Just a little piece inspired by the recent news that the last surviving soldier from WW1 died recently. The Champions aren't mine. I just borrow them from time to time and I'll put them back when I've finished.
Mandi Sheridan May 2011
The old man sat down at the table on the pavement. He stirred his coffee and watched the young people walk by. All of them within their own personal worlds of itouch and iphones. Once people would have chatted to each other as they walked along a pavement, but now they were just silent, and the silence seemed so loud for a city, but the cars were gone now and that alone made it so much quieter.
There were still cars of course. But even they were quiet since they'd all gone electric. Electric cars! Who'd a thought it, he said to himself. Back in his day cars were big, noisy and them when the oil was beginning to run out - expensive.
Nowadays it was all solar energy and wind power. If they'd thought of that sooner, back when it was an option and not a necessity, maybe the oil wouldn't have run out so soon and there wouldn't have been so many world wars.
No, they'd have picked some other reason to kill each other, he reckoned.
It was a sunny May morning. Warmer than usual for early summer and there was a hint of rain in the air which he felt in his bones. Some days he was tired and he wondered what it would be like to die.
He looked up from his coffee and his thoughts and saw them walking towards him.
An elderly couple - his own age. The man had longish white hair and an unkempt white beard. His face was lined and creased with all of life's experiences but the eyes were still as sharp as they'd ever been.
The woman was small, slender and still achingly beautiful. Her hair was long and blonde - Burnished Blonde from her favourite hair saloon because she refused to go grey - and was tied back neatly with a flowered scarf. Her eyes smiled in fond awareness when she saw him.
Craig felt the familiar pang of regret. She had almost become his, but in the end Richard won her and married her and he had smiled at their happiness, content in the knowledge that she was still his best friend, if not his wife.
He stood up as they approached him. He kissed Sharron lightly on the cheek and shook Richards outstretched hand. They both carried small gift boxes and Sharron handed him an envelope.
"Open it," she said.
The card had a red sports car on the front, similar to one she had owned a long, long time ago, and inside she had written "Happy 165th Craig. Love Sharron and Richard."