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Manx Kim



Manx Kim


All Ears

All Ears

3 mins 1.1K 3 mins 1.1K

Grandpa sat relaxing in his red leather armchair, taking his daily dose of an afternoon nap. The house was quiet except for his soft snores, which floated out from his lips, hidden beneath a bushy gray beard.

Sunlight streamed through the half-open blinds at the windows, shadows striping the carpeted floor under his feet. The clock ticked away peacefully, completing the tranquil appearance of the room.

Little Lucas ran into the room—paying no attention to his father's warning—yelling at the top of his voice the battle cry he and his friend Mark had spontaneously come up with. He launched himself onto a blissfully unaware Grandpa, bouncing off his well-rounded belly to give himself a proper take-off.

This gave the old man quite a shock, as a result of which he awoke with a start, sputtering and shuddering.

"Ah!" He exclaimed in frustration, blinking the remaining drowsiness away and frowning down at his heedless grandson. "Stop yelling, Lucas! Don't you see that gramps is taking a nap?"

Despite the reprimand, the kid was more amused than offended. "But gramps," he said in a cheeky tone, giggling. "The tribe is under attack!"

Grandpa stared at him, fresh confusion taking over his momentary anger. He tilted his head slightly to the side, finding himself unable to make out what exactly the boy had just said, while the child grinned up at him and raised his makeshift weapon, which coincidentally also happened to be a baseball bat. "What—" he started.

He was cut off rather rudely when Lucas launched into another blood-curdling scream, once again springing onto his grandfather's tummy before running out of the room to join his friend.

Sighing, the old man settled back into his big leather armchair, patting his poor stomach as silence prevailed once again. After attempting, for the next few minutes, to go back to sleep, he ultimately gave up and let himself stay awake.

But unfortunately, it had more to do with necessities of the body than with the disturbing games of his grandchild.

Grandpa was thirsty.

"Lisa!" He called out for his daughter—who was also, quite inconveniently, Mark's mother—to attend to his wishes. "It's time for my tea!"

He waited, and waited, and waited some more, but without any avail. It was only after a long wait for a response that he realized she had probably not heard him.

Grandpa huffed. Grandpa puffed. And he generally threw a huge grown-up tantrum. "Can no one around here get me some tea?"

Lisa, who had been sitting in the next room all this time, heard his call, but simply rolled her eyes and turned to strain the tea she had just finished making. "I'm not going to answer a third time," she muttered to herself, but of course, the old man did not hear her.

"Oh, come on," Grandpa said, sighing. "If no one's going to bring me my tea, I'm not moving from here."

And he sat, and waited—not for too long, though, because thirst wasn't something one could ignore for long.

At last, he shook his head, a thunderous frown appearing on his wrinkled features. "Oh, I suppose I should just get it myself," he grumbled as he climbed out of the comfortable chair with much difficulty, and picked up his cane from its resting position against the wooden table. "Self-help is the best help, after all."

And then, he reached for his hearing aids.

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