Flowers from 1970 // reupload

1.1

George walked up the steps of his house, keys in hand and a dark look on his face. The neighborhood had been quiet except for the occasional passing car, which did not help his ongoing battle with isolation and loneliness. The quieter it was, the louder his thoughts were, and so as he entered his empty home which housed a quiet so large a drop of a pin would be highly audible, his head filled with a mass of concepts. 

He trudged his way up to his room, carrying his jacket in his hand as he threw his keys onto the desk and collapsed on his bed. He waited a while, his mind the only thing keeping him company, and it wasn't good company. All he had were regrets and scenarios of brighter futures had he made better decisions in the past. It's been lonely since he moved away from his family in england. He moved into a small house in the old part of his town. He lived alone and didn't bother to get to know anyone. 

Suddenly he heard a ring come from the other side of the room. It wasn't coming from his cellphone, but from the vintage telephone he had found in his house when he first moved in. He had spent weeks trying to repair it but eventually gave up, but now it seemed to be fully operational. 

He ran to the phone and answered, "Hello?" "Hey Sap, can you believe Governor Schlatt had a heart attack and died today? That's insane." A man on the other end of the phone mumbled into the phone. 

"I'm sorry, but you must have the wrong num- Today?" George asked, confused. 

"Oh well sorry then, but yeah today. It's all over the papers." The voice answered, not bothering to end the call even though it was the wrong number. 

George raised his brow, "Are we talking about Governor Schlatt of Florida?" 

"Yeah, who else." The man answered, his shrug visible in his tone. 

"Schlatt died over fifty years ago, though. Is this like a joke or something?" George was convinced he was talking to either someone very uneducated or downright insane. 

The man laughed loudly, "I don't know about you, but I don't remember Schlatt dying in 1920." 

Now George knew the man couldn't do math. Fifty years ago was not 1920. "Everyone knows it happened in 1970. Then his right hand man Tubbo was almost assassinated the next day." George told the man. He did not know why he was so hellbent on correcting a stranger, but he did so nonetheless. 

"Tubbo? Everybody loves Tubbo. He's fine and giving a speech right now, listen." The phone sounded like it was moving, and suddenly put up to a radio. The radio was barely audible, but George could make out words like "This is a tragic loss." and such. It definitely sounded like Tubbo. 

George figured he was talking to a crazy person and hung up. He walked over to his bed, thought about the phone call for no more than 3 minutes before falling asleep.