Friend, business partner, grandfather, and prizefighter…Floyd lived a busy, happy life. Today, he can be found at the local hardware store, his front porch, or the bar downtown. If you’re lucky enough to catch him down at the bar grabbing a sandwich and beer, he’ll always launch into the same story.
Tell his story. Give it to us in 100 words in the comments, or post it on your blog and let us know where to find it 
Gianluca Says:
How long was it I didn’t see old Floyd? A year and a half. Yeah, it was in march the last year, when I made a flying visit to the town after a long absence. 68 years old, Floyd really kept fit, as he used to: good friend, always busy with his gardening business, yet with his boxer framework that looked like he could knock down a ox by an hook. Jovial and funny to the exhaustion.
- Perhaps you better have a look at him yourself – Ollie said to me that morning with embarrassment, after he had briefed me with the company of two beers about the recent gossip and news of the town.
- Is he ill? – I asked with concern.
- Dunno. He looks older. Considerably older. But it’s the head more than…
- What do you mean?
- Well, galloping arteriosclerosis I suppose. He doesn’t talk to anybody now, and when an old friend manages to break that silence he launches into a weird story of flying sauces.
- What story?
- Damn, he keeps telling they kidnapped him, brought him in the outer space to operate him surgically.
- That’s absurd.
- You bet. I have pity on him if I just think about who he’s been.
As soon as I saw him at the bar I realised he had really grown old. His shoulders leant downwards, the hair was thinner, the face was a maze of profound wrinkles.
- Floyd – I said as I sat by him. He turned to me, half-closed the eyes as to make out who I was. Then he smiled.
- It was at dead of night – he said as if absent-minded – First the dogs began to bark. Then the lights and the odd cries in the orchard back my house. I got out with the electric torch and the shotgun. And I saw them…
I slowly headed out of the bar. I strolled pensively for a while down the street, and as soon as I was alone I dialed a number on the cell phone.
- Hello – the usual plastic voice responded.
- Confirmed. Maintenance on android-unit DW-111-Floyd didn’t give hoped outcome. Terrestrial programming is very close to crashing. I suggest elimination.
Posted on May 2nd, 2010 at 3:09 am