Hello again,
Well it's been a long and unfruitful few months for me. What with getting a full-time job at FHM (brag brag) I'd sort of lost my motivation and direction when it came to my writing. Well, I've been working on a new short story recently and I wanted to give you the first snippet. Contructive criticism is welcome!
A work in progress
He blinked hard as the drops splashed his glossy eye. The pharmacist had told him that he didn’t have an eye infection. The stinging sensation was probably nothing more than a symptom of dry or tried eyes. Waking up felt like a resurrection anyway, without the need for this new ritual. He imagined Dracula – from a camp 1950’s Hollywood horror - punching through a coffin lid, sitting up and scraping the grit from his face, and body before roaring with an open blood stained mouth. He huffed and laughed to himself a little too loudly. ‘Still here?’ His wife Jenny said. Oh God she’s awake.
‘I thought you had an 9 o’clock meeting?’
‘Yes, yes. I’m going.’
‘But you’re still in your pants.’
‘They’re boxers. Can you please call them boxers…’ He left the bedroom, tugging self-consciously on his Calvins. God, she would always do this. She would always say something that would get under his skin and really piss him off before he’d even had a decent chance at starting the day. ‘Argh!’ He growled as he accidentally knocked over a bunch of Jenny’s cosmetics on the sink.
‘Alright noisy. What are you doing in there?’
‘Your shit is just everywhere! Where’s my stuff supposed to go?’ He bent over the sink gritting his teeth and gripping his toothbrush in a white knuckled fist. Nothing more from the bedroom. He’d obviously upset her. He was being a prick and she was lovely just the way she was. He was just grouchy. And he didn’t love her any more.
As he gruffly looped his tie around his neck, he peered up at the ceiling and conjured up another image that was all too dark for a Monday morning. Life was not grim for Andrew. He had a job he enjoyed and was married to a former model/actress /cabaret performer who wanted to father his children. Perfect. For someone else. The only part of his day he could stand, was work. His unnecessary menial morning and evening routine around the house depressed him, made him think about things that well-adjusted magazine editors shouldn’t be thinking about.
He hooked a dark green Wentworth brolley over his forearm and shouted up the stairs, ‘Jen I’m off-‘
‘No kiss-‘ she shouted back. Even her voice made his nerves jangle.
‘Late.’ He mumbled. He then decided to lie to her, ‘Oh I’m meeting with this guy from the MOD tonight….for drinks. He might have a lead.’ She was walking down the stairs now, her robe was open and her patchwork Agent Provateur twin set showed off her toned figure. ‘Another late night?’
‘Yes. I won’t be long. Just a couple of hours.’ He lunged forward touched her lightly on the small of her back as he pecked her, too quickly for her to reciprocate.
‘Hey!’ she pulled him close to her and wrapped her pale freckly arms around his neck. ‘I want a proper kiss.’ She kissed him long and hard on the mouth. He counted four big elephants in his head before he jerked his head away. ‘Really late.’ He yanked his rucksack on to his back before leaving the house. He stopped for a moment outside. It was raining, as he had suspected, and he felt nauseous for the second time that morning.
Andrew got off the train at Waterloo – having stood up in the carriage for the entire journey – and walked over to a seat to change his shoes and drink the last of his coffee. He suffered from horrendous bunions around his big toes and couldn’t stand the pinching of his smart shoes any longer than he had to. He tugged off his orthotic trainers and grimaced as he pulled on his especially shiny pointed shoes. He daren’t wear trainers on the way to the office as he always saw at least five colleagues on the way. He didn’t want people to think he was a wimp, or worse, a pre-work gym bunny.
