Lorelai Stache was tired of people pointing out that his first name was a girl’s name. He knew that it was. His mother hadn’t known, and either way it was 57 years too late to do anything about it.
Mr Stache, as he usually presented himself, owned a small shop in Old Street, a shop filled with curious antiques of unknowable purposes. Some would call it junk, some would say it was nothing but decorative gewgaws, and some still would find something they had, often without knowing it, been in search of for years.
An elderly woman with purplish hair had just walked out of he shop, carrying a stuffed blue parrot as reverently as if it had been the Holy Grail. Had you asked her, she wouldn’t have been able to say why she had purchased the moth-eaten bird, but she would have be quite offended if you had suggested she’d return it. The previous week a young man, just abandoned by the one he’d believed to be his True Love, had found solace in a rain-grey glass orb with a piece of red coral enclosed in its centre. A little girl, scarcely older than ten, had bought a leather-bound book in a language she could not read, enthralled by woodcuts of strange animals in faraway jungles.
Mr Stache did not know why people were drawn to certain objects more than others. A few times he had asked cautious questions, but never had he received any conclusive answer, so he accepted it as simply being the way things were. He had never been attracted to unnecessary fancy goods himself, his apartment above the shop held only the bare minimum of furnishings, but he had a knack of finding lost and forgotten objects, as long as they had once been very much loved by someone, and might be so once again.
So, on the days the shop was closed, Mr Stache wandered around the old city, finding things left in abandoned houses, dropped in bushes, accidentally thrown away, or given to thrift stores by well-meaning relatives who thought the original owner would do good with a bit more space. After a careful cleaning, and repair when needed, the things were put on display, eagerly awaiting the gentle touch of new, loving fingers.
There was only one thing that never seemed to find a place in someone’s heart. It was a small porcelain dog in a begging position, its head tilted to the side, its peppercorn eyes gazing longingly at the visitors of the shop. It was an exquisite thing, and when Mr Stache looked up its origins he found it was worth a pretty penny, and still no one would look twice at it, despite the very modest price tag tied around its neck. Every now and then he would point it out to his customers, and they agreed that it was a fine thing, but they did not buy it.
As time went by the begging porcelain dog became the only constant in the shop, surrounded by an ever-changing flow of bric-a-brac, much of which looked quite worthless next to it. Mr Stache moved it around the shop, placing it sometimes as a centrepiece in the window, sometimes in the lighted glass cabinet, and sometimes on a small pedestal in the middle of the big table that held most of the shop’s merchandise. He slowly began to feel that it was out of place wherever he put it, and he started moving it about even more, without finding a place where it looked the slightest bit at home. He now showed it to every person that walked through the door, but to his frustration the answer was always the same. No one would have the porcelain dog, not even when he tried to give it away.
One rainy night Mr Stache decided he’d had enough with the little dog, so he picked it up, and dropped it unceremoniously into the bin, where it shattered. Then he went upstairs, brushed his teeth, and went to bed. He slept uneasily, dreaming of shining black eyes that looked brokenheartedly into his own, and he was awakened just past midnight by the sound of the wind in the pipes. It sounded remarkably like an abandoned dog, crying for its master.
Mr Stache sighed, and got out of bed. He went down to the shop, where he carefully picked up all the porcelain fragments from the bin, then he went back upstairs and sat down by his desk. With glue and a fine brush he carefully reassembled the pieces into a begging dog, which he placed on the windowsill to dry. Having done that he returned to his bed, and slept contently for the remainder of the night.
The next morning Mr Stache went about his usual morning business, making tea and marmalade sandwiches, with a light heart and a slight smile. He even whistled a bit. Why he felt so elated he could not quite say, until his eyes fell upon the mended porcelain dog sitting in the window. It was not as exquisite as before, and after being broken and repaired it was certainly not worth anything any more. Its head had dried at a slightly different angle than before, giving the dog a look of mischievous happiness rather than submissive begging.
