Prose written by Rob Kosy on Saturday 8, January 2011

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For Dad.

Overall Rating: 95%

This writing has been rated by 4 members, resulting in a rating of 95% overall. Below is a breakdown of these results:

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"Hey, Mick!" "Ah, Mr C, I was just thinking about you." "Really, Mick? That's nice." "Depends on your interpretation of nice. You're just a turd with a pony tail to me!" Mr C doesn't really know how to respond when I go all derogatory (I called him a parasite last week and he started talking about soldiers jumping out of aeroplanes on army bases). He thinks he's a cut above all the other terminal diseases, you see; but he's just as blind and indiscriminate as any other bullying coward. In fact, he reminds me a little of the rookie copper hiding on the other side of the skip you happen to be relieving yourself against. You know? The one who jumps out and nicks you while you stand gape-mouthed with Mr Winky in your hand; and all the while there's a pensioner being mugged for her supper not a street away. "How do you know I wear a pony-tail, Mick?" "Just a lucky guess, Mr C." "Ah, come now, Mick, I've never known you to just guess at anything. Your opinions are always carefully formed from the facts at hand. So, come did you know?" "Oh, you're too clever for me Mr C; you got me. But I have to admit, I don't know you've got a pony-tail, not with any certainty. Like you said, it's just an informed opinion. Why don't you step into the light and let me have a look?" Mr C's more apprehensive of the light than Syphilis at a GUM clinic; and I don't think the fact that it's spread (the light, not the syphilis) in both dimension and brightness since we spoke last will do much to temper his misgivings. "The light hurts my eyes, Mick; but you already know that." Ah, he's irritated. I love it when he gets like that. He'll even start stuttering if I get him really good and pissed-off. The light's definitely got him rattled. Still, at least he admits it's actually there now. When we first began talking all those months ago the light was just a cigarette burn in an anaemic whore's negligee. Now it's almost all there is, relegating the irritating bugger to the touch lines. "Aye! I know that, Mr C. Just thought you might've braved it for an old friend. Never mind, though. Hey, I know it's probably just me, but you sound a little........further away today. Y'know, a bit far back; like you're talking to me across a lake or something. It's almost as though you're keeping your distance, like a midday vampire on the shaded side of a patio window." "You're dying, Mick! Does it fucking matter? "S'pose not my yellow friend, and I did go a little off-track there didn't I? Anyway, er.....where were we?" "You were about to tell me how you know I'm wearing a pony-tail!" "Oh, Aye!"

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    Rob, this is a great story; masterfully told with just the right amount of defiance. Your use of analogies is fantastic.
    Mister Kosy, mister Kosy - what can I say.

    I've wiped away the errant tear, and can see again, to type.

    This is incredible. Inspirational, Vividly told.

    I was hooked, from first word, to the last. An amazing piece.
    Don, kt, Verm; thank you!

    This was so personal I wasn't sure whether to post it, and I must say, I shed many a tear writing it (but lots of laughs too).

    Dad never had this wonderful conduit in which he could express himself, but I do, & I thank you all for your kind remarks.

    This really is a "cracking" place to come.

    This piece really hits home, it moved me like no other thing i've read since joining.

    Thank you for sharing it with everyone.