What you are about to read is an excerpt from one of my many started then abandoned writing projects. I have about six or seven of them kicking about, and after an initial burst of creativity, the concentration wanes, then Television or Facebook take over, and then I lose interest, or the next idea has taken over… It’s a never ending cycle really, and I really ought to break it and actually finish something for a change!!
Anyway, please cast your eye over what follows and feel free to pass comment either positively or, if you so wish, you can leave some constructive criticism. Which means you can’t call me any rude words or just call it rubbish. You have to tell me WHY it’s rubbish, or why you think it’s justified to call me a rude word.
So, make sure you are sitting comfortably, and I shall begin… (also, this idea is still so much in it’s infancy, I have not deemed it necessary to give it a proper title – the file name on my conputer is simply “Another novel idea”. And it’s in a different font, so you know where it ends too. I’m helpful like that.
The winter sun set behind the hills as I drove home from work. I fumbled around for my sunglasses in the glove compartment. Finally, after littering the passenger seat with various pieces of rubbish and CD cases, I put my hands on them. Emitting a sigh of relief, I used my mouth to open the arms and put them on my face.
Oh, for fucks sake!” My vision was now impaired by a huge scratch on one lens. I angrily ripped them from my face and flung them on the passenger seat. I took a quick glance at the road, then fumbled around for a CD. I put my hands on ‘The Best of The Stone Roses’ and nimbly opened the case and slid the CD into the stereo. As the familiar sounding intro to ‘I Wanna Be Adored’ filled the speakers, I turned the volume up a few notches. I turned my attention back to the road in time to see the traffic in front ground to a halt. As my swearing mingled with the rumbling bass of the music, I rammed my foot on the brakes and eventually came to a halt amidst squealing tyres just millimetres from the car in front. I sat there gasping for air and sweating profusely. I opened the window for some air and turned the fans on to cold air and full blast.
I drove slowly the rest of the way home. I finally pulled up outside my parent’s suburban bungalow. I stuffed the various bits of rubbish back in the glove compartment and slammed it closed before the things could topple back out again. I picked my bag off the floor where it had been thrown by the earlier braking manoeuvre and removed the key from the ignition. I sat in silence for a moment, then, taking a deep breath, got out of the car and, having locked the door, walked up the driveway and round the back. There were no cars on the drive, so both mum and dad were most likely out. Probably just as well, I thought as I shut the gate behind him. As I rounded the wall, I heard the dog barking and scratching at the French windows. I let myself in with my key and made a fuss of the dog, scratching her tummy and rolling balls for her to chase. Leaving the dog spread-eagled on the floor, I got up and made myself a cup of coffee and cut a piece of birthday cake left over from my sister Marie’s birthday at the weekend. It was still tasty, but was now beginning to dry out a bit. I peeled the icing off and dropped some cake on the floor for the dog, who greedily ate it up. Glancing at the clock, and seeing it was almost quarter to six, I went and got changed.
This had pretty much been my routine for the last three months, ever since my wife, Lucy, decided to screw me over with her boss. It was still bitter, but as far as I was concerned I was better off out of it. To think I was considering having a child with her was frightening on reflection. Now she was living in my house with her boss, causing me all sorts of grief, and I was reduced to living out of my old bedroom after almost six years away. My confidence was shot to pieces and I couldn’t see a way out. It was a good job my family were supportive, and my friends too, as there were many times I considered ending it all. Sinking into a pit of depression and alcoholism had been all too easy, but thankfully, I was on my way up. For now, anyway. I had never told anyone about the time I sat on my bed with a glass of vodka, feeling low. I had emptied the glass and smashed it against the wall. Then taking a shard of glass, I held it over my wrist and paused. Luckily, I was far too afraid of dying to actually go through with it. Now I can look back at that moment and I know my life was supposed to go on. Maybe I had a reason. All I know is that I’m glad I didn’t slice my wrists open. And so are my loving family. If only they knew.
But anyway, as I got changed, I read the newspaper from front to back, reading the sports pages in detail. Having been on her own for a while, the dog was lying by my bedroom door looking sorry for herself. It was a Friday, and I needed to do something. Having got changed, I ran through my mobile phone contacts, texting my mates to see if anyone fancied a night out. Jim, Dave, Mike, Rick and Phil. Slowly, over the next half hour, they all replied in the negative. Looked like it was just me. Never mind, there was enough for me to do on my own in town.
Any good you think?