Much to the amazement of Mr Stache, the porcelain dog looked perfectly at home on the windowsill, and there it remains to this day.
Fin.
Er - this is actually a story I wrote on a whim a few years ago, not for any school assignment or anything like that, but because it turned up in my head and refused to leave. I'm currently trying to write my final story in my Swedish writing class, and that's such slow going that I can't really put aside any brain capacity for coming up with a brand spanking new English story at the moment, sorry. But I'll be keeping this blog as a place to put any stories I happen to write in the future, so Watch This Space. ;)
lördag 14 augusti 2010
onsdag 11 augusti 2010
Random limerick thrown together in five minutes during class
The woman did not mean to pry
She’d hid in a doorway to dry
She peered through a crack
Saw a man on his back
His sausage inside Stephen Fry
(Please don't shoot me, I have so much to live for!)
She’d hid in a doorway to dry
She peered through a crack
Saw a man on his back
His sausage inside Stephen Fry
(Please don't shoot me, I have so much to live for!)
tisdag 20 juli 2010
E-assignment 2, Dialogues
Two office workers who know but dislike each other are trapped in a lift with a sales rep they’ve never met before, but whom they are both immediately attracted to. Help is on the way.
[Viridiana and Charles step into the lift at the sixteenth floor, going down.]
Viridiana: Hello.
Charles: Morning.
[Silence.]
[The lift stops at the fourteenth floor, Jeremy steps in.]
Jeremy: G’day.
Charles: Good morning. You new here?
Jeremy: Yeah, just started last Monday, in the sales department. Name’s Jeremy. Anderson.
Viridiana: Pleased to meet you, Mr Anderson, and –
Jeremy: Please, call me Jeremy.
Viridiana: – and welcome, Jeremy. I’m Viridiana Clarke, from Management, and you may call me Vee.
Jeremy: And miss out on saying your lovely name? Viridiana, it really goes with your eyes.
Viridiana: Oh, you are quite a charmer, aren’t you?
Charles: So, Jeremy, you sound like you’re from Down Under?
Jeremy: Yeah, I grew up there, though my mum’s from Staffordshire originally. I moved from Canberra to Hammersmith about four years ago, and I’ve never looked back. Although the accent is still hanging on.
Charles: Well that’s –
Viridiana: I have to say, I’ve always loved the Australian accent, it just sounds so, I don’t know, relaxed, and joyful. It really goes with the outdoor lifestyle, the surfing and the barbies and all that.
Jeremy: True, although to be honest I was never much for –
[The lift stops, between the third and fourth floor. The lights go out, except a small, green emergency lamp.]
Charles: Well I say!
Jeremy: Blackout?
Viridiana: No, this happened last week too, up at seventeenth. You’d think it wouldn’t happen in a brand new building like this, and the maintenance boys said it was just a minor glitch that they’d soon fixed, but look! It’s happened again!
Charles: Calm down, Miss Clarke. They’ll have us out in a jiffy.
Viridiana: Don’t you try to calm me, Charlie Jones! Remember who’s the boss here!
Jeremy: He has a point, Miss Clarke. We’ll probably be moving again any minute now, there’s no need to get all worked up.
Viridiana: All right, all right, I’m calm. Calm as the sea –
[Clanking noises from under the lift, where Maintenance has opened the doors.]
Maintenance guy: You all right in there?
Viridiana: NO! We’d like to get out, now.
Maintenance guy: Well, you’ll have to wait a bit, we can’t move the lift till we’ve changed the flywheel that’s gone pear shaped. Shouldn’t take too long, ten minutes, fifteen at most.
Charles: Then hop to it, man! I’ve got a very important meeting in twenty!
Viridiana: And I’m having lunch with the CEO of Panac Industries!
Jeremy: And I promised I’d call my mum and tell her how things were going!
Maintenance guy: …Really?
Jeremy: Yes!
Maintenance guy: All right, we’ll get you out. Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be back.
Charles: [mutters] Har, har, har. Funny bugger, aren’t you?
