| Michael Grant |
Michael Grant
Michael Grant, born June 22, 1960, hated his life with a passion. The monotonous life of a 49 year old butcher would soon cast him down a path of pain and insanity that no man could comprehend, or stop.
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Ring…ring…ring…all that damned ringing! I hate that bell…hate it…I hate it! I HATE IT! I want to CLEAVE it in half! I will make the accursed ringing stop, once and for all! I will be victorious! Celebrations will be held!
With that thought, Michael Grant, 49, walked out of the freezer, grabbed the bell from the counter, and put it in a cabinet with a happy smile before turning back to the customer who had placed his hand upon it several times.
"What’ll it be?" asked Grant.
I shall make the ringing cease soon! Just a few more seconds!
"I’ll have a…uhhhhh…"
If you didn’t know what you wanted, why did you cause the ringing! Why!? WHY!?
"A…um…a…"
You bastard! I will tear out your eyes!
"I’ll have a half-pound of ground beef, and…hang on, let me call my wife," said the customer.
Stop procrastinating the inevitable! You cannot save the bell! You CANNOT!
"Hey honey…what was it you wanted?" asked the customer.
Grant could hear nothing but squabbles, and after a few seconds, the customer spoke back into his device.
"Alright, thanks, be home soon," said the customer before hanging up and looking at Grant.
"I’ll have the half-pound of ground beef, and a pound of bacon," said the customer.
What kind you insolent bastard!?
"What kind?" asked Grant, doing a very good job at keeping his thoughts inside his head.
"That one," replied the customer, pointing at one of the few differently prepared types of bacon.
"Right," replied the butcher as he began packaging the meat, he weighed both, and took payment before giving the meat to the customer. The customer walked out, and the butcher turned around, grabbing the bell from the cabinet and walking into the freezer. He then put it down on the ground, grabbed his tenderizing hammer, and began smashing the bell to pieces.
"You finally get what you deserve! You ringing, dinging bell!" yelled Grant as he smashed the bell with a smile upon his face.
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...could this possibly be you venting your feelings for your life, Septim? >_>
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LOL, better call Charley. You need psychiatrist help. ^_^
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Himanil, I heard that you need a psychiatrist? Now...tell me about what your dad did to you... *pulls out a pen and paper, puts on a nice suit and glasses, chains you to a very soft and comfy chair before sitting in an easy chair by a fire.*
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"Um.....ah.......well.......I really don't.......you know the chain, ah well let's get started."
"Oh well, nothing more than being hanged upside down by a fan and getting the hell beaten out of me for some days, being struck by boat oars, nearly being fed to sharks, getting shot at....................................'
'The list goes on and on.'
"But what I'd really like to know is what you make of Michael Grant from what was given above."
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