The Day Before (standard:Suspense, 1489 words)
Author: Hulsey	Added: Nov 26 2002	Views/Reads: 4193/2444	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A writer decides to take drastic measures to get his novel read.

The blue flashing lights illuminated the lavish lounge. Terry sat
beneath the window, his back against the wall. He felt the cold steel 
of the revolver against his teeth, when he placed the weapon in his 
mouth. The sirens grew louder, and he closed his tear stained eyes. 

Terry Mcluskey was not an evil man. Circumstances had ordained his
destiny. He applied the pressure on the trigger and his life passed 
before his eyes; his insignificant, pathetic life. All he ever wanted 
was recognition, nothing more. 

He looked over at his computer; his latest novel adorning the screen.
His latest, worthless novel. All those hours of toil. All that stress 
and anger, for what? 

Terry had written twelve novels. Each one that he completed, he
convinced himself that he had written a best seller. Rejection after 
rejection followed. What the fuck did the agents know? Probably didn't 
even read them. Subjected to the slush pile, just as Terry was. 
Rejected and forgotten. 

Christine had left him over his obsession. “You think more about your
bloody writing than you do of your family,” she had nagged. Perhaps she 
was right. Terry had switched himself off over the years. His wife was 
there for his endless cups of coffee and his occasional snack. As for 
his children, Sarah and Paul, he regularly dismissed them with money, 
as not to intrude in his fantasy world. Now, he was all alone. 

He looked over at the letter on the doormat. Probably another rejection.
The breaking of glass disturbed his daydreaming. They were coming for 
him. One thing in his miserable life that he feared was being locked 
away. Funny, all these years sitting isolated in his bedroom writing, 
and he was claustrophobic. 

He heard the ticking of the clock; each tick bringing him closer to his
destiny, his introduction to death. The front door was kicked in and he 
watched the armed policemen enter his domain. He pulled the trigger, 
and then, darkness. 

The day before. 

Terry was standing in the shadows of The Plaza, his lank, brown hair
flattened against his scalp by the drizzle. He was unperturbed by such 
distractions. Meeting James Nolan was the only thing on his disturbed 
mind. 

He watched Nolan and another man enter the restaurant. His hands shook
as he dried his face with his handkerchief. His progress into the 
restaurant went unheeded, and he approached the table. The literary 
agent and his guest were browsing through the menu. The flickering of 
the candlelight cast a shadow over the features of Nolan, as he watched 
Terry advancing towards him. The literary agent's neatly trimmed silver 
hair and tanned features, along with his gold rings, gave him the 
appearance of opulence, probably earned from authors. 

“Mr Nolan, you don't know me, but you've read some of my work. In fact,
you've read everything that I've ever written.” 

Nolan frowned. “Excuse me. If you wish to see me, make an appointment
like everyone else.” 

Terry raised his voice a few decibels. “Mr Nolan, with all due respect,
I've not once, but several times tried to make an appointment with you, 
only to be fobbed off by your arsehole of a secretary.” 

Other diners now had turned their attention to the table. Nolan flashed
them a smile, as if to apologise. 

“What did you say your name was?” 

“I didn't, but it's Terence Mcluskey.” 

Nolan smiled, exhibiting his perfect white teeth: “Ah yes, Mcluskey, the
ever-persistent Mcluskey.” 

“All I ask, Mr Nolan is for a little courtesy. Just tell me what's wrong


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