Old Man Rune
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For as long as I can remember, there was a looming old house in our town. It sat on a hill, overlooking the main part of the shopping center. No one went up to it except my mother, who daily brought Old Man Rune, as he was known, food and water and other things needed to survive. Every day while we were there, I would sit in front of him in his creaky old rocking chair and listen to the stories he would tell. As I got older, I started to write down his stories and here they are for you to read. I hope you enjoy them as much as I have, and maybe- just maybe- they aren't the ramblings of a deluded old man after all.
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