Bed Of Roses

Bed Of Roses

“Does pain have an owner?” He shouted as people busied about in the town square. But none listened. He was drunk and could hardly maintain his stand. Even the best he managed sounded meaningless; their attention was captured by something rather more important. Beads of confusion bore on his face, and his usual ruggedly handsome look had been ruined by the stench of alcohol. James Trevor measured up to about six feet, he possessed a tall, full figure and his well-built body and curly, short brown hair turned him in to every young woman’s dream. Before he turned eighteen years, he had succeeded in being responsible for three pregnancies and this was infuriating for the parents of the young girls. Of course, that was until the babies were birthed. At age twenty five, he had come to know pain in ways that no one imagined; all the children he fathered never lived past their first year. His joy over the years had been replaced with sorrow and his pain proved even more burdensome. This explained his reason for being in the town square trying as much as he possibly could to do his last good deeds before death took him away. After several yells, a man who had come to the square in search of a doctor decided to listen for his wife and father were in pain. “Does pain have an owner? I ask...” He shouted again, still drunk. “Is there none amongst you wise?” “Shut up you drunk, old, useless man,” one man replied with utter disgust spitting on him. The words were just out of his mouth when it began to pour heavily. The rains poured with such brut force yet James moved not a step. “Does pain have an owner” He yelled constantly and even louder. “You must be in pain; mixing your sore throat with spirit this morning.” He said to the man who had just spat on him. “Oh shut up! You fool!! if you were a doctor, you’d not be standing here drunk.” The man answered. James, with great effort walked briskly towards him and before he could say another word, he grabbed his neck with such force as if to kill him, and then the magic happened. His hand burned red hot like a metal buried in . The yelling and the chaotic cheering created a noisy pictorial of a crowd -although ignorant- pleased with what was currently happening. 

The town square was surrounded by old, buildings which had not more than two floors, some of which were owned by Samuel Rivers. From the windows, some peered, as the others yelled from the shade in excitement. To them, it was nothing more than a brawl between two drunken men. 

David Rivers, pouted in a corner looking detached and miserable. As he observed the brawl he noticed the hidden gifts that James had displayed to people who were too stupid to pay any attention. There was something James had that was of priceless value to his sick father and wife. James’s left hand was the key to him finding joy and a life filled with love. But little did he know that he would pay dearly for it.