As the pop music rocked around the crowded room, Sir Whipsonfreak couldn't help but shimmy to the beat. Soon he became the center of attraction and landed in the middle of the dance floor, doing the Night at the Roxbury and Mashed Potatoes while sometimes going for the Irish Kicks of his own version.

"Nah" Sir Whipson's voice snapped Richter out of his daydream. He frowned at his grandson and waved his to-do list at him, "Not gonna do the club dancing."

"Oh don't be a party pooper!" Richter dramatically wailed. " A little bit of shimmying, shammying, and discoing won't kill you."

"Nope", Sir Whipson said, popping his 'p' in the most chivalrous manner possible. He then went towards the kitchen to signify that the discussion has now ended.

" So what's the poison that you ordered today?" Sir Whipson asked Richter, making sure to show his distaste.

Richter smiled at his grandfather and shook his head, " Nothing. Today you choose if you want to order something, cook one up or toast one out."

Sir Whipson cocked his left eyebrow and stared at him with utter stupefaction. "Why?" He asked, trying to mask his smile.

"Because", Richter gently moved towards his grandfather and sat beside the old man, "I was rude yesternight, and as a way of apology, I am going to let you free for the second half of the day and also give you the choice of breakfast."

"Well then," Sir Whipson lifted the receiver and handed it to Richter, "why don't you dial up the Subway for me?"

Mr. Redhawk yawned loudly and read the file in front of him. The file made him feel sleepy and by the time he reached the twelfth sentence, he was already busy catching forty winks.

While he was busy nodding his head, Miss Pinkhead slammed open the door to his office, waking up Mr. Red with a start. "Oh hello, Ms. Pinkhead I was just..."

"I know you were snoring away." Missus Pinkhead cut her boss and handing him the handset, whispered, " It's Sir Whipsonfreak. You may wanna take it."

Mister Redhawk frowned at the mention of the name and snatched the handset from her hands.

"Hello." He said in the most boring voice possible, which wasn't too difficult for him considering he was already half asleep.

"Hello Mr. Redhawk, I want retirement." Came the crisp sound of the rusted wind chime.

Mr. Redhawk flew from his seat and banged his head in the ceiling.
"May I know why?" He asked, rubbing his swollen head vigorously for comfort.

Sir Whipson cleared his throat and said, " Because, Sir, these past two days I realized how much I have missed in life just because I thought that work will bring me peace and make me forget about the losses I have suffered. I never realized that the happiness and peace I wanted was always beside me, among my friends, my families and perhaps even inside myself! I was subconsciously still running the rat race that I had already been cast out of. Now that I have realized, I can't go about living this mundane life and running in this illusion of a rat race. In these last few hours, days or years of my life, I want to live for myself and spread my wings and soar high. I am old and am already in my deathbed, may as well loll about in the comfortable mattress while I can."

Mr. Redhawk nodded at those words and said, " You will officially be retired on Monday but unofficially, enjoy your day."

"Thank you, sir."

"So", Richter stood up from his seat and gave Sir Whipson the rectified to-do note. " Since you don't want to go to a club, I decided to change it with having lunch at a Chinese food truck."

Sir Whipson gave a soft groan and pleadingly looked at his grandson, "Can I have the clubbing back?"

"No."

"Well then, dagger me."

"Shut up", Richter laughed and playfully swatted his grandfather with the sheet.

Just as Sir Whipson was about to turn the door handle and step out, Richter came rushing towards him. " Wait!" He called out.

"What?" Sir Whipson asked, annoyed to have been stopped just as he was about to exit the apartment.

"I am coming with you." He replied excitedly.

Sir Whipson looked perplexed as he stared at his grandchild. "You mean like throughout this adventure?"

"Jesus, no! I have much better things at hand."

"Well, then why are you coming downstairs with me? As far as I remember, the fridge and cabinets are stocked with stuff."

"For your kind information, no they aren't stocked up, and anyways I am going down to show you your mode of transportation for your second task since the first task is to ride it all the way."

"What is it?" Sir Whipson curiously asked.

"The only hint I will give you is that you are riding an iron vehicle", Richter said, mistaking his grandad's curiosity for his excitement.

" Car?" Sir Whipson asked.

"No," Richter replied.

"Train?"

