In memory of my own dearly departed grandfather.
"Grandpa! Lady here! Lady here!"
The liveliest thing in the luxurious room was by no means the slumped figure on the bed, but the bright green parrot perched on the old man's shoulder. It greeted me cheerfully every day. I called it Moss.
He looked like any other old man. Liver spots, a long white beard, bald, overweight, and heavily wrinkled. Utterly unremarkable. Yet, my superiors called this man the "Father of Sniping", "One With Nature", and "The End". The End, huh? For who?
Whatever. To me, he was Sleepy Old Guy. SOG.
At first, the mysterious old man that I was charged to care for was an annoyance, a duty. But soon, it became part of my daily schedule, and I took the time to unload my grievances of the day, talking to SOG, the parrot, anyone who was alive to listen.
People around here don't seem to enjoy talking unless they're in the middle of a gunfight. I'd always been a chatterer.
But SOG was always sleeping. He never seemed to eat, or need to be changed like many elderly people. He was an easy charge. I got attached to him, I suppose. In fact, my only task was to check on him every day to see if he still breathed and feed Moss. He always was, but only just.
Which is why I almost fainted when I walked in his room that day, to find him awake and looking through an aged, dust-covered chest. He was clad in a green outfit that looked like actual moss, and probably was real judging by the fresh plant smell in the room, cutting through the dusty scent of aged flesh that I'd grown accustomed to.
"Lady, lady!" Moss screamed, fluttering over to me to rest on my shoulder. I flinched at the unexpected brush of feathers and I froze when I head the sharp snap of a sniper rifle.
SOG turned around, a large rifle in hand. I swallowed thickly as his tired, but excited old eyes met mine. I stood there, unmoving, too scared to move. I blinked as a faint smile appeared on the old man's wrinkled face.
"Ah…" His voice was gravelly and it sounded as if he hadn't talked in years, an odd, slow pace. "You…must be…the young lady…assigned to me."
Heart in my throat, I nodded, taken aback by the warmth in his words. Moss fluttered back to him, perching calmly on the barrel of the rifle he still held.
"I must…thank you, then…"
"I blinked, bewildered.
"For…the bird. I go now…to my final…opponent. Take care…of him."
"W-What?" I blurted out without thinking. "Why?"
"When…I die…of course."
And with that, he was gone. A week or so later, I found Moss perched outside my window. I thought I was dreaming when I saw that bright red beak tapping sharply on the glass. I rushed to the window, staring disbelievingly at the bird before yanking the window open so hard I nearly slammed my fingers.
"Moss?" I asked it. I don't know what I was thinking; of course it was Moss. But if Moss was here, where...? An oddly quiet squawk.
"Grandpa..."
Oh...
The parrot's feathers seemed…wilted, somehow. Less bright. I guess I felt that way too when it finally sunk in.
I'd never imagined how much I'd miss him when he was gone.
The End, indeed.
I miss you so much, Grandpa...
