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Come visit my world. (standard:drama, 1481 words)
Author: red1holsAdded: Mar 16 2004Views/Reads: 1951/1252Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
The result of a my post in the forum. The writer has complete power over their characters - or do they?
 



Come visit my world. 

Welcome! Welcome to my world. You have now entered the world of my
imagination. This is an infinite world. Here you peel dimensions like 
you would onion. Each layer reveals a different truth and different 
realities. Here I have total control. People follow my every whim and 
desire. Every element of their lives is under my control. 

Let me take you closer. We find ourselves in a busy street in a
commercial district of an un-named English city. The place is not 
important. It is late one Monday morning. The street is full of traffic 
and people. All human life is here. 

Typically, for a big city, Glass and concrete office blocks try to
dominate. There is a church, squeezed by a fast food outlet and an 
Estate Agency. The sudden flash of green shocks people as they rush 
past the rusting wrought iron gates, but they never investigate. 

Behind the church is where the dispossessed and the unprepossessing
gather. 

The street has more purpose, more urgency. While behind the church, they
bemoan the lack of money, in the street they seek out ways to gather 
more. 

I have my setting, now for mood. My stories must have mood. Sometimes it
is the mood I'm in, others the mood I wish to achieve. It have written 
out of revenge, to make social comment, satirise against injustice or 
just to provide an unusual birthday gift. 

Today I feel perverse. I want coincidences to give my story a sting in
the tail. That writing gives me the most joy. This type of tale gives 
me the most opportunity to play God. 

To complete the picture I need a main character. There are some
interesting people behind the church, but fate has already intervened 
in their lives. I need someone who has more to lose. Yes, there! David 
Fields is an excellent candidate. He is young, good looking, well off 
and confident. He will do very nicely. 

David has an office in one of the more anonymous office blocks in the
street. As a Business Development Executive, he enjoys a very 
comfortable lifestyle. His luxury flat is a warehouse conversion 
overlooking the wharf redevelopment. The job comes with a generous 
salary plus a car that befits his status. Not only that, he gets 
commission on every contract he sells and, if he hits his targets, a 
generous annual bonus. 

Normally, David strides down this road. With his power suit and squared
jaw, the sea of pedestrians part to let him through. Not today, his 
shoulders sag slightly, spoiling the lines of his dark designer suit. 
There is an air about him; he isn't prepared to wait a fraction of a 
second for the gaps to open. Instead, he dodges, sidesteps and barges 
his way through, oblivious to the consequences that trail in his wake. 

At the ‘Three Feathers' public house, he stops. He looks towards his
office. A taxi horn drowns out the expletive as it leaves his lips. 
Slamming his palm against the door, he goes in. 

The pub is quiet. In truth, it rarely gets busy. The smell of stale
cigarettes, beer and sweat hang in the air. The bright spring sunshine 
coming through stained windows makes the pub appear even darker than 
normal. 

The landlord tears himself away from a TV and pours a pint. In his haste
to rid himself of the bothersome customer, he slams the glass on the 
counter. David considers the cloudy almost-pint and sighs. 

Taking yesterdays newspaper from his briefcase, David sits at the corner
table. He sits there and reads without the words ever registering in 
his brain. Occasionally he sips at the cloudy pint, but the overly 
bitter sensations on his tongue are sweet compared to his own sour 
feelings. 

An hour before, he met with Steven Crick of Everslade, Morten & Crick.


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