"Will you stop? You will get the answer downstairs."

"Okay."

"Thank you."

"Aeroplane?"

"God no! They are made of duralumin!"

Sir Whipson stared at the two-wheeler and then turned towards his grandson.
"Seriously?"

"What?" Richter asked.

"You want me to ride this cycle?"

"Why? What is the problem in this cycle?"

"That it's pink colored, has training wheels and a basket which says bitches need stitches."

"This was the only cycle the store could give me for free."

"Well, I don't blame them for that!"

"Will you ride it or not?"

"Over my dead body!"

"Fine!" Richter exclaimed, annoyed at his grandpa. "At least step on it so that I can take a pic of you."

Sir Whipson exhaled sharply and sat on the bike to pose. Richter quickly snapped a picture and after gave him a thumbs-up.

Sir Whipson stood in front of the amusement park and looked at the first task:

"Roller Coaster Ride "

He made a cross across his chest and entered the domain. The park was huge and sported many tents and shooting ranges. Sir Whipson looked around and decided to follow the screams to the roller coaster ride.

Soon he reached a dark and scary house. Sir Whipson shrugged his shoulder and decided it to be the entrance to the ride. He quickly crossed the weir and entered the place, not caring to read the sign that screamed Haunted House in a bright red creepster font.

Inside, he walked across the alleyway towards the shouts and shrills, not caring to look around at the skeleton laden, bloodied walls.

"Aargh!" a teenage boy dressed as a Dracula suddenly jumped and screamed at him only to get slapped across his face.

" Insolent kids nowadays", Sir Whipson grumbled and went on his way, leaving a bewildered Dracula on his wake.

A few more slaps and muttering later, Sir Whipson came out in the open and looked about.

"A waste of time", he muttered and looked around to get directions from someone. Suddenly he spotted a man clad as a clown and moved towards him.

" Excuse me."

The clown turned to look at him and smiled. " Hello!"

"Can you tell me where the roller coaster ride is?"

The clown narrowed his eyes and inspected the questioner from top to bottom. "Who wants to ride?"

Sir Whipson sighed and pointed his fingers at his chest.

"I don't think so a man of your age will be allowed to ride, but then I am no expert. It's near the kiddy ride down the slope."

Sir Whipson thanked the man and walked towards his first task.

"What is your age?" The man who was allowing people to enter the ride asked.

"Sixty Four," Sir Whipson lied.

The man's suspicious face softened at the mention of the number and he broke into a smile. "Well then, come on in! 'Cause from next year you won't get this privilege!"

"Wouldn't be needing it anyway." Sir Whipson murmured under his breath as he sat down on the last car and buckled himself up.

'This is it. The last ride of my life.' He thought to himself as the wagon slowly ascended the tracks. He closed his eyes and took a huge breath as the wagon stopped, ready for its almost free-fall of a descent.

Richter stared at the picture of his grandpa making a face as he sat on the pink bicycle, a smile slowly creeping on his lips at the goofiness of the snap. He then slid the picture towards the left and looked at another shot of his grandfather reading the original to-do list with a mortified expression, earlier that morning.

Finally, he posted the pictures on his Facebook page and typed:

“Adventures of Sir Whipsonfreak. Chapter 3.
Grandpa ordered a subway sandwich on his own free will. Yay!
The Adventure? Although he is still out, I could say with surety that he is going to nail it.”

He then looked at heaven and said a small prayer. “O Lord, please help this son of Adam. Please make sure that this would be the last day of my grandfather's boring life, and that this last adventure teaches him enough to change his perspective towards life. Amen.”

The man looked at the old man he had earlier stopped for he was suspicious of the latter's age and smiled. "So how was the ride?"

Sir Whipsonfreak sighed and said, "Terrible."

"Why?"

Sir Whipsonfreak pouted and said in a most dejected and disappointed voice he could muster, " The wind took my hat."

"So you think Whipson will resign?" Mr. Suspectre asked.

Mr. Flatblob nodded as he watched the Charlie Chaplin movie.

"Why?"

" I saw it in his eyes Spectre, I saw the longing for lost friends in his eyes. I saw the flicker of happiness and doubt in those brown nuts, the doubt about whether his boring ways are really the ways of life. We have been in forty years of friendship, not counting this decade. I can tell his thoughts through his eyes and expressions."

