Like a Storm Trooper

Like a Storm Trooper

  Gerrard T Wilson

  Copyright 2015 by Gerrard Wilson

  Like a Storm Trooper

  Text copyright © 2015 Gerrard Wilson

  Gerrard T Wilson asserts the moral rights to

  be identified as the author of this work.

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  This book is sold subject to the condition

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  without the publisher’s prior consent in any form,

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  Like a Storm Trooper

  Like a Storm Trooper

  George and Martha were married; they had been married three years to the very day, when George finally admitted that he had had enough...

  Now do not get me wrong, George loved his wife, he loved her dearly, in fact he adored the very ground she walked upon. However, there was a problem with their marriage; the marriage he had hoped would be the perfect uniting of their bodies and souls. This problem, that so many of you will almost certainly consider inconsequential, not serious enough for him to worry about, was the simple fact that Martha, George’s beloved wife – snored.

  George had tried to ignore this one small flaw in his wife’s otherwise perfect state of health and being. For three years he had struggled so hard to overcome his own weakness, allowing it bother him so. You see, the problem, George’s problem, was the unfortunate fact that he was an incredibly light sleeper.

  Every night, after the happy couple had retired and kissed the other goodnight, George lay in bed awake, waiting, listening, fearing, wondering when the nightly performance would begin. Sometimes it started straight away, the very moment his wife’s sweet head touched her pillow. Other times it began much later, well into the wee small hours, after George, having tired of waiting for it to begin, had drifted off to sleep. However, the one thing that each night had in common was the undeniable fact that his wife – Martha – snored with as much force and ferocity as a Storm Trooper invading Poland.

  After struggling for three long years, without getting even one night of uninterrupted sleep, George had come to the inevitable conclusion that he had to do something about it. He wanted, he longed, he craved for the sensation of awakening each morning, feeling rested, relaxed, refreshed, instead of feeling tired, weary, worn-out from twisting and turning his way through the night.

  As far as George was concerned, the nights of listening to the sounds of snoring were gone. They had to be gone or he would go mad – nuts. To stop his wife’s snoring George realised that needed a plan. The following is how it unfolded…

  “Martha,” said George to his wife one bright summer’s morning, as she began preparing their breakfast in the kitchen. “Martha, can I have a word with you?” he asked.

  “What is it, dear?” she answered.

  George was sitting quietly, patiently on the settee in their lounge. “Can we have a little talk?” he asked politely.

  “That sounds ominous,” she said, drying her hands on her apron. Taking it off, she hung it on the radiator although it was stony cold. Entering the lounge, she said, “I was making breakfast – your favourite, a nice big fry-up.”

  This comment made George feel even shadier than he was already feeling. Patting the cushion beside him, he said, “Sit down, dear, this will only take a moment.”

  Martha obediently sat beside her beloved husband. Being so close to her George watched the sun’s rays shining, glistering on her radiant red hair, reminding him why he had married her in the first place – her dazzling beauty.

  “Martha,” he said slowly.

  “Are you all right,” she asked, interrupting.

  “Me? Yes! Why did you ask that?” he said, his planned speech knocked out of kilter.

  “Oh, it’s nothing really,” she replied. “I just thought that you have been acting a little out of sorts, since you got out of bed this morning.”

  She had said it, the dreaded word – bed – reminding her husband why he had wanted to have this talk with her in the first place. Beginning again, he said, “Darling, I have something to say to you.”

  Yet again, his poor wife felt threatened by the ominous tone in his voice. “Yes?” she said, her eyes flashing green.

  “I have loved those green eyes of yours,” he whispered, “from the moment we first met.”

  “Why, that’s lovely. It’s so sweet,” she said, wondering if that was all this was about – a little bit of love talk. However, when next he spoke, when her husband began the talk proper, Martha was in no doubts whatsoever that the nature of the talk was not a simple love-chat.

  For the third time, George said, “Martha.”

  “Yes?”

  Swallowing hard, he continued, “We have a problem with our marriage…”

  On hearing those words, Martha burst out crying, sobbing her heart out, for it was the last thing in the world she had imagined her husband would say.

  “It’s that woman, at church,” she said, sobbing deeply, “I always thought she was after you.”

  “No, no, it’s nothing like that,” said George, taken aback by his wife’s vivid imaginings.

  Sobbing, but slower, she asked, “Then what is it? Who is it?”

  “It’s no one,” he explained. “I only have eyes for you. That will always be so,” he promised.

  She was confused, his wife was confused, because if he did still love her, then what could the problem with their marriage possibly be? All this time, the entire three years of their marriage, she had been sure they were blissfully happy together. “You do still love me?” she asked.

  “Yes, of course I do!” he insisted. “You must never doubt that for one moment! Now please hear me out, what I have to say is by no means as bad as you are imagining.”

  After his wife’s outburst, George felt a bit more comfortable at the prospect of telling her the reason for their talk. He said, “Martha, the problem, the only problem we have, that I have with our marriage is that you snore.”

  She laughed. Martha began laughing; in fact, she laughed so much tears of joy ran down her face.

  He watched. George watched his wife, at first in puzzlement, then in amusement, and finally in merriment before laughing along with her.

  It took them a whole while to regain their composure, when they had both calmed down enough to begin speaking again, Martha, stroking her husband’s greying hair, said, “My dear, how long have you been feeling this way? Why have you never said anything about my snoring before?”

  A rat; George felt like a rat, a dirty rat trying to escape from a sinking ship. “I dunno,” he said, raising his hands contritely, unable to offer any more reasonable an explanation.

  Martha began laughing again.

  “Please, no more laughing,” he begged. “My sides are still aching.”

  “Okay,” she replied. “Let’s talk about it, knock our heads together and see what we can come up with. Do you agree?”

  George nodded his agreement.

  “But only after breakfast,” she warned, “all this talking has given me one enormous appetite.”

  “Smiling, happy that it was out in the open, George said, “Put on a couple of extra eggs, they’re good for the energy, you know.”

  After breakfast, George leaned back in his chair, admiring the love of his life – his dearest darling Martha.

  After clearing away the breakfast paraphernalia, stowing it safety inside the dishwasher, Martha poured out two cups of tea.
“Are we beginning here or in the lounge?”

  Fingering his teaspoon, beginning to feel awkward again, George replied, “In here might be best.”

  “Do you think a biro and notepad will come in handy?”

  “Yes,” he answered. “If we come up with anything useful we can keep a record of it, for later.”

  Sifting her way through the contents of the kitchen cabinet drawer, Martha soon found a notepad and biro. Taking them out, waving them, she said, “I’ve got them, but the biro is green. Will it be okay?”

  “It will be perfect,” George, replied, smiling kindly. “It matches your beautiful eyes.”

  Sitting close to her husband, closer than she would normally sit, she said, “Well, how do we start?”

  That question, that one little question stumped George, because up to that moment he thought he had all the answers. Now that she had asked him to make a suggestion, his brain froze, stopped, sat there inside his skull like a big soft walnut.

  “George, can you hear me?” Martha asked, waving a hand in front of his face.

  George, his eyes glazed over, never saw it.

  “Beginning to get worried, she said, “George, snap out of it. GEORGE, I AM TALKING TO YOU!”

  As quickly as it had seized, George’s brain began working again. Cranking into action it supplied him with all sorts of weird and wonderful ideas that might be of use to stop his wife’s bothersome snoring. Lifting a finger, he whispered, “I have a few suggestions… Would you like to hear them?”

  Giving her husband a strange look (even when you love someone it is still possible to think them a bit weird), she replied, “Yes, go on…”

  With his finger still raised, he said,