If Looks Could Kill (Sideshow Bob Fanfiction)

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter 17

Bob closed his apartment door behind him.

"Finally, I'm home," Bob sighed, flopping down on his bed. He glanced at his bedside draw.

"Maybe. Maybe it'd be a good idea," he sighed. Opening the draw, Bob winced as the memories of the day. He pulled out the anti-depressants and turned it around to see the dosage.

"It says take two, but today has been veritably depressing day," Bob said, opening the cap of the bottle, "What harm could three do?" He went into the bathroom, the jar in his hand, and poured himself a glass of water. He set the bottle of medication on the counter top and took three pills from the bottle. Gulping them down with water, Bob pondered if this really was such a good idea.

"Ah well, too late now," he chuckled.

Bob returned to his bedroom and put the bottle back in the draw. As he shut the draw, the notebook of old poems caught his attention. He took the book from the draw and shut the draw.

Sitting on his bed, he opened the notebook and began reading the first poem.

"Robert Terwilliger Jr. Age 10," Bob read aloud, "I was only ten! Twenty nine years really fly by."

"When Years Have Gone By. A fitting title," he chuckled,

"When years have gone by, and I've fifteen years in life,

I hope to have a girl, who will love me right.

When years have gone by, and I'm twenty years old,

I hope to have a fast car, a job and a beautiful home.

When years have gone by, and I've lived for twenty-five,

I hope to be a married man, to a wonderful wife.

When years have gone by, and I'm thirty or so,

I hope to have a lovely daughter, or a handsome son..."

Bob smiled sadly down at the page of his ten-year old thoughts.

"You have no idea how royally I'd tarnish things," Bob sighed.

He turned a few pages, until he found one that he wrote when he was twenty.

"Nine-teen years ago. I was in and out of prison for  years later..." he sighed. He began reading the poem in his head.

'Bob Terwilliger. Age 20. From my bedroom window.

In a small apartment,

In a small American town,

Called Springfield.

I sit on my bed,

And stare into moonlight.

The closest thing to Big Ben,

Is the humble town hall,

But my memories of Britain;

They refuse to fade.

And from my bedroom window,

There are shining stars,

But nowhere in my mind,

Will shine as bright as England,

My most treasured home.'

Bob laughed sarcastically.

"The BIGGEST mistake our family ever made. That I ever made. I should have stayed in England," Bob snapped at himself, "Then I wouldn't have ever known the name Bart Simpson, or Franchesca, or Gino."