Viridiana: Oh do be quiet, Charlie. I feel a migraine coming on.
Charles: Oooh, sorry Miss Clarke, of course everything is about you, isn’t it?
Jeremy: Mr Jones –
Viridiana: Watch your tone, man!
Jeremy: Miss Clarke –
Charles: Me? Have you heard yourself, you high-pitched harridan –
Jeremy: ENOUGH!
[Silence.]
Jeremy: I’m sorry, I know it’s not fun to be stuck in a lift at the best of times, but… For everybody’s sake, can’t we all just be quiet until we get out of here, and then never speak of this again?
Viridiana: Very well, we’re civilised people, we should be able to manage that. Though I have to say it’s a good thing this happened today, as Charlie here is usually the most loquacious person in the building.
Charles: [mutters to himself] Try being witty when you’re stuck between a harpy and a bloke you fancy the pants off of… Er.
[Silence.]
[The lift starts moving, stops, and the doors open. Charles, Viridiana, and Jeremy exit, going their separate ways, all very thoughtful.]
-------
[Two twenty-something women, Mary-Lou and Alex, meet in a small record store. Mary-Lou works there, Alex is a customer.]
Alex: Er, excuse me?
Mary-Lou: Yes, can I help you?
Alex: Uh, I’m looking for a cd by Blaqk Audio…?
Mary-Lou: You mean CexCells? It’s over here.
Alex: On the Electro shelf, of course! I walked right by it and didn’t see it.
Mary-Lou: Yeah, it is tucked away a bit, but we don’t really have the space to arrange the shelves in any other way.
Alex: I can see that. I’m amazed you got all of this in in the first place.
Mary-Lou: That was an adventure, I tells ya. Me and Dan, who owns the place, spent two days unscrewing everything in the old store, moved it here, and then three days putting it back together. And it’s not IKEA stuff, so it’s not exactly made to come apart.
Alex: Augh, don’t talk to me about IKEA! I just got my own flat – finally! – and mum insisted on getting me a load of flat-packed crap; "until you earn enough to get proper things".
Mary-Lou: My dad’s like that, too. "What’s wrong with second-hand?" I ask, but nooo, everything has to be brand new, regardless of price and quality, or I’ll end up with a flat full of bed bugs, apparently. Good thing I can just say my boyfriend bought it, if I find some cool old thing, or I’d have the most boring flat in Camden.
Alex: Ah, Camden. I envy you now, I’ve always wanted to live there.
Mary-Lou: You’d fit right in if you listen to electro.
Alex: Er, well, I don’t, really. It’s mostly California punk for me, like AFI, Rancid, Tiger Army, Offspring… That lot.
Mary-Lou: Good stuff.
Alex: Yeah. ‘tis. Anyway, I just checked Blaqk Audio out ‘cause it’s by Davey and Jade from AFI, and I loved it right away.
Mary-Lou: It is awesome, yeah. Very full and vivid soundscapes, like, it doesn’t matter how many times you listen to the songs, you’ll keep hearing new sounds, new beats. And you know, I never realised screechy little Davey Havok had so many different voices.
Alex: Guh, tell me about it! Especially in Cities Of Night, it’s like velvet and honey and dark chocolate and nngh!
Mary-Lou: The analogy I keep coming back to is Noel Fielding, being serious. Or possibly after singing lessons.
Alex: Oh that’s perfect! And now I want Blaqk Audio to show up on the Mighty Boosh. They need to.
Mary-Lou: I wonder is Fielding’s heard of them… I see him sashaying around Camden from time to time, maybe I should stick CexCells in his hand next time I spot him.
Alex: Do iiit! And give him a snog from me while you’re at it.
Mary-Lou: Only if you promise to bail me out when I’ve been arrested for sexual harassment!
Alex: Deal! By the way, do you have Facebook or something? I’m planning a Great Big Mighty Boosh Party with some mates, and, you know, the more the merrier.
Mary-Lou: No Facebook, no, but Twitter, and you can have my email address too. I’ve never been to a Boosh-related party that didn’t rock, so I’d love to come.
