For example "Just sign here please." Humiliated, Francis... - this line is confusing because it is the nurse who speaks, but Francis who takes action.
The premise is interesting. I like stories where you realize later that what you thought was happening wasn't really what was happening. Though I wonder why a reality sphere would have a television that could advertise reality spheres, or perhaps that was his subconscious acting up.

[A Watcher In Time]

Thank you for the review, and I believe I had meant for the advertisement to be one of the glitches the sphere had created. Thanks for the grammatical criticism as well.

[jjwilbourne]

This story was excellent! I liked how well you described the world.
Maybe it's the novel reader in me, but there could be a bigger story here using the old man as somewhat of a framing device and a point of conflict. Let me know if you'd wanna brainstorm some ideas to get you started.
The story itself is really cool. It pushes imagination and relates to the human experience despite the SciFi setting.
Well done.

[A Watcher In Time]

Thank you very much, very insightful and kind.

[NoelHC]

An interesting idea, and the execution was good. I noticed a few small spelling errors, ment, instead of meant, that sort of thing. Well done overall.

[A Watcher In Time]

Thank you very much for the review. I appreciate your input.

[Jennie Baron]

Splendid story and well worth the prize. It kept me absorbed throughout and I liked the way it's organized and the pace at which you reveal information. It also started me thinking about the implications if something like what you describe were a reality. And if you start the reader thinking, that's one mark of a great short story.

I don't really proofread for grammar, spelling and the like, but I did notice "it's" instead of "its" a time or two. Another pointer, I think the format would benefit from some space and maybe a row of asterisks, etc., to separate the scenes.

[A Watcher In Time]

Thank you very much for the review.

[Mila]

Congratulations on winning 2nd place in the January Short Story contest! Unfortunately, I wasn't able to formally announce the winners, but it has been announced via message. This was a great story, thank you for submitting it!

-Mila

[A Watcher In Time]

Thank you very much, I appreciate it.