Gather around, children.
This is a tale of your great-grandfathers
and how they ended their days.
Now let's read it out loud together.
Shall we begin?

Inspired by  poetigress's Thursday Prompt.


oOo

As I passed the pawn shop window a stranger caught my eye. I stopped in shock for there I saw a friend I thought had died.

"It couldn't be!" I said out loud.

He turned and peered at me.

"Well, Captain James," he answered back, "as large as life, I see!"

My smile was wide, my greeting warm, as Johann shook my paw. I couldn't help but feel ashamed for the bluntness of his claws, nor for the dull and lifeless eyes I recalled were clear and blue; the shabby pelt that, once a time, was bright and clean and new. Time, it seemed, had not been kind to this friend and comrade dear. His fangs, all black, were three too few; his breath stunk of cheap beer.

Johann was uncomfortable. I knew it from his stance so I feigned to head off down the road without another glance. He watched me leave. I saw him stand 'fore in the pawn he plied. I quietly sneaked back the street and found a place to hide.

After a time he shambled out and checked both up and down. Not seeing me he looked relieved, then limped off into town. I must admit I felt for him, my comrade from the wars, who helped our land throw off that yoke of all that we deplored. I found myself inside the pawn, enquiring from the broker. It seemed my old friend handed in more than a simple token. The Golden Medal granted him from the Emperor himself ... for a half a crown, two florins, and six and one half pence.

The gratitude of Kings and Queens is brief and soon to pass; the gratitude of those you save, not guaranteed to last. Yet sometimes there's a moment when deep inside your soul you find the life you now enjoy is rightly not your own. You realise you're solely here because of others' deeds. Some are lost, though some remain, and some are sore in need.

Then I recalled that dark day back when Johann saved my hide -- the hide of one whose lack of skills was sure to see him die. I snapped back to the here and now and with the broker dealt to pay a life debt to my friend ... and the gratitude I felt.

Some months had passed before I walked again down on that road. I ambled back into the pawn to see what Johann owed. The soft-eyed broker's face held naught but pity for my plight, for he told me my friend Johann had passed that very night.

"Just yesterday," he said to me, "he came into my pawn to tell me that, yes, once again, his worldly wealth was gone. He sold the medal back once more for a half a crown and naught. I held it here and swear to you I would not have it bought..."

But Johann went a-drinking then, a public house quite near, to spend his last few shillings on rye whiskey, wines and beer.

They found his corpse up on the Line, huddled up in rags, his few meagre worldly goods in one or two hemp bags; his hand clenched to the ribbon where once-a-time had hung a medal that meant so very much when we were very young.

I left the pawn shop feeling low, thinking of my loss. In the window was a range of goods, the tatty and the dross.

But centred was the medal, and I cursed the woes of ale.

"A Hero's Prize", a small card read, "This Rare Award's For Sale."

oOo