Day 30 #SeptWritingChallenge

I did it! One new story every day for 30 days. I’ve created a habit that I hope to continue. Enjoy my 30th and final entry for the #SeptWritingChallenge

He had always planned to start tomorrow. It wasn’t that it was easier to procrastinate, he lived a life like everyone else the small things stressed him out like the sheep. He referred to everybody as sheep accept for Eric. His neighbor Eric mowed his lawn and plowed the driveway without asking. He probably thought the old man was handicapped or too feeble to work. He allowed Eric to continue because it reinforced his old man image for the community. The sheep saw him as harmless, the white haired gentlemen that used a shiny black cane and lived on the corner of fourth and Jackson.

He hobbled down the hallway favoring his left leg. He ran both hands along the walls and shelves brushing small trails in the dust. He pushed the door to his study open and smiled. The operating table and its occupant sat waiting for him to quit procrastinating. He had always been interested in death. But not in the morbid way he was more interested in what happened after death, or as he liked to remind himself what could happen.

The man strapped to the table was stone cold dead, had been for almost a month. The old man hadn’t killed him he wasn’t a murder after all. He had preserved the corpse perfectly using the runic stones of his ancestors. The still sat in their places on the floor forming the complex diagram that warded of rot, bloat and the other nastiness of death. The tome his grandfather gave him sat sprawled open  on the broad oak desk he thumbed through the pages and thought about beginning the ritual again. Like always he decided tomorrow would be better. He stretched his battle scarred arms over his head cracking his back and sighing a raspy sigh of relief. He walked over to the wet bar and poured himself a drink. It wasn’t his first of the day.

He slept soundly like he always did. With little to worry about he could sleep like a baby. Life was easier without careers and families he often felt regret at being so isolated but quickly buried it in his success. He was known in certain circles as a hero and in others as a villain. What was the point of living a life if people didn’t know about you. He was happy to have left a mark on civilization. The battles he fought went unnoticed but they were beyond important.

There was a tap at the window of the master bedroom followed by a few more. Tap, Tap, Tap.
He shot up adrenaline pumping an assassination no doubt. A rival necromacner after his families secrets. He drew the long silver sword from its shiny black cane scabbard and approached the window posed to strike. His would be assassin smiled back and pointed to the front door. It was Eric, he ran off towards the front door before the old man could shoo him away. Maybe it was time he began a second project?

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