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The Life of a Storyteller


            George sat bent upright in an old white hospital bed, staring out of his window. Above him, the lights were blank, only sunlight provided for his vision. Through the window he could not see the gray of his old age, instead, he saw the green and blue and red of his youth. The blue in his eyes reflected upon all he gazed. The green of his soul filtered through the pores of all he touched. But the red quit flowing. He was dying. I could tell by the way he spoke, he knew his grasp was weakening. But he still had his voice and his laughter. And with these he spoke to me. .
             "It is wonderful you could come and visit me now that you know." George said, looking at Bill, who was setting a tripod. .
             "Yes, I know I should've come more often. Work is hectic, and Mary and I are having trouble. You know how it can be. But I didn't come here to tell you about my life, God, if that was the case." Bill said as he deftly configured the camera upon the three carefully balanced legs. .
             "You can tell me if you like, Bill, I've known you since you were in diapers." .
             "No, no. Today is your day. Besides, I still wear diapers." Bill smirked as they both chuckled. .
             "Alright. I think I've got it-there." Bill turned on the camera and set it behind the light, casting the two men's faint shadows upon the wall. .
             "Can I get you anything, George?" Bill asked as he poured coffee from a squatty percolator. .
             "No thank you Bill. Just go ahead and make yourself comfortable." Bill paused a moment, and pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. .
             "Tell me your story, George. I want to know everything," Bill said, pulling a stuffed green chair to the back of his legs, "I"m supposed to use these prompts. I hate prompts." He tore the written page out and threw it into an empty bedpan. Now George prepared for his life; he spoke with the warmth and love of living that only one who has lived can:.
             "Well," he started as he looked out the window briefly, where he saw his colors, each more beautiful than the gray the world was living in, "I came to this world and lived in Alabama for the first eighteen years of my life.


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