Starlights of An Autumn Sky

Investing

"Again Mr. Whitfield, you have to fill out the proper documentation again if you want to have  your prescription fulfilled at this location."

"But I've done all of this before, why must I go through it again!"

"Mr.Whitfield, we wouldn't have to go through this every time, if only you would completely fill out the paperwork for the prescription. I would love-"

"You know... you have a good day Ms. Because the more you speak, the lower the IQ of the entire room drops!"

Walking away from someone after a snarky remark isn't the best way to end a conversation. Especially when the only person it will affect is you. But Tolbin Whitfield had a nasty problem with doing just that. Not that big of a man in stature, but the personality and attitude, the size of a whale. Not many things could frighten Tolbin. Though, he had been slightly startled once, when he took his wife; Maldena Whitfield, to the Spark's Daily Aquarium. The beady eyes of the Seals made him strangely uncomfortable. Like a nosy neighbor that gives bad advice, but always seems to work.
In the area of morals, Tolbin considered himself to be strict to them. Although, at times he let his anger slip more than he should. It wasn't that he was a bitter man, more so the reflection of a man in intense pain, as his wife Maldena had passed. She was the total sum of his life. Big, beautiful brown eyes, an amazing crown of hair laced tight to her head. The softest lips that he could never manage to keep his own off of. And the most angelic voice a person could imagine being in the presence of. For him, Maldena was perfection, despite every imperfection, he saw those little flaws as what made up his future. In his eyes, the wrong she could do was even worth enduring; because she was worth it.
It's not too many times in your life that you toil hard enough to find someone like Maldena, but he found her. He intended to keep her, until death separated them. He even went so far as to meet her there, but God had other plans.

As Tolbin made his way home, he felt more and more insecure about his inability to intimidate the woman behind the counter at the pharmacy. Not that it was his intention, but he was upset at the fact that he could not do so. As if it were some kind of setback that it wasn't possible for him.

"Hello Mr. Plant, are you ready for water? I sure know I could use a drink after wasting my words on that rude, crooked termagant at the pharmacy. What an inferior attitude to have when you work behind a counter, where you stand all day. If I had a coin for every time someone belittled me because of my stature, I'd be rich... I WOULD BE RICH MR. PLANT. I mean what an absolute w-,
I'm sorry Mr. Plant, I'm rambling. It's not healthy to suddenly dump all your traumas onto someone. You didn't ask for this... I don't think you did at least.
Why am I talking to a plant? Have I really gone mad? I've investing too much time in being alone. Too invested"

Not many of us can imagine living as simple and lonely of a life as Tolbin, but he maneuvered it fairly well, though, he would more so view it as chained to a reality he did not choose. Close your eyes and picture the lay of the land for a moment. A two story, yellow-stone home with a red front door, and a yellow side door to match the tone of the house. A flower hedge made up of indigo Perennial salvias, intermingled with the bright, pink smile of beautiful Hollyhocks underneath all four front windows.
Entering the home, to your immediate right, is a coat closet, still packed full of Mrs. Whitfield's belongings. Coats, shoes, hats, umbrellas. A bit of everything. The closet stood ajar from the narrow staircase that brings you directly to the door of the first bedroom, this one for guest. Sticking with the bright, vibrant nature of the home, the bed was dressed in a pastel pink, yellow and white spread, with pillow cases that had dandelions on them. The walls painted an odd color of white, but still pleasant to look at. A small desk plant sat in front of the window, along side a few books and pencils.

Exiting the room, at the far end of the hallway to the left, is the master bedroom, which stays locked. We don't know what in there is like.
Tolbin, though, slept in the laundry closet now. He found it to be more solemn. No images or items to make his sorrow deepen, and since getting rid of those things wasn't an option, he rather just remove himself from that situation altogether.

At times, the only thing a person really needs is a clear mind and a hot drink of tea, or at least that's how Tolbin felt. He often said that there was no such thing as a personal problem. To him, the only real problems in life were summed up of two, death and taxes... cliche one might say, but to him, he felt this was a very strict rule, one he chased daily.

"Where- where's my kettle? Everyday, I leave it in the exact same spot, next to the big wooden spoon that sits on the holder by the oven! And the only time I move it is when I clean it, so where is-"
Frustrated at life in general, Tolbin forgets that he makes mistakes too. Looking over into the sink, there, he finds his tea kettle, as he said; exactly where he left it.
"Oh... I uh, I must've left it here after a wash.
You've got to get it together Tolbin, you're slipping, slipping bad and insanity doesn't look good on you, it doesn't look good on you at all."