Continued from Part One.

The doctor, an aging geriatric, that in Charlie’s opinion should have retired at least forty years ago, was like a cat in mice heaven when he saw the state of Charlie. He fussed over him, he laughed, he prodded, and when Charlie screamed, he guffawed so loud and long that Charlie thought he must be stark raving mad.

The doc might have been quite mad, but he was also good at his job, and once he had put Charlie out for the count he did an excellent job. Charlie knew this for two reasons, the first being that the doc told him so on numerous occasions, and the second being that he was now running for this open door.

This time Charlie didn’t have any moonshine, or any food come to that, his knapsack contained little more than a bundle of rags. Although to be fair, they were the alternative to the rags he was wearing at that time.

So why was Charlie running for the open door, why was he risking his life again in this crazy manner? Well, the answer would be that Charlie had overstayed his welcome once again. He had stolen too many eggs, badgered too many people for handouts, and had answered back on too many occasions.

It was Charlie’s only option, jump a train, open door or not, and get to a new town where he could rattle a few more people of their good will.

So Charlie ran, his hand reached towards the handle, and he leapt.

Charlie missed the handle, slipped, and rolled.

Charlie rolled under the train, under the wheels, and met his end.

Nobody wept for Charlie, nobody knew he had died, nobody even knew he had existed.

The End.