Wilbert was called a hermit by his neighbors, and they were right about that.
He sat in his favorite chair all day, it next to a small old fashioned heater that kept him warm.
The chair had been his for over fifty years, not exactly fifty but it was easier to remember it that way.
His wife and kids had left him so the only sound in the house besides his heavy breathing from smoking cigarettes all his life, was the sound of the clock hanging on the wall.
It’s ticking never irritated him because he was always somewhere else with his thoughts.
Thinking back on all the things that happened in his life, and the choices he made.
The things he missed, and the things he once loved.
Wilbert knows he has made more mistakes than he had done good things, so he spends his last days all alone.
He only gets up from his chair to make some tea or to eat something and when he goes to bed.
There is no TV in the house, and all the books he owns have already been read.
After it became dark outside and his clock ticked away enough hours, he went off to bed.
It was an early morning when he came back to his chair from getting some tea.
The house started to shake, and he heard loud noises outside and lightning striking things nearby.
His cup of tea fell to the ground and some green tea leaves got stuck to his pants.
The picture frames on the wall fell down.
Pretty much everything that could fall.
Fell.
But the clock remained on the wall and continued ticking.
The roof got pulled off his house.
His mind told his body to run to safety but his legs wouldn’t allow it.
The walls started to crumble and the wind raged through his house and picked up everything it could lift.
All the things he collected in his life time were twirling around the place where his house once stood.
He stood there in a torn apart house, next to a small wall that remained there, with a grandfather clock on it.
It struck nine times, normally when it did that he would read the news paper but today was clearly different.
He stood in the center of the tornado.
It had picked up so much sand and debris that it was hard to look through it.
He felt like sitting down but the storm had picked up his chair.
Wilbert looked at the storm that took all he had left and shed two tears, one from each eye.
Suddenly the storm revealed an opening, he squinted his eyes and looked into it.
He saw things he had already seen before, a long time ago.
The storm gave him to opportunity too look back on his life once more and see all the mistakes he had made.
And the fact he has never tried to fix them made him sad.
It was like a movie playing in between the sand and debris showing all the bad things he had done to his wife and children.
What Wilbert didn’t know was that the bank in the little town he lived in got robbed by some mobsters.
Just like Wiltbert’s belongings they got caught by the storm and eventually died, but their loot remained intact.
He heard loud noises again, which was the sound of things dropping back to the ground as the storm began to disappear.
Suddenly there was a loud bang mixed with the sound of his clock striking.
The clock did not really strike, but the heavy object that flew against it did make it sound that way.
Wilbert walked to the wreckage that was once his clock, he saw the heavy object was a bag.
He looked inside and found it was filled with money, the sun blinded him and he got up and looked around.
He understood what this meant, he could use the money to fix all of his bad decisions.
Get his wife back, and see his children again.
But Wilbert was out of luck and before the storm was completely gone it dropped a giant church bell ontop of Wilbert.
Killing him instantly.
In reality Wilbert never woke up that morning to get some tea and read the newspaper.
Wilbert died in his sleep the night before, and the storm was the last thing his brain could produce to simplify its dying.
He did get one of his wishes fulfilled, his wife and children came to see him one last time and give their forgiveness while they visited his funeral.
He sat in his favorite chair all day, it next to a small old fashioned heater that kept him warm.
The chair had been his for over fifty years, not exactly fifty but it was easier to remember it that way.
His wife and kids had left him so the only sound in the house besides his heavy breathing from smoking cigarettes all his life, was the sound of the clock hanging on the wall.
It’s ticking never irritated him because he was always somewhere else with his thoughts.
Thinking back on all the things that happened in his life, and the choices he made.
The things he missed, and the things he once loved.
Wilbert knows he has made more mistakes than he had done good things, so he spends his last days all alone.
He only gets up from his chair to make some tea or to eat something and when he goes to bed.
There is no TV in the house, and all the books he owns have already been read.
After it became dark outside and his clock ticked away enough hours, he went off to bed.
It was an early morning when he came back to his chair from getting some tea.
The house started to shake, and he heard loud noises outside and lightning striking things nearby.
His cup of tea fell to the ground and some green tea leaves got stuck to his pants.
The picture frames on the wall fell down.
Pretty much everything that could fall.
Fell.
But the clock remained on the wall and continued ticking.
The roof got pulled off his house.
His mind told his body to run to safety but his legs wouldn’t allow it.
The walls started to crumble and the wind raged through his house and picked up everything it could lift.
All the things he collected in his life time were twirling around the place where his house once stood.
He stood there in a torn apart house, next to a small wall that remained there, with a grandfather clock on it.
It struck nine times, normally when it did that he would read the news paper but today was clearly different.
He stood in the center of the tornado.
It had picked up so much sand and debris that it was hard to look through it.
He felt like sitting down but the storm had picked up his chair.
Wilbert looked at the storm that took all he had left and shed two tears, one from each eye.
Suddenly the storm revealed an opening, he squinted his eyes and looked into it.
He saw things he had already seen before, a long time ago.
The storm gave him to opportunity too look back on his life once more and see all the mistakes he had made.
And the fact he has never tried to fix them made him sad.
It was like a movie playing in between the sand and debris showing all the bad things he had done to his wife and children.
What Wilbert didn’t know was that the bank in the little town he lived in got robbed by some mobsters.
Just like Wiltbert’s belongings they got caught by the storm and eventually died, but their loot remained intact.
He heard loud noises again, which was the sound of things dropping back to the ground as the storm began to disappear.
Suddenly there was a loud bang mixed with the sound of his clock striking.
The clock did not really strike, but the heavy object that flew against it did make it sound that way.
Wilbert walked to the wreckage that was once his clock, he saw the heavy object was a bag.
He looked inside and found it was filled with money, the sun blinded him and he got up and looked around.
He understood what this meant, he could use the money to fix all of his bad decisions.
Get his wife back, and see his children again.
But Wilbert was out of luck and before the storm was completely gone it dropped a giant church bell ontop of Wilbert.
Killing him instantly.
In reality Wilbert never woke up that morning to get some tea and read the newspaper.
Wilbert died in his sleep the night before, and the storm was the last thing his brain could produce to simplify its dying.
He did get one of his wishes fulfilled, his wife and children came to see him one last time and give their forgiveness while they visited his funeral.
