Drab

I haven't used this site in over a year, I've been writing actual books, and managed to get one published... so I'm just going to wing a story and see what I can do with freestyle right now, why not?

Many would call the life of Richard Steinman quite drab.  Everyday would be the same for him.  He’d eat the same food, drink the same tea, listen to the same records, sit in the same chair, and look at the same sky.  He is the embodiment of a hermit.  His wife passed away in the late 1980s, which is what seemed to drive him into this spiral.  

Richard is 78, when his wife died of cancer nearly forty years ago, his friend made him a suggestion.  He said that Richard should move out of his house and into a smaller one in New York.  He thought that this would be a good idea, to get a change of scenery, something unfamiliar to Richard these days. This friend, and all of Richard’s other friends have since died.  This hasn’t had such a great effect on him.  

His house is even bare.  No pictures put up on the wall, no color.  The only furniture he has is his desk, chair, bed, bookshelf, and a table. His bookshelf is relatively filled with books, books about the Vietnam War. Every night he wakes up, steps into the hallway of the apartment building, and seems to act stealthy. He walks down the hall five rooms to the right, comes back, then goes five rooms to the left. After this, he proceeds to return to his room, like nothing happened. That occurs every night.

Upon looking at the security tapes, the apartment building's staff has decided to get a psychologist to check him out. Dr. Bellum, the psychologist that they had chosen came in one rainy Monday morning. He knocked on the door. He waited. He knocked again. He waited some more. He knocked a third time, this time sternly. The door creaked open, Bellum was struck down by Richard with a mug. Bellum calmed him down after nearly thirty minutes of hysterical crying.

"They were after me, shooting from the trees, I thought you were one of them! I'm sorry," Richard pleaded.

Bellum spent nearly five hours that day talking to Richard. It seemed if he hasn't talked to anyone in years. He mentioned one comment that sent a shiver down my spine.

"Did you hear that Barack Obama was elected for a second term? That shocked me," Richard began to speak.

"That was four years ago Richard," Bellum chuckled.

"Has it been that long already? I seem to have lost track of time," Richard proclaimed.

Bellum left later that day, Richard became sad that he had to go. He told Richard that he'd be back in a few days. Richard accepted that, and so the next meeting came. This brought a shock to Bellum. He knocked on the door. Richard opened it within seconds.

"Ah! I've been expecting you," Richard said as he pointed to the table decorated in plates of cookies, tea, coffee, and scones.

"Wow, Richard! This is a lot," Bellum pronounced.

Richard excitedly sat down and lead Bellum to the table. Within minutes of talking, Richard looked out the window and gave a horrifying shift in emotion. He told Bellum to hide in his bedroom, under the window so 'they' couldn't see us. It was at this moment that Bellum noticed that something was extremely wrong, considering no one was outside, at that window, there was the woods.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Author's Note

This is a freestyle, I think I might make it into a longer format, but this is what I have for now. If you couldn't tell, this is a man experiencing PTSD from the Vietnam War. If you have any suggestions for how you think I could portray the mental illness more realistically, please tell me!