"Of hooks and jet packs", a short story

oooooh! Jet packs!




“Well well! Who do we have here?” the old man spoke as he coughed violently at the same time.

The boy politely removed some beads of saliva, phlegm, blood, and a mixture of the three on his young face as he observed his grandfather with pity. The old man’s eyes squinted, trying very hard to clearly visualize the image of his grandson as he brutally coughed again. “So, you’re truly indeed old enough to decide your fate!”

The boy wished that he could open his mouth to speak, but he realized it would be very hazardous. The old fart could give him another load of those malignant mucous anytime now. He wouldn’t even dare want a speck of it in his mouth. That is really gross…and appalling.

The old man lifts his hook up, shaking it like a closed fist. As you know, dear reader, this man has hooks instead of human hands. The end points of these hook aren’t sharp, instead they are completely dull, like it was never used for eons and eons and God knows when. ”So I guess you’ve decided to have grappling hooks instead of jet packs eh?” the old man questioned as he immediately grabbed the flabbergasted little boy. Now, he was about to cut the kid’s little hands with a large butcher knife specially designed to be grabbed by a hook. I know it’s hard to imagine, but there is such a product! The young boy quickly withdrew his innocent hands away from the clutches…errr…hooks of his father’s father. His scared little eyes started to wet and his lower lip started to quiver, giving all his best efforts to hold back the tears, even though he knew that his efforts are futile.

“C’mon young lad! There are only two types of men in this world; Men with jet packs and men with grappling hooks. Now if you don’t want to grow up and stay as a measly, defenseless little brat then you should like those cowardly men with jet packs!” his grandfather yelled as he withdrew another few rounds of vicious coughs.

His grandson remained quiet. He knew it was disrespectful to answer back to old people, specially the hook-handed ones. He also knew that men with grappling hooks are mean and bitter people. His own father died because of bitterness and jealousy.

He always wished he was a man with jet packs. These kind of men could freely roam the skies like an eagle with a slow-paced vertical movement, while men with grappling hooks rely on something to grab on…like a skyscraper or a stone gargoyle sitting on a tall cathedral. This boy has been dreaming on riding those large jet packs since he was smaller than what he is now. Sadly, his whole family line has been devoted to those evil grappling hooks, even before the birth of Sir Hookely Hodges, the great Grappling Hooker. This boy despise those hooks. I guess the loathe against this despicable device replaced for human hands started on the death of his father, then his brother who mistakenly grabbed on to nothingness instead of a ledge. Then his cousin Wigley, who tried to smack the mosquito on his face with a hook and died.

For him, these hooks are really bad omen, a sign of doom, a symbol of dread and despair. But it seems it is very hard to convince a “90 year old unhealthy man” who spent most of his bitter life in bitterness and hatred to those proud men in jet packs. He also remember a man named “Damon N. Damon” who uses a golden jet pack and a nice set of aerial goggles and leather cap. He met the famous man one day when he was looking at the “Great jet packs in history” display at their local museum, just beside the Licketty Theater where the great performances of “Mia Misseoures, women of the skies” are featured. This man said to him "Move away, you little schmuck!" and at that instant, he was inspired by the pride of this man and thos men like him.

But all of that are just wishful thinking. As he looked back at the old man who’s violently putting out another cough, he couldn't help but sob.

His grandfather squinted again and his face was filled with compassion on what he saw.

”C’mon now. I didn’t mean to disappoint you…come here…” the 90-year old opened his arms to embrace the child. And it took a few moments before his grandson decided to acknowledge his offer of comfort.

”Come here…So I can chop off those hands of yours!!!” the boy’s grandpa yelled as he reached for his hands again with a little more fury but undetectable because of old age. The kid immediately ran back as his old man stumbles down the floor, giving all his best efforts to reach the child.

The little kid moved farther away from the hands….err…hooks of his grandfather, who now realized the he couldn’t do anything to convince his child to be one of his kind. He grinned at the small kid like he never had grinned before in his entire life.

The child now realizes that it is a vicious and cruel world. He realized that men are divided. That it is either you're with them or against them. It is hard to live the peaceful life knowing that many people despise you for being who you are. The realizations are too hard to bear!

It took a moment until the child opened his mouth, “I’m sorry grandpa. Upon realizing a lot of things, I want to be neither a man with a jet pack nor with a grappling hook. I want to be a man who rides horses instead".

The old man was dumbfounded. As the boy slowly leaves through the door, his mouth was still frozen in place, even if his jaw was heavily placed on the hard wood floor.

Then that boy soon became Billy the Kid, one of the most famous young cowboys in history.



So dear readers, what have we learned from this story that I’ve created?




Yes. Old people are annoying, stupid farts.