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<blockquote data-quote="Torm" data-source="post: 1985987" data-attributes="member: 12706">I was going through some older stuff on my hard drive tonight, and came across this little very short story that I wrote about 6 years ago. Didn't seem to belong in Story Hour, since it isn't going to be an ongoing thing, but I felt the need to share:OLD LONERby Torm&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; He sat at a back corner table of the bar, in the same seat he had used for the last ten years. He called for another vodka &amp; orange juice, and the waitress brought it. She set it down gently in front of him, turning the straw in the glass so he wouldn't have to move too much to drink it. He liked the waitress. She was young and attractive, and she still smiled at him the way all the girls used&nbsp; to smile at him, back when he was a young man who had a new girl every week. He knew that she smiled to get the tip he would give her, but it was still a kindness, because she knew he'd tip her anyway.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; He downed his drink in a quick gulp. It burned going down, but it didn't burn as badly as the memory of the day they had told him that the Foundation had been sold, that he wouldn't be needed anymore. He took that to heart, and that's all he did now. He sat in this bar, being unneeded. He called for another drink.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; Of course, he hadn't crashed this far immediately after his termination. He had driven the local track circuit for a while, and had even tried a singing career, but both failed horribly. It wasn't that he couldn't have made it, it was just that he didn't care anymore. So here he was.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &quot;I'm sorry, but the owner says that if we give you anymore tonight, we could get in trouble,&quot; said the waitress, who had just returned to the table. &quot;Look,&quot; she said in a quieter voice, &quot;my shift just ended and you don't look like you're in any condition to drive. Do you need a ride?&quot;&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; He looked into her eyes and saw the sympathy. He knew that if he went with her, she'd probably take him back to her place. As much as he wanted to do that, he didn't want to take the chance that he would somehow ruin her life, too. He might not be shiny, he thought laughingly, but he could still at least be a tarnished knight.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &quot;No thanks,&quot; he answered. &quot;Just help me to my car, and I'll use the carphone to call a friend.&quot;&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; He saw his owner approaching, and he shut down the Pac-Man game he'd been playing. Dear God, it just kept getting worse. Tonight, the owner was actually having to be helped out to the car by a waitress. &quot;Drunken bastard,&quot; he cursed to himself. He opened the driver's side door just in time for the waitress to help the owner in. &quot;Where to, Michael?&quot; he asked. He hoped it would be straight home and that Michael wasn't in the mood to go pick up a hooker.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; But apparently Michael wasn't in a mood to do anything. He had passed out as soon as he had hit the crushed velvet seat. &quot;Just as well,&quot; the car thought. &quot;He can sleep here. He'd just come back tomorrow anyway.&quot;&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &quot;No, to Hell with this. I've had enough.&quot; The head lights came on, the dash lit up, and the car went into gear.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; When the car got up to ninety, a light lit up. It read, &quot;Left ejector seat&quot;, and then Michael was gone. &quot;What next?&quot; thought the car. Well, he could try to get one of the many jobs he'd been offered during his glory days. Or maybe his predecessor had had it right, and he should see how many of the humans he could take out before they could stop him. He didn't know, and right now he didn't care. He was free.</blockquote>

[QUOTE="Torm, post: 1985987, member: 12706"] I was going through some older stuff on my hard drive tonight, and came across this little [I]very[/I] short story that I wrote about 6 years ago. Didn't seem to belong in Story Hour, since it isn't going to be an ongoing thing, but I felt the need to share: OLD LONER by Torm He sat at a back corner table of the bar, in the same seat he had used for the last ten years. He called for another vodka & orange juice, and the waitress brought it. She set it down gently in front of him, turning the straw in the glass so he wouldn't have to move too much to drink it. He liked the waitress. She was young and attractive, and she still smiled at him the way all the girls used to smile at him, back when he was a young man who had a new girl every week. He knew that she smiled to get the tip he would give her, but it was still a kindness, because she knew he'd tip her anyway. He downed his drink in a quick gulp. It burned going down, but it didn't burn as badly as the memory of the day they had told him that the Foundation had been sold, that he wouldn't be needed anymore. He took that to heart, and that's all he did now. He sat in this bar, being unneeded. He called for another drink. Of course, he hadn't crashed this far immediately after his termination. He had driven the local track circuit for a while, and had even tried a singing career, but both failed horribly. It wasn't that he couldn't have made it, it was just that he didn't care anymore. So here he was. "I'm sorry, but the owner says that if we give you anymore tonight, we could get in trouble," said the waitress, who had just returned to the table. "Look," she said in a quieter voice, "my shift just ended and you don't look like you're in any condition to drive. Do you need a ride?" He looked into her eyes and saw the sympathy. He knew that if he went with her, she'd probably take him back to her place. As much as he wanted to do that, he didn't want to take the chance that he would somehow ruin her life, too. He might not be shiny, he thought laughingly, but he could still at least be a tarnished knight. "No thanks," he answered. "Just help me to my car, and I'll use the carphone to call a friend." He saw his owner approaching, and he shut down the Pac-Man game he'd been playing. Dear God, it just kept getting worse. Tonight, the owner was actually having to be helped out to the car by a waitress. "Drunken bastard," he cursed to himself. He opened the driver's side door just in time for the waitress to help the owner in. "Where to, Michael?" he asked. He hoped it would be straight home and that Michael wasn't in the mood to go pick up a hooker. But apparently Michael wasn't in a mood to do anything. He had passed out as soon as he had hit the crushed velvet seat. "Just as well," the car thought. "He can sleep here. He'd just come back tomorrow anyway." "No, to Hell with this. I've had enough." The head lights came on, the dash lit up, and the car went into gear. When the car got up to ninety, a light lit up. It read, "Left ejector seat", and then Michael was gone. "What next?" thought the car. Well, he could try to get one of the many jobs he'd been offered during his glory days. Or maybe his predecessor had had it right, and he should see how many of the humans he could take out before they could stop him. He didn't know, and right now he didn't care. He was free. [/QUOTE]

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