Originally posted by apple*:
my last short story:

He lived in on the northwestern side of the metro where the houses are pink, crumbled, surrounded by wild dogs, or have Chief's logos painted full size on the side of the house that has NO windows. Tattoo parlors abut homemade churches of questionable denomination and the roads have no curbs or drainage conduits.William was a bagpiper. After the funeral, which was well attended by sturdy legged firemen whose pants were all too tight, who sported handlebar mustaches and shaved heads and probably had Harley-Davidson want-to-bees in their detached sheds, 25 firefighters gathered in the vestibule with 8 fully dressed bagpipers. A fireman said "We will sound the final alarm for our brother William" They had brought at least 8 big brass bells (the kind that used to ring in firehouses to call the firefighters and dangle above the front of the trucks). The 8 bells started clanging in a reverberating church of stucco and tile, the bagpipers started playing, and the huge old church bell started peeling. For at least 3 minutes this unbelievably loud cacophony sounded. The congregation was clusted at the back of the church by the firemen and bagpipers. After about a minute of this wonderful noise, everyone broke into the most unfettered sobbing I have ever witnessed. Not a person was spared from the sobs of utter sorrow. When the clamor died, one of the firefighters, I guess to lighten the mood, said "Dang it - Bill owed me ten bucks". The very elderly mother of William opened her purse and gave the firefighter a ten dollar bill which he stuck in his pocket to the dismay of all the other firefighters.

Life is very short. [/b]