Alex: All right then! I’m Alex, by the way. Alexandra Pagani.
Mary-Lou: Mary-Lou Reventon, at your service.
Alex: Uh, oh yeah, I almost forgot I was buying the cd.
Mary-Lou: Heh. That’s four ponds fifty for that, and here’s my email.
Alex: Right, I’ll get back to you as soon as I know where and when the party’s going to be, next Saturday is the best bet right now.
Mary-Lou: Can I bring the boy?
Alex: Sure!
Mary-Lou: All right then, I’ll see you when I see you.
Alex: Cheers!
-------
"Kim?"
"Mmm?"
"What... what happened last night?"
"...What?"
"I mean, er, did we really...?"
"Make love?"
"...Er, yes?""Quite certainly."
"Oh."
"You hadn't forgotten, had you? I don't recall you drinking all that much."
"No, I just... it's kinda hard to believe it actually happened, is all."
"Yeah..."
"So..."
"Did you enjoy it?"
"I'm pretty sure you know I did."
"I'm pretty sure everyone within a five mile radius knows you did, considering the noise you were making."
"Heh, yeah, sorry."
"Don't be. I liked that."
"...Really?"
"Yes."
"...Huh."
"So... What now?"
"I don't know. I wasn't really expecting this to happen."
"Neither was I."
"Do you regret it?"
"I wouldn't undo it for all the best tea in the world."
"Told you I was good."
"Smug twit."
"You're only saying that 'cos I'm right."
"Yes, yes, all right. ...Do you regret it?"
"...No. It was new and unexpected and I've no idea where we're gonna go from here, but... no. I have no regrets about sleeping with you."
"Good."
"We should do it again some time."
"You really think that's a good idea?"
"Sounds like an excellent idea to me."
"Uh-huh, and what about when people inevitably find out about it? What about when Sam finds out?"
"You know, considering last night, I'm not too fussed about who knows or not, as long as I get to have you doing that thing you did with your tongue again."
"And Sam?"
"We'll tell him, right away. Invite him to join us if he gets upset."
"...Okay you did not just say that."
"What, you need a cup of tea before you can handle the vision of Sam in -"
"Shut up! I don't need a cup of tea, I need a bloody flooded tea plantation! And a few litres of chlorine. And stop giggling, you sound like a girl."
"And you like me to take you like a man, don't you?"
"As evidenced by last night..."
"Roawr! I could do you right now, you know."
"Don't. We'll be late."
"Oh yeah, lecture."
"Always bloody lectures."
"Okay, let's get up then."
"Yeah. ...Robin?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you happy?"
"Very happy, Kim. Very happy. And you?"
"Elated. Jubilant. Gleeful. Way happier than waking up next to you should make me, but there you go."
"Told you I was good."
"Arse."
[Viridiana and Charles step into the lift at the sixteenth floor, going down.]
Viridiana: Hello.
Charles: Morning.
[Silence.]
[The lift stops at the fourteenth floor, Jeremy steps in.]
Jeremy: G’day.
Charles: Good morning. You new here?
Jeremy: Yeah, just started last Monday, in the sales department. Name’s Jeremy. Anderson.
Viridiana: Pleased to meet you, Mr Anderson, and –
Jeremy: Please, call me Jeremy.
Viridiana: – and welcome, Jeremy. I’m Viridiana Clarke, from Management, and you may call me Vee.
Jeremy: And miss out on saying your lovely name? Viridiana, it really goes with your eyes.
Viridiana: Oh, you are quite a charmer, aren’t you?
Charles: So, Jeremy, you sound like you’re from Down Under?
Jeremy: Yeah, I grew up there, though my mum’s from Staffordshire originally. I moved from Canberra to Hammersmith about four years ago, and I’ve never looked back. Although the accent is still hanging on.
