The wind was whistling as the sun had disappeared behind the noble mountains leaving a dark atmosphere of death in the cold, lonely, air. The distressing burial of the by-gone Lennie left a dull fog of depression that seeped through the ranch leaving dismal and unanswered questions. The configuration of the looming trees ganged upon George leaving him feeling guilt ridden.
He sat with his hands tightly clenched around his knees as if he was trying to grab onto what hope he had left. He swiftly rocked backwards and forwards replaying in his mind pulling the vicious trigger that murdered his best and only friend, who was now no more.
The dense ball of emotion that was George began to breathe deeply. He clenched his fists and strongly exclaimed himself.
''You crazy bastard, I always said without you I could do whatever the hell I wanted, take my fifty bucks at the end of month and spent the whole damn night in a cat house for all I cared! Though I know you didn't do it out of meanness, I had to shoot you, I couldn't let them hurt you, I didn't want too,'' George stood up nobly and said firmly, ''I'll get that weak bastard, Curley, for you.
I'll get him Lennie.'' With that he gracefully left Lennies grave in peace.
He returned to the calm, cold ranch and quietly entered the workers bunkhouse. The men all lay in a deep slumber from the hard days work. George sat down on his damp bunk and stared at Lennies old, deckendant bunk. George was angry, he believed that Curley had defeated his intelligence and won. He turned to the white-washed wall on his bunk and his mind started to project memories of the times him and Lennie had shared in...