Old Man Pete

The rumours about Old' Pete, the occupant of 28 Springwood avenue
seemed as ancient as life itself. For as long as the old man could
remember, youngsters in gangs had shouted insults at him, knocked his
door and ran away, poured glue into the letter box and pelted windows
with stones. Once, Gavin Jones a local yob had set fire to an old
mattress that had been dumped in the driveway. Nearly all the kids and
parents in the neighbouring streets had gathered to watch. Not with
concern for old Pete, but with a morbid fascination as the firemen
struggled to put out the blaze.
It wasn't just the kids either. Grown ups had done their fare share of
name calling and once, David Night, a pit-bull faced builder from two
doors down had punched Pete in the face when he had caught him peering
over the back fence. Apparently, according to David's renditions down
the Queens' Head that night, Old "Perve" Pete (another favourite
nickname) had been watching his daughter playing with her dolls on the
patio. Various hand movements and a jab into the air left his listeners
with no doubt that Old Pete had recieved a justly deserved beating at
the hands of David Knight.

In a filthy black over coat, walking stick in right hand and wearing a
dreadful scowl, Old man Pete stood on his front step and watched the
droves of school children and parents rush past his house.

He stayed like that for awhile, watching other people's worlds go by.
As the whooping and hollering from the children and teenagers faded
into the distance, he inspected the damage of his front door. Last
nights onslaught had been no more different than any other he reasoned
sadly. Small craters had formed where the stones had connected with the
wood, but nothing too serious. He coughed; sending droplets of tobacco
stained spittle onto his dirty boots then turned slowly and went back
into his house.

As he rolled himself another cigarette, gnarled fingers working slowly,
he reflected (as he always did) of the day when this town would finally
forgive what he had done and let him in peace. Deep down however, in
the phlegm-ridden cavity of his chest, he knew the answer.
They would never FORGET, never mind forgive what he had done all those
years ago. He was an old man now. Too old to move away from the taunts
and smashed windows and yes, even the occasional black eye he had
suffered.
He had paid in full for what he had done (God only knows the punishment
that had been metered out to him from some of the other prisoners while
he had been incarcarated). He subconsciously rubbed at the deep, ugly
scar that ran down the side of his cheek. His twisted fingertips
rasping against the four day stubble on his skin.
Bending over the melting candle, he lit his roll up. A deep grumble
emerged from the pit of his stomach then burst fourth through his
rotten teeth into a loud, strangled cough. These bouts usually lasted a
good three minutes, and today was no exception.
After it had past, he pulled again on his hand made cigarette. As he
blew grey smoke into the air, his mind drifted back to that awful day.
That day that he had wanted for so many years to erase from his memory,
but knew deep inside that he never could.

A child like vision scorched his eyes, he imagined he could smell the
sweet fragrance of strawberry candy.....

This town had every right to treat him the way they did, he was lucky
to still be alive. Although, every morning he woke up and lived another
day in his sad, miserable life, he wished that someone HAD killed him.
He would be better off out of it all. Looking round his dank, stinking
living room, Old Man Pete yearned for the monster that was eating away
at his insides, to finally finish off the job it had started.
The town wanted him gone, would probably throw a street party after he
at last passed away, and he too wanted to be gone. He wanted the cancer
to hurry up and release him from the hell he lived in daily.
He was monster he knew, he had no argument with that. When his time
finally came and he would stand before God to answer for his life sins,
he knew he would be branded a monster for all eternity and banished to
the depths of hell. Paying for his crime in death as well as
life.
The nightmare myths and rumours would remain in this town long after he
had gone, and everyone would remember the name Old Man Pete...