Did a bit more on the story. Don't get too hooked, don't know how much more of this I can churn out. I'm already struggling, a bit. I have a lot more respect for novelists already.
“So when did you last see Will?” Mike asked.
“Oh don’t you start, you’re as bad as the police. Don’t you think I feel bad enough already?” Jeff replied.
“I know, I’m sorry, I’m just trying to get a few things straight in my head that’s all.”
“Can’t believe it. I didn’t think he needed walking home or anything. He’s twenty-three for Christ sake, not twelve.”
“Yeah, but you said he was pretty drunk.”
“No, I said I wish I could drink like him, he was really putting it away but didn’t seem to be any worse-for-ware.” Jeff paused, his eyes were moist and you could tell he was holding back tears. “And besides, I’d had enough by that time, he said he was going on to meet some of his Uni mates at a bar, so I left him trying to hail a cab outside The Dove and I walked home. That was about twelve-thirty.” Jeff stopped again, turned away from Mike and wiped away a tear.
Mike got up and went to put the kettle on in the kitchen. He left Jeff to deal with his grief, and went to deal with his own grief, his headache and the information the police had given him.
They had explained that Will’s body had been found between two blocks of flats just around the corner from their flat. The police believed he’d been mugged, tried to put up a fight and had ended up being strangled. This didn’t add up to Mike, Will had been mugged a couple of months after he’d moved in and had sensibly just handed over his wallet and phone. He couldn’t believe Will would be a have-a-go hero even after an evening full of beers.
Mike couldn’t think straight, he had a hangover from hell. He fished around in the kitchen cupboard for paracetamol, popped a couple, poured himself another pint of water and gulped it down. He made two teas and returned to the lounge, he couldn’t remember seeing Jeff so quiet.
“There’s something that doesn’t make sense though, don’t you think?” Mike asked, putting a tea down in front of Jeff and sat next to him.
“Eh, what?” Replied Jeff, jolted out of his trance.
“Well, what was Will doing down by those flats? It’s the wrong direction for being on his way back from the Dove, or from the bars or the night bus, there’s not even a kebab house down there.”
“Maybe he was dropped off by a cab down there.”
“Suppose, but why not outside the flat? Doesn’t make sense. Unbelievable.”
“Now you mention it,” said Jeff getting off the sofa, “something else doesn’t quite make sense.”
“What’s that?”
“What kind of failed mugging ends in strangulation?” Jeff was now animatedly pacing up and down. “Muggings end in stabbings and shootings, not people being strangled.”
Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Creative Writing
A couple of blogging friends of mine, Eisor and Coldbrain are the creative types. They both do creative writing. Generally, I am not a creative type. I am a scientist, I ask questions, and like finite answers to questions. The concept of being creative is generally alien to me. Anyway, having been slightly cyber-bullied, being the kind of person that likes to expand horizons, and having nothing to do on the train for the last couple of mornings, I did some writing.
I think I was thinking along the lines that this is the first chapter of some kind of magnus opus. They say everyone has a novel in them. This may well be the first Dan Brown-sized chapter of mine.
The incessant buzzing of the intercom brought Mike back to life. That’s not to say that Mike had been dead. The way he felt right now, he suspected most doctors would not have described his previous state as sleep, unconsciousness probably. Maybe even comatose.
The intercom was still buzzing.
Every buzz of the intercom made his head throb. He’d have to make it stop. He pulled his heavy body off the sofa and walked over to the grill of the intercom and pressed the button to communicate with the person doing the buzzing.
“Whoever you are, will you please stop pressing that fucking buzzer.”
The buzzing stopped. It did not really help his headache. Something else was making his head hurt, and he was pretty sure he would need to be horizontal again to make it go away.
“Finally! What the fuck have you been up to? I’ve been buzzing you for nearly an hour.” Said a familiar voice through the intercom static.
“Mate, I’ve been asleep, what do you think I’ve been doing, it’s the weekend and it’s the bloody morning.” Mike pressed the unlock button on the intercom, put the front door of his flat on the latch and returned to a horizontal position on the sofa.
Jeff came bounding in, his usual chirpy self.
“Sorry mate, thought you’d be up already.”
“Well obviously I’m not, it was a pretty heavy night list night. Have you been out there buzzing for an hour? I must have been fucking wasted last night to sleep through that.”
“Nah, I buzzed for ten minutes then went to the café for breakfast, figured you were still busy with your lady.”
“What lady?” Mike interrupted.
“What! Jees man you must have been plastered. The lady you brought home last night. Did you go on somewhere else with her first? You didn’t seem too drunk when you left.”
“I did not bring home a woman last night, I don’t even remember leaving the Dove.”
“Well you left with this hot blonde on your arm and a grin the size of the London Eye plastered across your face.”