"So you think the old man will change?" Sir Spectre asked his friend who was now busy stuffing his face with popcorn.

Sir Fatty quickly chewed up the popcorns he had filled in his mouth and turned towards him, "Don't you?"

Sir Spectre exhaled sharply and rubbed his hands on his trousers.
"Well", he said, " I just don't think that a man who reads Bible, hums to the Christian Radio and considers flatulence a sin, would suddenly start dancing on tables, rooftops, bars, and laps. But I do hope he does and that you are correct."

Sir Fatblob chuckled and took the beer that was resting on the table. "Cheers to that."

"Cheers to that."

Sir Whipson looked around for a Chinese food stall and finally spotted one a few meters away from him. He walked towards it as fast as he could and stood in front of the food truck.

"What would you like to order, Sir?" The sweet looking Asian woman cheerfully asked him.

"Umm..." Sir Whipson looked at the menu, not daring to order any of the dishes for he was skeptical of the Chinese and their dishes, "Whatever you make best."

"Sure." The woman nodded.

In a few minutes, a bowl of fried momos with soup noodles was presented in front of Sir Whipson who took a deep breath and taking the Lord's name, dug into it.

" I wonder what he must be doing right now", Richter thought loudly as he climbed up the stairs after a scrumptious lunch at the diner. "Must be eating Chinese food."

He quickly popped in a banana and absentmindedly threw the peel on the stairs.

"I wonder if he liked it."

"Why don't you have a crowd here even though the food is so delicious?" Sir Whipson curiously asked the woman as he paid the bill.

A look of sadness passed over the woman's eyes but as quickly got hidden behind a smile. "I don't know."

"Should I help you?" Sir Whipson asked." I am anyways free of my chores now and have the whole afternoon to myself."

"I don't want to trouble you." The woman replied shyly, looking down and rubbing her hands together uncomfortably.

Sir Whipson scoffed and gently said, "It's no trouble for a father to help his own daughter."

The woman's eyes gleamed with tears at those words. She quickly wiped them off and smiled." If you insist. Sure. Thanks."

Sir Whipson smiled and waved his hand over the head of his 'daughter'.

He quickly took a few of the woman's spare menus and marched down towards the park. As the sun slowly set down, Sir Whipson talked to every stranger that came on his way and showed them the menu, giving them the directions to the truck.

By five in the evening, he returned to the food truck to see quite a crowd milling about, eating and laughing, all the while praising the chef and the truck.
He smiled at himself and mentally patting his back, walked away.

As the woman saw her 'father', she tried to call him and suddenly remembered that she never got to know the name or the address of her savior. 'He must be an angel God sent down to help me. Thank you, Lord and my guardian angel who helped me. Thank you.'

After having walked a few miles, Sir Whipson quickly hailed a taxi and jumped into it. His eyes went wide as he stared at the driver who too seemed to be cursing his luck.
"Aren't you the one who dropped me off at the cinema?"

The scared driver gulped and nodded.

"Well then", Sir Whipson relaxed in his seat and pointed his finger at the road in from of him. " Off to Rochercroft Bar!" He shouted.

The cab driver quickly hit the accelerator and sped out in the direction, afraid the man may bite him if he doesn't comply.

As he donned the fourth bottle of whiskey, Sir Whipson wondered what he should do with his newfound freedom. ‘Maybe’, he wondered,‘ I should meet up with all my friends and relatives, try some new stuff, and perhaps even do anonymous help for people like I did today. Oh, what peace and happiness it gave me!’

By seven, Sir Whipson was so drunk that even crossing the road to his building seemed like a big feat. Somehow he made his way across the street and started swaying up the stairs.

Just as he was about to reach his abode, his feet slipped on a banana peel and he  plummet down the stairs. His head hit the hardwood floor and the lights went out of his eyes. Forever.

Officially, his resignation exceeded his expiration.

The End.

Thank you, people, for reading this story and voting on the chapters. ( if you didn't, this is a gentle reminder that maybe you should 😉)

Did you like this story? Do comment down your thoughts.

Ps. I know you must be hating me for killing Sir Whipsonfreak but then, it's a black comedy and dark ending IS one of the tags on this story. Hence, you were warned, not my fault. 😁

Okay Bye.