Mr. Redhawk was busy playing with the paper-weight and sighing loudly, all the while looking at the clock that sported half-past eight as the time.
'Five hours to go for lunch.'

Just as he started to twirl the paper-weight for the fourth time in one minute, his pretty secretary, Ms. Pinkhead ran inside without knocking, her face white as the talcum powder she had drowned her face in— a clear sign of trouble. She silently stood there and pointed a handset at him. Mr. Redhawk frowned and bit his lips, finally taking it from her trembling hands and plastering it on his gargantuan ears.

"Hello." He boomed into the receiver.

"Hello Mister Redhawk", a familiar voice came from the other side, making Mr. Redhawk's eyes go wide as an elephant's turd which made Ms. Pinkhead trembled even more.

" Mis-Mister Whipsonfreak!" Redhawk stammered, wondering if he was hallucinating the voice of his most regular employee due to all the caffeine, thanks to his fifth glass of tea that morning.

"Yes sir, " the voice once again replied. It was no doubting it now- the voice was indeed of Sir Whipsonfreak. Although reticent, Sir Whipson's voice was indelible because of it sounding like a rusted wind chime.

"Wh-what, why are you not in the office?" Sir Red asked, still stammering and wondering if he should be angry or curious.

"It is so sir", the wind chime spoke in a rusted melody, " I may not be able to come today."

Sir Redhawk flew from his seat in surprise and horror, "What?" He blabbered, soon as he landed back on his seat.

"I am sorry sir, it's a just... a family emergency." Sir Whipson said, nervous as a fish in a glass of lemonade. "Please forgive me."

Sir Redhawk nodded and hung up. He silently pointed the handset to Ms. Pinkhead who bit her lips and took it from his trembling hands into hers. Then, with a nod, skippered out of his room leaving Mr. Redhawk alone with his new-found curious headache.

Sir Whipson put down the phone and turned around to meet the eyes of his torturer. He sighed and moved past him to his unfinished toast.

"Where are you going?" Richter asked, folding his arms and cocking his right brow.

"To eat my toast." Sir Whipson replied as he pulled out his seat and sat with a thump.

"Why toast? Remember how I said you need to be adventurous? I have ordered a Subway sandwich and that's what we are having for breakfast today." Richter replied, hiding his smirk behind his phone screen.

Sir Whipson sighed and threw his hand up in a mock defeat. He pushed himself up from his seat and sitting on the sofa, wondered if he should switch on the 1975 ITT 26 CVC9 Colour TV. Just as he made up his mind to switch it on, the doorbell rang.

"Must be the Subway !" Richter said as he ran to answer it, returning towards him in a few minutes with a long sandwich.

Mr. Whipson wrinkled his nose at the sight and smell of it, only to receive a frown from Richter.
"What are you wrinkling your nose at?" He asked his two-generation elder, "It has chicken in it. If you want I could add some peas too."

Mr. Whipson stuck out his tongue and snatched it from his hand.
"Dish?" He asked.

Richter smirked and shook his head. "No dish."

"Then how am I supposed to eat?"

"With your hands."

"What if some the sauce falls on the floor or my hands get dirty?"

"Well, then that means that you are loving the food. You can't enjoy stuff if you don't get your hands dirty."

Sir Whipson blew a sharp breath and resumed staring at the curious looking sandwich. Finally, after much inspection and sniffing, he gingerly took a bite, before wolfing down a huge part.
"It's good." He said between a few mouthfuls, giving a thumbs up to his grandson.

Richter cracked into a wide victorious grin and gave a knowing nod at his grandpa. "That's why you should sometimes try something new instead of having the same stuff every day."

Sir Whipson laughed a wholesome laugh and continued ripping into the sandwich.

Mr. Whipson came out of the bathroom and stared blankly at Richter who stood in front of him with arms crossed across his chest.

"What?" He asked.

Richter narrowed his eyes and said, "So?"

"So what?"

"So when are you going to go on your first adventure?"

Mr. Whipson looked around hoping to find an escape. After a few glances around the room, his eyes finally ended on his grandson who now had his right brow cocked up yet again.

"Okay." He finally said, grabbing his coat and making his way out of his flat. Richter followed him out and handed the latter his wallet as he stepped out.
"Enjoy," he said before slamming the door shut and locking it.

As the locks turned, Sir Whipson gave out a heavy sigh, slowly making his way downstairs and wondering what to do. As the sunlight fell on his greyed hair, his head shone with an idea.

Richter looked down from his balcony and clicked a picture of his grandfather as he called a cab and sat inside. Looking at the cab speeding away, a smile appeared on his face.

