The Lengend of The One-Armed Sober Man

Hello all.

The story below is one I wrote because I get paid to surf the internet at work. It is based on a true story. (The One-Armed Sober Man is #13). Read it and waste your time with it.

There comes a time in the lives of men when the world grows dark. There comes a time when hope fades, when the relentless assault of evil crashes down upon civilization like the angry black sea upon the rocks of the cold jagged shore. It is in these times that mankind needs a hero, a figure who can grant hope to the fallen, and raise humanity back to its former glory. This hero can come in many forms, not all expected or heroic.

Such a time came in the summer of 2008. In this black period, the world’s greatest hope came to the people of Kansas. I was privileged (and I do mean privileged) enough to see him. I can never forget the day that the One-Armed Sober Man came forth.

It was a night like any other. A group of friends and I were hanging out at the lake, blowing off a week full of pressure from work. Hours passed. Drinks were drunk. Men were felled by the drinks and vomited. Even this jubilant time was overshadowed by the relentlessly evil monotony of life. That was until Amanda decided to lock her keys in the car. Pandemonium immediately broke loose upon us like a barbarous horde. We panicked, and shouting multiple curse words, we made every attempt to retrieve the locked keys. Options were explored. Questions like “Who among us is sober enough to drive to her house and get the extra set of keys?” weighed heavily on our minds. Various tools were employed to break into the car, no one succeeded. The rush of activity died as one by one we slumped back to the ground in the fading glow of Amanda’s headlights; utterly defeated. It was at this hour, when our spirits hit a low, when he came to us.

Stepping out of the shadows, he approached. His appearance was none like we had ever seen. One arm was bandaged and in a sling, no doubt an injury from a ferocious battle that had yet to heal. He looked tall and bold, yet not menacing as he loomed over our crumpled forms. Most importantly, he was sober, utterly immune from the mind numbing effects that alcohol had perpetrated upon us. Not saying a word, he calmly took the limp piece of wire from my weary hand and set upon the car door, that we had so busily tried to pry open.

There were no grunts of exertion, no curses of frustration that came from his mouth, only an aura of intense concentration. He spoke only once, ordering me to hold a screwdriver, because he was, after all, one handed. The headlights dimmed even further, the night stretched on. There was no sound, save the soft crackle of the fire. We dared not even to breathe.

Suddenly, there was a soft click. The car was unlocked! At once we broke into cheers and laudations. A guitar was produced and two of our number composed a ballad to the great One-Armed Sober Man on the spot. Our laughter, voices and music reached to the heavens as the fire was stirred, casting its warm cheery light upon our celebration. Drinks were poured, and our revelry continued as before, only this time being pushed to fantastic new levels.

It wasn’t until much later, when the initial rush of celebration had subsided and exhaustion began to manifest itself, that we realized there was one missing from our number. The One-Armed Sober man had melted back into the night. We never saw him again, but his presence will always be felt by us. I know he is busy off on another mission of charity, doing his duty of service to humanity. And maybe, just maybe, when our spirits are low and we lose heart, he might come to us and save us from the insidious snares of evil.