Neighbor
Hi, this fic is sort of a sad one and of a different view, I just hope that you are understanding of my terrible writing and can see through it to the meaning of the story.
Hi, I'm just you're average guy, living in an apartment; except that it's right next to the guy with all the problems in the world. He was the worst neighbor in the history of neighbors. He would play the piano at the ridiculous hours of the night. It wasn't bad playing but imagine waking up at 2 am on a Monday morning to Bach or whatever. He would play and sometimes I thought I heard crying too, but that was probably my imagination because a man like him would have no one to leave him in the first place. And then there was the drunken rantings and ravings that he would have. I would have to listen to them and I thought, If he's in that much pain, he deserves it. I confronted him about it but it was as productive as trying to lift a brick with your mind.
"Could you just stop playing at the stupid hours of the night! Er, morning! And you coming home drunk off your ass or getting drunk off you ass and you yelling and breaking things is not fun for me either!"
"Look, I don't complain about you're stupidity, so don't complain about things you don't get!"
He then promptly hit me in the shins hard with that cane of his and left me gasping in pain. He heard me and tuned and said,
"Oh, shut it. You don't even to begin to know the meaning of pain."
That guy has some serious issues. But don't we all? I also had to live through the times a man named Willy or Wilson or something coming and yelling his (and my) ear off. And then there were the times he wouldn't come to his apartment at all. I guessed he was doctor or something because he was never on a set schedule. He would leave either very early, or very late in the day, whichever his schedule had planned, or not. One day He went into his apartment and didn't come out for a day. Wilson (I learned his name was) pounded on his door for 5 minutes and then broke down the door (well, that's what it sounded like). I went to see what all the commotion was about. I was about to make my presence known but I heard Wilson calling his name over and over again. He had lifted the man so his head rested on his lap and was checking franticly for signs of life. After a few minutes there were none (to his reaction I could tell) and he started to sob uncontrollably. That man, (House, he had called him) Had a syringe sticking out of arm and peaceful look on his face. He still didn't acknowledge my presence and he pulled out his cell phone. He called a few people obviously giving the 'bad' news. A week later I went to the cemetery to his funeral. There wasn't very many people there (surprise, surprise!) but a woman, (about House's age) a black guy, some handsome guy, Wilson and a pretty girl, all pretty young, and doctors. I just stood in the back, unsure what to do. After a while more people came, and more! They just stood and mourned; some even made speeches about what a great doctor he was, despite being a jackass. When I went back home I went to sleep for the first time without the annoying racket he would make. But after a few weeks I missed waking up to his piano, to hear him be angry at the world. I guess I miss him because he let me know that someone was worse off than me. I don't know, but sometimes I swear to have heard music coming from his apartment again. But that's not possible, is it?