In 2005, I participated in a Blogathon, blogging every 30 minutes for 24 hours for charity. I made this serial story up on the fly. Do not expect to find fine literature here. I will be releasing it in a slow drip. Follow Bob on Twitter for updates.
Bob saved a rat from drowning once, and got a nice bite in the hand for a thank you. The half-moon scar on his thumb reminded him of the one time he attempted something noble.
He had lots of regrets in life, the rat not being one of them, though he noticed most of his regrets came to mind in a bit of a flood during the hours in the evening, at home, after work when he sat in the living room and wondered why the sofa was blue, and why the doilies and pillows irritated him so much.
Though he assumed he loved June, his wife, he often found himself dwelling on the rat incident rather than her. When he did think of her, it was always in staccato-like lists of things he ought to have done, failures to be sure, and not in flowery romance terms.
He did not know why it was this way. It hadn’t always been so.