Ok, so this is why I havent been updating. My English teacher isn't very creative, and had us do a continuation of John Steinbeck's "Of Mice and Men". Bold words were vocab words from the story that we had to include.
"Of Mice and Men" Continuation
The scene was familiar, but it was an uncomfortable familiarity; one nobody wanted to feel again. It hadn't been long since the last ceremony of this sort, definitely not long enough. The feeling was a dreaded one; people prayed for it to come rarely and to leave swiftly. But it hadn't. The last time hadn't even lumbered away before the next snuck in ominously and another was taken from them.
The funeral progressed slowly for George, just like the one two months ago. He was lost in his thoughts, completely unreceptive and silent. He did not join in the hymns during the service, he didn't say anything about the deceased during the eulogy, nor did he reply when anyone asked him questions.
He was at Candy's bedside when the old man passed away. He'd been there on request. Candy had asked for him to stay, he didn't want to be alone. The old swamper had gotten pneumonia, and he was too old to fight it off.
"It's for the better," Candy had told George when the doctor diagnosed him. "I don't got any family, George. I'm awful lonely. Now I ain't got to be lonely no more."
Now the man was dead. George didn't know what to think about that. His face contorted with pain, and sadness. Was he alone now? Alone seemed like a derogatory term to him now and maybe it always had, but it had never been so painful to think of before. Alone? How could he be alone? He'd never been alone is his life! Or had he? It was a disarming thought, taking him by surprise and then brutally bashing at his heart and leaving him cowering in fear, left only with wisps of his former self.
"George, are you alright?" a consoling voice called from the seat next to him.
George turned to face the speaker. It was Slim.
"I'm fine, Slim."
"I know that you and Candy were kind of close, I just want to know that you'll be okay. I mean, with losing Lennie and all…"
"I'm fine!" George yelled, and then, remembering that he was in church, lowered voice. "I'm fine. I'm alright without Lennie, and Candy was going to go eventually."
It sounded like he was trying to convince himself of this too. Slim picked up on it and silently debated on whether or not to let it go. He was skeptical, to say the least. He didn't want to leave George to his own mind, but he didn't want to hover monotonously.
"Look, if you need anything, I'm all ears."
"Thanks, I'll remember that."
Would he? George scuttled away, not wanting to stay any longer in fear that he might change his mind and let Slim in. It was better to remain aloof, away from everyone else. All they ever did was yammer on anyway; they never understood his sullen mood. He was different, at least he was now.
He bumped into someone in his haste to get away.
"Hey! Watch where yer' goin'! You ain't King of the road!" someone yelled at him.
It was obvious that it was Curley. Not even phased by his wife's death once the man who killed her was out of the way, Curley never failed to disgust George. His way of controlling the ranch imperiously made him hated. However, people still feared to defy him. For, as the boss' son, he had an immunity; and they didn't.
"Sorry, Curley," he whispered scornfully.
"Yeah, yeah. Save yer' sorry's for someone else," he responded in an annoyed tone, before shoving past George and towards the nearest bar.
"What's wrong with you, George?" Carlson called from the bunkhouse once George got inside.
"Don't ask what's wrong with me! I don't know!" He yelled angrily. "I don't know," he repeated and then lowered his gaze to the ground beneath his feet.
"Well, I think you need to get over yourself."
George couldn't stand it. What on earth did Carlson want? A teary confession on how Lennie and Candy were his only friends? And then a sob story about how he's all alone and afraid and how he just wants someone to understand him? Well maybe it was true, but he wasn't going to say it!
He didn't know why, but he lunged for Carlson's gun off a bedside table. He grasped it in his hand and raised it to his head.
The shot echoed off the walls and throughout the land surrounding the bunkhouse. Carlson shouted in surprise and scrambled outside to get help.
George was left alone on the floor, blood pouring out of the wound in his head. He stared at the opposite wall, unseeing, until they lifted him off the ground.