Onyx and Gold [#UnNoticedStories]

Chapter 1 : An Old Man's Tale

California, 6th March 1943

The sound of army jets slicing through the air intrudes the morning tranquility of the hospice, irritating no one since they are already used to it. Well, almost no one.

The old man with thinning silver hair grits his teeth as he shuffles his way to his favourite armchair by the window. Everyone he met on his way there from his room gives him a wide berth, knowing how nasty he can be at times.

On the coffee table in front of his armchair, the photos from yesterday had been arranged into a neat stack, no doubt the work of the new nurse. Though she had also thoughtfully laid out the newspapers for him on the table, she had neglected to check the dates.

"Japanese convoy sinks in Bismarck- 2nd March."

"Victory for the Allies! - 2nd March."

"15th Academy Awards is to be held in Los Angeles - 4th March."

"Mrs. Miniver rumored to win -4th March."

His armchair creaks under his weight, the newspaper rustling as he throws them to the ground, his fingers ruffling his hair, frustration fills him. His wrinkled hand reaches for a cigarette from the carton on the coffee table, the click sound echoing in the slightly empty room. Not caring at all the berating he is going to get from Lieutenant Mary-Anne Jameson, simply referred to as 'the Lieutenant', since the place has a no smoking policy.

He doesn't care much for the namby-pamby of the acting industry. In fact, he doesn't care for a single thing at the moment.

People are at war, for goodness' sake yet they still have time to frolic around. If he could, he would have enlisted in the army, but at his age he would have had a hard time trying to stand to attention, let alone join the fight. Instead he is holed up in this run-down, military run hospice care and it is all thanks to the pity he got when he first arrived here.

SPLAT!

He squashes a cockroach as it scuttles along his creaky table, feeling his resentment mounting.

The new pretty brunette nurse walks up to him, carrying a tray laden with a bowl of porridge and a cup of coffee, the smell wafting through the air, making him salivating at the thought of the warm broth. Breakfast, his stomach growls appreciatively. The nurse clicks her tongue disapprovingly when her eyes fall to the scattered newspaper lying on the floor, the pictures of jetfighters staring up at her with huge grins on their faces.

"Mr. Dupré, I would really appreciate it if you would fold the newspaper neatly after you are done with it," she says sternly.

"And I would appreciate it if you people bring actual news to me and not this kind of crap," he blows the smoke from his cigarette, the stale smoke lacing the air with its poison. He ignores the fact that the nurse is standing over him with a look of disapproval on her sweet face.

A scowl emerges on her delicate features when the old man ignores her staring pointedly at him. Putting the tray on the coffee table, she bends down and picks the newspaper up, shuffling it back into the correct order before folding it and putting it neatly on the coffee table, next to the stack of photographs.

The photo at the top of the stack caught the nurse's eye. She picks it up, not even bothering to ask the snarky old man in his musty bathrobes.

It is a black-and-white picture of a family; the father, dressed in the regalia of a king sat on one end and the mother at the other. There were three children in the picture, two boys and one girl. The older boy stood next to the mother, while the girl sat between the parents. The youngest stood behind the sister, next to their father. An inscription is written neatly at the bottom of the picture: Summer in Agrevannia, 1880.

"Agrevannia? I've never heard of the name," she murmurs, running a finger over the immaculate handwriting.

The old man chuckles.

The nurse looks at the old man, a small almost wistful kind of smile on his puckered lips, the nearly finished cigarette hanging in between his yellowing teeth. What's left of his teeth, anyway.

"I wouldn't be surprised," he muses, taking another deep puff from the horrid thing. She coughs openly when he blows the smoke out straight in her direction. He merely grins toothily at her, unapologetic at all.

"What is Agrevannia?" she asks after the smoke left her lungs, looking at him with curiosity in her big brown eyes.

There's the chuckle again! The old man clears his throat and the stub of the cigarette snuffs out as he crushes it out in the ashtray, his eyes glassy as he stares into the empty space.

A deep sigh escapes from the thin, cracked lips as the old man shifts his gaze out of the window. "It has been so long since someone asked me that," he says, his voice melancholic. "And it has been so long since I've talked about it."

"Well, then. I'm all ears."

"It's going to be a very long story."

"I have time. The Lieutenant thinks there's not going to be many visitors today. They're all too busy celebrating the Japs sinking. I'd say we have plenty of time," she shrugs, settling into a much comfortable sitting. "Now, tell me."

"Don't say I didn't warn you," the old man grins, as his shaky yet nimble fingers light yet another cigarette.

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