Mr. Erickson
    Another day was beginning, much like every other day. Outside the trees were swaying ever so slightly in the breeze; the birds were singing their songs in a jovial manner. People were enjoying the clean refreshing air as they traveled and moved about, concerned with only what needed to be done for that day. It was summer time. The sun was beginning its ascent high into the sky, sending its warm light in through the windows. In each corner of the room there stood an exotic looking plant for someone to enjoy. Each plant was about the height of a man and retained a vibrant green that was full of life. The lighting was set to a calming dim and illuminated each of the off-white colored walls, making them appear brighter than they actually were. Works of art were carefully hung every few feet in the hallway and showed scenes of tranquil landscapes and sailboats treading through choppy waters. Mr. Erickson and his friend sat on the couch in front of the television as another rerun aired. The coffee was usually gritty and bland; today’s brew was no different. The morning newspaper would be arriving soon. 
“What would you like to do today?” his friend asked.
“I hadn’t really thought about it,” replied Mr. Erickson, placing his coffee onto the end table next to the remote control.
“Maybe you should write a letter to your nephew.”
“Which one?” 
“The one overseas, serving in the military.”
“I don’t have any stamps to send a letter even if I wanted to,” responded Mr. Erickson.
A woman walked by, apparently in a hurry to make an appointment she was obviously late for. Her pen fell from the black notebook she had been carrying. She bent down to reclaim it and smiled as she continued on her way out the door.
“She was cute,” mentioned the friend.
“She’s very nice too; I’ve spoken with her on several occasions. She’s a very busy woman.”
“I don’t believe her and I have ever met.”
“You wouldn’t have talked to her before,” said Mr. Erickson as he reached for his coffee, “you’re not usually here when she’s around.” 
A brief moment of silence passed between the two occupants sitting on the couch.
“Is there anything else worth watching on T.V.?” inquired the friend.
Mr. Erickson shook his head, “No, not usually.” 
“Change the channel, maybe we’re in for a surprise.”
“I really don’t feel like watching television today.” 
“Mr. Adams,” a soft, yet practiced voice called out from another room down the hallway.
“Would you like to play a game of chess?”
“I don’t think so; the game is always so uninteresting when we play.”
“C’mon, don’t say that, it’ll be fun,” persuaded his friend.
Mr. Erickson took another sip of his coffee and said, “Alright then, you set up the board.” 
“Well, it was my idea, so that means it’s your responsibility to set everything up,” the friend chuckled.
“Fine then, if you won’t set up the board, we won’t play.”
“Mr. Bellows,” the same voice requested from down the lengthy hallway.
“What’s the matter? Are you feeling alright today?” his friend wondered.
“Do you even care?” 
“Of course I do! Why don’t you talk about it and tell me what’s on your mind.”
“I’m fine, I just feel like being alone today, I feel like being left alone everyday,” sulked Mr. Erickson.
“That can’t be healthy for you.”
“You’d think it was a bad idea, but I just don’t see it that way.”
“Mrs. Castor,” the voice named out loud from a distance. 
“I just wish I could be somewhere else,” Mr. Erickson proceeded, “I miss playing rugby with my friends, biking along dirt trails in the mountains, and doing all the things that used to make me happy.”
“Nothing has stopped you from doing those things but yourself; you’re still young enough to do whatever it is that you’d like to do. You just need to get out there and do it,” his friend asserted.
Mr. Erickson stared at the television, hinting further that he preferred to be alone. He finished the over-brewed coffee, set down the cup, and sat in silence. He continued to wait and hoped that he would be able to sit alone quietly for once without having to explain himself any further.
“I’m sorry if I seem pushy. I guess I just don’t understand,” his friend said.
“It’s alright. I know it isn’t your fault. You’re just trying to help I guess,” Mr. Erickson told him, “I just wish there were more to this life is all.”
“I think everyone feels that way sometimes.”
“Mr. Devonshire,” another inquiry was made from down the hallway.
His friend persisted by asking, “Is there anything I can do that will help?” 
“I’d just like to be left alone, that’s all.”
“Mr. Erickson,” said the voice from the hallway.
“Honestly, it’s not a problem. I can leave if that’s what you really want me to do.”
“Mr. Erickson,” the voice grew louder.
“I’d really prefer it that way if you don’t mind.”
“Mr. Erickson,” the voice stated with concern.
A woman swiftly came out from the hallway. She had the morning newspaper under her right arm and a small paper cup in her left hand. She tilted her head to the side and giggled, saying, “Mr. Erickson, there you are. I should have known you’d be here all by yourself as usual.”
She handed the newspaper over to him.
“It’s time to take your pills.”

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Short Story
writing albertfiger
Muffins are just ugly cupcakes!!!
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Rating: 10.0/10

This was my first attempt at writing a short story. Mr. Erickson speaks to his friend, on what seems to be just another ordinary day for the man.