An English Gentleman
By JauntyChick/J-Dogg(Online Name!!!)
A/N: Hi! I don't know where this came from, but it's based on the single from James Dean Bradfield's fantastic album – "The Great Western". If you are English, Welsh or Scottish, or even Irish…you may have heard of him. He's great. Anyway, Enjoy:
"Walking down the street again, with the sleeping bags under arms, and it feels like we're never going home."
Before all this happened, he had a great life.
Great clothes, loving wife, three great children, dogs, horses, cats. Even a rabbit. He used to go to high tea, eat out every Sunday and polo on Thursday. A true English Gentleman.
It was Saturday 16th November, 2002. Three days before this he had won a contest. A trip to New Jersey for one week, in a bed and breakfast. When he arrived it started to rain, thunder and hail. All at once. He had told his wife he was going out for some smokes.
As he kissed her goodbye, a strobe of lightning hit outside. She told him to stay till the weather died down a bit. He declined, saying he hadn't smoked anything since yesterday. She sighed and let him go.
He was always careful when crossing the road, stopped, looked and listened. Even this time. His last.
As he stood at the crossing, waiting for the light to turn red, he pulled out his packet of cigarettes and lit up.
Not a car in sight. Then, slowly but surely, the light turned red. He looked both ways, listened and started walking.
"I'm sorry, missus Jones, there's nothing we can do." The doctor told her.
She sobbed uncontrollably while she watched the man she loved slip into the abyss.
Now as his wife packs up to go back to England, he lies in that bed, staring, useless, dying. He gets the odd visit from a guy with a cane, TiVo and a serious anger problem…but that's it.
No more English Gentleman. Just Coma Guy.
A/N: Please R&R and No flames thanks.