|Come visit my world. (standard:drama, 1481 words)|
|Author: red1hols||Added: Mar 16 2004||Views/Reads: 1951/1252||Story 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. Click here to read the rest of this story (117 more lines)
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