“You still doing tattoos?” Johnathon asked.

“Sure am.” Replied the old salt.

“You charge... much?”

The old sailor looked up, squinted. “You want a tattoo boy? Want to look like a man?"

Johnathon swallowed, shuffled his feet. “Y– I–” He closed his eyes. “Yes sir.”

“Come inside.” Grinned the old salt.

“Rose, we’re finished.”

“Finished?” She cried, stunned. “But why?”

“The dog, your kids.” He stated tiredly. “Can’t stand them.”

“But-!”

“Rose.” He tried. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“Stay, John, please!”

“No.” He turned away. “I’m done.”

Tears set in as the door closed with the hard sound of wooden finality.

“I’ve been thinking a lot lately.” Dave managed. “About us.”

“I know what you’re going to say.” Came the nervous response.

“Yeah?” He asked.

“Yeah.” She grinned. “But...”

“Then–” She cut him off.

“I want to be the one to say it.” She took a deep breath.

“Dave, lets get married.”

When I saw him, my heart turned to ice. There isn’t anything in all the world more frightening than an unstable feller with loaded gun.

“Drop it!” He shouted. I dropped it.

“On the floor!” He demanded. I got on the floor.

...and then, suddenly, he just up and walked out.

It was all over in ten seconds.

When the hull blew, we lost twelve. The rest went when the rock ripped into the superstructure, tore us right in half.

Only I was left, air was going fast.

My hand tightened on the grip of my handgun.

Grandpa, here I come.