Hi…
I have no excuse. Except for being in Ireland for a week. Which does not account for the period of delay between updates…sorry. And thank you to those who reviewed and told me that the Euro hadn't been introduced yet hehe…
Disclaimer : I do not own.
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…(…..)
….o…o..
"Run, boy! Run!"
"I'm running! How about you join me?!"
"Nah, this is more fun!"
"Fun for you!"
"Of course!"
"SO NOT FUN, WREN!"
"Run faster, then! Not my fault you're a slow little git!"
"You're shooting me in the feet! I'm going as fast as I can!"
"Chicken! A one legged man could run faster than you!"
"Why don't we test that! I'll take the gun, you take the run!"
"No can do, Sonny!"
"AGH!"
"Run faster!"
"Shut UP!"
"NEVER! HAHAHA!"
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"I hate you, you know that right?"
"Uhuh. Remember, you volunteered."
"I regretted it the moment I did it."
"You had fun, admit it."
"…"
"Come on, Jay, make an old mans day!"
"Fine…I had fun. Thanks, Wren."
*Woof*
"Sorry, Sarge, the Paintball range doesn't let mutt's in."
Wren and Harry sat in his back yard drinking lemonade and eating cookies. They had just gotten back from the paintball range, and Wren was trying to ease his leg into a more comfortable position. He eyed Harry before clearing his throat awkwardly.
"Jay, you wouldn't mind if I took this damn leg off, would you?"
"Sure, I guess."
"Ah, that's much better."
Harry stared, unable to help himself. He was fighting an internal battle against his curiosity, and his innate British politeness.
"Spit it out, lad."
"Wah?"
"What ever question you got that's making you look constipated."
After spluttering for a moment or two, Harry cleared his throat an swallowed heavily.
"How, how did you lose your leg?"
"Hmm… Years ago, when World War II began, I was a Captain in army, and fluent in German. I caught the attention of the lads over at MI6." Here, Wren gave a small self-deprecating smile.
"They needed a guy behind enemy lines, you see. So I was trained, and sent off to Germany with a whole new background and mission. I infiltrated the ranks and was soon able to get sensitive information. Towards the end of the war, though, I got myself caught. It was a damn stupid thing that I was caught over. I was singing to myself in perfect English, no hint of a German accent at all. Long story short, I was tortured, and by the time I was found, my leg was rotting due to gangrene. Pleasant story, isn't it?" asked Wren, with a rueful smile.
"Verily…"
Harry was caught up in the story, imagining Wren as a young man, imagining him being sent off alone, imagining him being tortured…it was incredible what Wren had gone through.
"Jay, be a good lad, and go get the Sarge over there a treat?"
"Sure, Wren."
Sergeant nudged Wren's hand, a pitiful look on his face.
"Oh, alright, you blasted dog." Wren smiled slightly, emphasizing the crags and crevices in his face from years of laughter and mischief, and started petting the dog's head.
"Wren! Where do you keep the doggy biscuits?" yelled Harry from inside.
"In the tin next to the stove!"
"Okay!"
"Here you go, Sarge!" the dog sprang up, practically bounding over to Harry.
"Oi! You like him better than me, is that it?" snarked Wren.
"We'll just ignore the cranky old man, won't we, Sarge?
"Oi!"
"I think I heard a particularly loud fly buzzing around…hmm…"
"Brat…"
"There it is again!"
"Hmph."
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"Mr. Crown?"
"Aye, coming."
"How are you feeling?" asked Nurse Day.
"Old."
"We just got your results back today. If you'll give me a moment, I'll have Dr. Moore come and explain everything to you."
"Hmph."
"Alright then, I'll be right back."
Like he was going to believe that. No doctor or nurse ever came right back. No Sirree, they let you wait in those horrid hospital gowns, just waiting for the door to open and relieve you from your boredom.
*Half an Hour Later*
"Hi, Larry! Can I call you Larry?"
Wren stared at the man before him. He was tall, with blonde hair and blue eyes, and American.
"No. My. Name. Is. Wren. Who. The. Fuck. Came. Up. With. Larry?!"
"The world, Wren. The world did."
"Uhuh. So what's wrong with me, Doc?"
"Besides your sunny personality?" Dr. Moore smiled to show he didn't mean anything serious. The smile left quickly though, leaving behind a serious expression that caused dread to build up in Wren.
"Wren, I'm sorry to tell you…"
It was like white noise. He heard it, but he couldn't compute it. He shook the Doctor's hand, took the treatment pamphlets, and got dressed. He shakily stood up, leaning heavily on his cane. It felt like the world was on fast forward and he was being left behind.
When he got home, he made a cup of tea.
Sarge whined and put his head on Wren's lap, trying to get his attention. But Wren couldn't shake out of it, not even when he started coughing in such a way that he felt like his lungs were going to make an appearance.
Sarge whimpered and took off, somehow opening the door, and raced off to find help. Harry help.
"Wren?"
"Wren, please answer me? What's wrong? What –"
Harry stopped mid sentence, eyes wide as he stared at the pamphlets in front of Wren.
"Cancer?"
His voice cracked on the word.
"Seems like it. Malignant Melanoma, is what it's called. Skin Cancer."
"Bloody Hell."
"Yeah."
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SO…I hope you liked it.
No one got the riddle last time. The answer was that there was poison in the ice cubes. One lady drank her drink before the ice melted, and the other didn't.
Here's another one:
A woman is found in the middle of the desert with no clothes. She's dead. Her clothes were found fifty miles away. She was found holding a piece of straw in her hand. How did she get there, and why?
~Quinn.