January Story Contgest Entry - TheDeSade
Harry's Bar and Grill
It wasn't unusual for the unusual to occur in Harry's Bar and American Grill, but today had been especially uncommon. First the clean cut young man in the Marine Corp uniform, already half drunk , came reeling up to the bar, alternately ordering rum and an open line to the Director of the CIA. Then the haggard looking gentleman, long lines in his face and deeply sunken jowls had spent the better part of the afternoon in the back corner of the bar, muttering under his breath, occasionally stopping to look around and exclaim loudly, "I'm not a crook!". However, things really took a turn for the worst when the weatherbeaten old warrior strolled through the front door, stopped to look over the entire assemblage, then ambled to a table in the middle of the room and began to discourse loudly on every subject under the sun.
He was quite a sight, sitting there in his stained and well worn uniform. He was tall and had the look of the old man and the sea about him. From the sleeves of his jacket sprang the familiar hooks of artificial arms, which he used with great dexterity to maneuver the bottle to the glass and the glass to his lips.
Slowly a crowd formed around the table, some eagerly listening to the tales of war and travel. Others sitting with a slight smile as if aware of some private joke unknown to the rest of the crowd.
Finally, one curious bystander asked the wizened warrior,"Pops, how did you lose yours arms?". Peering at the insolent young pup the old man took a long draw from the raw whisky in his glass and, with a far away look in his deep blue eyes, began his tale.
"We were in the green hills of Africa, me and the group we called the killers, hunting the great wild buffalo. The Cape has been called the most dangerous animal of all to hunt. He is fearless almost to a fault, hard to bring down because of the thick skull and massive horns which make a killing shot at a charging animal almost impossible.
One of the bearers had spotted a large group of bulls across the river and into the trees. We followed carefully, keeping the wind in our faces to prevent the beasts from gathering our scent and scattering or, worse yet, turning to charge. As I crossed the river, I glanced up to see the snows of Kilimanjaro. This lapse in concentration was soon to cause me to face death in the afternoon.
Admiring the mountain in the distance, I failed to notice the shift in the wind and only realized my mistake when a great hulk of a bull raised his massive head to look me in the eye. I could see the malevolent gleam in his beady little orbs as he sniffed the air, learning my scent and marking me for death.
Instinctively, I raised my heavy rifle and squeezed off a quick shot, hoping to drop the bull before he could begin his charge. For some reason I'll never know, the breach of the gun exploded with tremendous force. It was then that I said a farewell to arms. In a daze I saw the bull begin his rush toward me and I wondered if I was to have or to have not the opportunity to see if the sun also rises for dead men.
I passed out and awoke several days later. I could here a clamoring outside the window of the room in which I lay, and I wondered for whom the bell tolls and if it tolled for me."
Stopping here, the wounded warrior pointed to the bar back and called loudly to the barkeep, "Harry, bring me a package of peanuts, the ones in the fifth column please.". Turning again to the assembled and now humbled crowd, the man stood up and said, "Sorry to run, but my ambulance is double parked and I must be on my way."