“Shit. Really?”
“Yeah, hey where’s Will? He was on top form last night. Fucking funny guy, and boy can that kid drink. Wish I was his age again.”
“Dunno, not seen him – in his room I assume.”
Jeff went to knock on Will’s door. Will was Mike’s flatmate. It is true that Mike was a little too old to have a flatmate, but he liked having young students rent his spare room. It brought in some extra beer money, and it made Mike feel young, having some young friends.
“He’s not there. Must have got lucky too, must be something in the water in this flat. I’m gonna get me some of that, do you want some?” Jeff said as he went into the kitchen.
“Please” replied Mike. His head was still throbbing, and he was trying to piece together the few memories of the previous night. What did the blonde look like? Why had he got in this state. He was angry with himself. It had been ages since any woman had showed any interest in him, and now he couldn’t remember any of it. “Bollocks.” He said to himself.
Mike returned with two pints of water and put one in front of Mike on the coffee table. At that moment the buzzing started again.
“It’s ok, don’t strain yourself, I’ll get it.” Said Jeff walking across the room to the intercom.
“Hello, Mike’s place” said Jeff
“Is this the residence of William Johnson?” said a voice through the static
“Yes, but he’s not here.”
“We know, this is the Police, may we come in and ask you some questions.”
Half an hour later, the police left. Mike and Jeff sat on the sofa, trying to come to terms with the news that Will had been found dead, in an alleyway just two hundred yards away.
I think I was thinking along the lines that this is the first chapter of some kind of magnus opus. They say everyone has a novel in them. This may well be the first Dan Brown-sized chapter of mine.
The incessant buzzing of the intercom brought Mike back to life. That’s not to say that Mike had been dead. The way he felt right now, he suspected most doctors would not have described his previous state as sleep, unconsciousness probably. Maybe even comatose.
The intercom was still buzzing.
Every buzz of the intercom made his head throb. He’d have to make it stop. He pulled his heavy body off the sofa and walked over to the grill of the intercom and pressed the button to communicate with the person doing the buzzing.
“Whoever you are, will you please stop pressing that fucking buzzer.”
The buzzing stopped. It did not really help his headache. Something else was making his head hurt, and he was pretty sure he would need to be horizontal again to make it go away.
“Finally! What the fuck have you been up to? I’ve been buzzing you for nearly an hour.” Said a familiar voice through the intercom static.
“Mate, I’ve been asleep, what do you think I’ve been doing, it’s the weekend and it’s the bloody morning.” Mike pressed the unlock button on the intercom, put the front door of his flat on the latch and returned to a horizontal position on the sofa.
Jeff came bounding in, his usual chirpy self.
“Sorry mate, thought you’d be up already.”
“Well obviously I’m not, it was a pretty heavy night list night. Have you been out there buzzing for an hour? I must have been fucking wasted last night to sleep through that.”
“Nah, I buzzed for ten minutes then went to the café for breakfast, figured you were still busy with your lady.”
“What lady?” Mike interrupted.
“What! Jees man you must have been plastered. The lady you brought home last night. Did you go on somewhere else with her first? You didn’t seem too drunk when you left.”
“I did not bring home a woman last night, I don’t even remember leaving the Dove.”
“Well you left with this hot blonde on your arm and a grin the size of the London Eye plastered across your face.”
“Shit. Really?”
“Yeah, hey where’s Will? He was on top form last night. Fucking funny guy, and boy can that kid drink. Wish I was his age again.”
“Dunno, not seen him – in his room I assume.”
Jeff went to knock on Will’s door. Will was Mike’s flatmate. It is true that Mike was a little too old to have a flatmate, but he liked having young students rent his spare room. It brought in some extra beer money, and it made Mike feel young, having some young friends.
“He’s not there. Must have got lucky too, must be something in the water in this flat. I’m gonna get me some of that, do you want some?” Jeff said as he went into the kitchen.
“Please” replied Mike. His head was still throbbing, and he was trying to piece together the few memories of the previous night. What did the blonde look like? Why had he got in this state. He was angry with himself. It had been ages since any woman had showed any interest in him, and now he couldn’t remember any of it. “Bollocks.” He said to himself.
Mike returned with two pints of water and put one in front of Mike on the coffee table. At that moment the buzzing started again.
“It’s ok, don’t strain yourself, I’ll get it.” Said Jeff walking across the room to the intercom.
“Hello, Mike’s place” said Jeff
“Is this the residence of William Johnson?” said a voice through the static
“Yes, but he’s not here.”
“We know, this is the Police, may we come in and ask you some questions.”
Half an hour later, the police left. Mike and Jeff sat on the sofa, trying to come to terms with the news that Will had been found dead, in an alleyway just two hundred yards away.
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