Port Hardy

Lawrence Davids sat in his beloved blue La-Z-Boy recliner with his feet up and a short glass of scotch on the rocks held in his right hand. The Glenlivet was a gift from a dear friend who had passed away the month before; Lawrence, like he did with most things, was taking his time to get through it. He liked to sip from it while listening to his favorite radio show, which he had been doing this afternoon.

Until ten minutes ago when the signal had suddenly degraded to static.

Lawrence was a patient man though; he knew the signal would be restored eventually, so he waited and sipped, waited and sipped. If he had not outlived all of his friends they would have told you that this was typical Lawrence - he was never in a rush, all things came in their own time and never a moment sooner.

The crackle of the radio was disturbed by a familiar commotion at his back door - it must be time to let Luke back in, he thought with a soft chuckle. He placed his drink on the table to his right, rose to his feet and took hold of his trusted cane as Luke’s barking turned to whining and yelping.

“I’m coming you old fool,” Lawrence called as he heard nails begin to scratch at the glass of the sliding door. “Settle down, settle down - I’m blind not deaf, remember?”

He tapped his cane on the hardwood floor, avoided the bookcase by memory and stepped over the chewed toy that was always sitting outside the kitchen. His sight had left him twenty years previous but his hearing and sense of touch seemed to have dramatically improved since then in an attempt to make up for it. It was a trade that he was not bitter about - it simply was what it was. He frowned as he heard Luke slam into the door.

“What’s wrong boy? I’m coming, I’m coming,” he said gently as he came around the corner and took the final few steps to the sliding door. If his eyes had still worked he would have stopped in shock at the sight of the thick black powder that covered his once golden retriever. Those blue eyes would have widened upon viewing the substance still falling thickly from the sky.

But they did not show him these warning signs so he reached out his left hand and grasped the handle in his still strong grip. His friends might have told you that he would have done nothing different if he had been able to see - that Lawrence would never have stood safely inside while his dearest companion died slowly outside his door.

Lawrence pulled on the handle but it didn’t budge. Luke’s whine reached its highest pitch yet.

“You silly dog have an even sillier old man,” he muttered with a shake of his head as he reached for the bolt. “Can’t even remember to unlock his own door. Now, what’s going on out here?”

Lawrence pulled open the door and a sudden gust of wind brought him some understanding.

The End

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