Unlocking his phone, he clicked on the Facebook icon and added two pics of his grandfather, one of him eating the sandwich and one he had clicked just then. His fingers flew on the on-screen keyboard, typing a caption-

"Adventures of Sir Whipsonfreak. Chapter 1:
Subway was a hit.
The adventure was a"

He then pushed the home screen button and went back inside, hoping his caption will end with the word hit.

Sir Whipsonfreak stood before the bent and rusted iron gates of the Knight Park, his eyes stinging with tears and old memories. The small park had a special place in his heart. When they were childless, he and his wife would often go there and sit on a particular park bench to watch a gaggle of geese play in the pond that covered most of the park.

For a few moments, he felt like he was young again and his wife was alive and beautiful like the last time he had set his eyes upon her. He gently grabbed her hand and crossed the iron gate, their laughter ringing around the busy park as they ate the cotton candies they had bought from a food cart outside.

Sir Whipson blinked away the hot drops of nostalgia and took a deep breath, hoping to find the familiar smells waft into his nostrils, but all he got was smoke that made him cough loudly. He then moved towards the gate and gave it a push. It creaked and screamed oiling as it slowly swung open.

He gingerly took a step inside, testing the ground for potential dogs and landmines and to his joy, found none. Then, with a sigh of relief, he skipped inside only to be met by the white-haired, fat-lipped, fat-nosed and bearded watchman. His head was rested on his paunchy stomach as if it was a makeshift pillow. The snorer's spectacles were going airborne as his wide nostrils vibrated with each snore, but he was too happy in his blissful Utopia to care.

Sir Whipson slowly tiptoed past him and made his way to a very special bench and sat on its rusted seat, looking at the geese that were still there, surviving the test of time and global warming.

After a few hours of sitting there and revisiting the old loving memories which he had almost forgotten due to his tireless working and hiding from the truth of loss and death, Sir Whipson stood up. Giving a last glance at the geese, who were happily spending the time with their loved ones (unlike him), he walked off. The watchman was still snoring away to glory as Sir Whipson crossed the gate and gently closed it behind him.

Once outside, Sir Whipson stared at the overcrowded game shop that stood tall, overlooking the lone and deserted park. As he stood there, wondering where to go next, his gaze fell over the billboard that was advertising some movie and his eyes shone with excitement.

Quickly, he hailed a cab and jumped in. "To the cinema!" He said, imagining himself to be a medieval army-commander-in-chief and pointing towards the road in front of him.

The taxi driver looked at the passenger in bewilderment and decided to silently pay heed to his order in case the old lunatic gets angry and bites him in the neck.

When the yellow-black vehicle reached the closest cinema building, Sir Whipsonfreak threw in some money and quickly ran to the ticket booth.

The cab driver looked at the money and realized that it was way more than the fare. He looked up to call the non compos mentis but thought better of it and drove off.
'After all', the cab driver thought to himself, 'no policy of honesty is worth a bitten neck!'

"A ticket... to the... current show... and the show after... please." Sir Whipson said in a breathless voice, trying to remember the last time he ran but failing to do so.

"Are you afraid of the dark?" The red-head, chewing-gum eating woman behind the counter asked.

"Huh?"

"I said—the woman replied, rolling her eyes to show that she wasn't amused to repeat her words— Are you afraid of the dark?"

"Huh?" Sir Whipson replied, not able to understand why that question was needed.

"Not afraid of the dark I see", the woman said, too bored and irritated to repeat her question." Well, in that case, you can take the empty row in the middle. Here are your tickets."

Sir Whipson took the tickets and paying the money, sprinted inside as fast as his old legs could carry him.

As he sat down in the almost empty theater, Sir Whipsonfreak's mind drifted to the times when he, his wife and their son would religiously go to the movies once a month. His lips curled into a smile as he remembered how he and his wife would look into each other's eyes and hold hands in the darkness while their son would be busy watching what played on the big screen. By the time the movie started, Sir Whipson was already busy watching his old life unfold in front of his eyes...

Three and a half hours later, Sir Whipsonfreak walked out of the theater with the rest of the people who had come to watch the humorous film, his eyes streaming with tears of regret and sadness. He made his way to the nearest café and ordered a sandwich and coffee, just like old times.

When he was done with the meal in front of him, he lifted himself out of his seat and paying his bills, quickly left.

Richter sat on his grandad's favorite rocking chair and looked at his phone, scrolling down his feed and incessantly yawning. It was one of those boring days when he couldn't help but sigh and rock in the chair, occasionally tapping on the screen.

After a quick lunch at the diner in front of the apartment five hours ago, his tummy was once again rumbling with hunger. He took a sharp breath and looked at his phone. The pizza he had ordered would take another six minutes.

Defeated, he decided to while away the time by foraging for food. He walked towards the kitchen and looked at it, wondering where to start. "May we find what we seek." He said to himself and started the food hunt.

Several opened cabinets and shelves later, he sat on the floor and looking helplessly at the screen which still showed a delay of six minutes in his pizza delivery.

Just as he was about to cry with starvation, his eyes fell upon the innocent bread and butter that had been sitting on the dining table since morning. Carefully he made a step towards it, before breaking into a run.

He lunged at the simple breakfast, which now held the key to the survival of his life and tears. Quickly, he snatched the food. The plate slid and fell, breaking into tiny pieces near his feet, but he didn't care. A moan escaped his throat as he tore into the bread. "Delicious!" He praised the delicacy, which was silently screaming for help.

Just then, a knuckle sounded on the hardwood door. "Finally", he said and ran to receive the pizza he had ordered ages ago.

Looking at the person on the other side of the door, his face fell.

" You." He said in a bored voice.

Sir Whipsonfreak huffed and pushed the partly open door to let himself in. He put his coat and hat on the coat hanger and sat with a loud thump.

"You," Richter repeated in the same tone.

"It's my house you know." Sir Whipson replied in a gruff voice, trying to rub out the redness in his eyes while staring unblinkingly at the switched off television.

"Were you crying?" Richter asked in a worried tone, his head tilted to one side to show his surprise. Never before had he seen his grandfather break down, save his grandma's funeral when he was a seven-year-old boy.

"No." Sir Whipson replied, "I had my head out of the cab window and something hit my eye. That's why I never ride those pesky little motor carriages."

"Okay," Richter said, not buying the lie but deciding not to push the topic.
"So— his voice got cut by a loud grumbling from his stomach.

Sir Whipson looked at his grandkid and smiled." I knew you would be hungry. Bought you Paneer Kathi Roll, you and your father so badly crave whenever you people come here. It's in the inside pocket of my coat."

Richter squealed in appreciation and attacked the coat. As he fished out the treasure and turned to face his grandfather, his elbow knocked the walnut wood coat hanger which fell down with a bang.

"Sorry", he mumbled, bending down to pick up the fallen and in the process knocking down the key hanger which had been making love with a single house key all its life.
" Sorry", he mumbled again and putting the Kathi Roll on the table near him, picked up the key holder and the key, followed by the coat-hanger. Then, taking the Kathi Roll and stripping a part of the brown paper wrapping, he began chomping it down.

"What else did you break today?" Sir Whipson asked, narrowing his eyes at the hungry animal.

"N-nothing", Richter stammered, using his foot to slide the broken plate under the dinner table.

" You sure?"

"What did you do today?" Richter asked, ignoring the question and trying to change the topic.

"Well, first I went to the park, then to the cinema and then to a nearby café."

Richter stared at his grandfather for quite a long time, forgetting all about the Roll.

"What?" Sir Whipson asked, wondering what took over his grandson.

Richter snapped out of his oblivion and frowned at his grandfather, quickly creeping at the sofa set and seating himself in front of his grandfather.

"So you are saying", Richter said, a slight rise in his voice, " That when I told you to go on a day of adventure, you ended up in an in-town family vacay?"

Sir Whipsonfreak looked around nervously, suddenly realizing his folly.  "Adventures are supposed to be risky. The whole trip sported dangers which I courageously overcame."

"How?" Richter demanded.

" The rays from the big screens could have made me blind, the cab driver could have been a killer, the cafe food could have caused me food poisoning..." Sir Whipsonfreak said while Richter started at him in disbelief.
" And the park? What if some nutjob would have opened fire?"

"Oh? And who will he shoot? The goose? The watchman who claims to be poor and honest while sporting a Rolex and wearing a Louis Vuitton shoes? Or the crazy old guy who sits duck instead of going on an ADVENTURE?" Richter said, his voice growing with each word. "Those things aren't called risks, they are called IRRATIONAL FEARS!"

Sir Whipsonfreak opened his mouth to protest but got shut down as Richter spoke again.

"Tomorrow I want you to go on a real adventure. Understood?"

Sir Whipson nodded his head and said in a low voice, "Understood."

Richter stood up from his seat and stomped towards the guest room. He flipped out his phone and typed flop before pressing the post button. Then slamming the door upon entering the room, he plopped on the bed.

Just then, his screen lit up with a message-
"Your Pizza will be delivered in 5 minutes."

A/N

Long chapter, huh? Sorry, it's just that it had so much of content...I couldn't help myself. So heads up people, the other adventure chapters may be as long.

Anyways, are you enjoying the story? If yes please show your love and support by tapping that star button.

Also, now that you have realized that the first adventure dealt with old memories and spending quality time with your loved ones, what do you think the second adventure will teach him?

You will get your answer in the next chapter