Charles: Well that’s –
Viridiana: I have to say, I’ve always loved the Australian accent, it just sounds so, I don’t know, relaxed, and joyful. It really goes with the outdoor lifestyle, the surfing and the barbies and all that.
Jeremy: True, although to be honest I was never much for –
[The lift stops, between the third and fourth floor. The lights go out, except a small, green emergency lamp.]
Charles: Well I say!
Jeremy: Blackout?
Viridiana: No, this happened last week too, up at seventeenth. You’d think it wouldn’t happen in a brand new building like this, and the maintenance boys said it was just a minor glitch that they’d soon fixed, but look! It’s happened again!
Charles: Calm down, Miss Clarke. They’ll have us out in a jiffy.
Viridiana: Don’t you try to calm me, Charlie Jones! Remember who’s the boss here!
Jeremy: He has a point, Miss Clarke. We’ll probably be moving again any minute now, there’s no need to get all worked up.
Viridiana: All right, all right, I’m calm. Calm as the sea –
[Clanking noises from under the lift, where Maintenance has opened the doors.]
Maintenance guy: You all right in there?
Viridiana: NO! We’d like to get out, now.
Maintenance guy: Well, you’ll have to wait a bit, we can’t move the lift till we’ve changed the flywheel that’s gone pear shaped. Shouldn’t take too long, ten minutes, fifteen at most.
Charles: Then hop to it, man! I’ve got a very important meeting in twenty!
Viridiana: And I’m having lunch with the CEO of Panac Industries!
Jeremy: And I promised I’d call my mum and tell her how things were going!
Maintenance guy: …Really?
Jeremy: Yes!
Maintenance guy: All right, we’ll get you out. Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be back.
Charles: [mutters] Har, har, har. Funny bugger, aren’t you?
Viridiana: Oh do be quiet, Charlie. I feel a migraine coming on.
Charles: Oooh, sorry Miss Clarke, of course everything is about you, isn’t it?
Jeremy: Mr Jones –
Viridiana: Watch your tone, man!
Jeremy: Miss Clarke –
Charles: Me? Have you heard yourself, you high-pitched harridan –
Jeremy: ENOUGH!
[Silence.]
Jeremy: I’m sorry, I know it’s not fun to be stuck in a lift at the best of times, but… For everybody’s sake, can’t we all just be quiet until we get out of here, and then never speak of this again?
Viridiana: Very well, we’re civilised people, we should be able to manage that. Though I have to say it’s a good thing this happened today, as Charlie here is usually the most loquacious person in the building.
Charles: [mutters to himself] Try being witty when you’re stuck between a harpy and a bloke you fancy the pants off of… Er.
[Silence.]
[The lift starts moving, stops, and the doors open. Charles, Viridiana, and Jeremy exit, going their separate ways, all very thoughtful.]
-------
[Two twenty-something women, Mary-Lou and Alex, meet in a small record store. Mary-Lou works there, Alex is a customer.]
Alex: Er, excuse me?
Mary-Lou: Yes, can I help you?
Alex: Uh, I’m looking for a cd by Blaqk Audio…?
Mary-Lou: You mean CexCells? It’s over here.
Alex: On the Electro shelf, of course! I walked right by it and didn’t see it.
Mary-Lou: Yeah, it is tucked away a bit, but we don’t really have the space to arrange the shelves in any other way.
Alex: I can see that. I’m amazed you got all of this in in the first place.
Mary-Lou: That was an adventure, I tells ya. Me and Dan, who owns the place, spent two days unscrewing everything in the old store, moved it here, and then three days putting it back together. And it’s not IKEA stuff, so it’s not exactly made to come apart.
Alex: Augh, don’t talk to me about IKEA! I just got my own flat – finally! – and mum insisted on getting me a load of flat-packed crap; "until you earn enough to get proper things".
Mary-Lou: My dad’s like that, too. "What’s wrong with second-hand?" I ask, but nooo, everything has to be brand new, regardless of price and quality, or I’ll end up with a flat full of bed bugs, apparently. Good thing I can just say my boyfriend bought it, if I find some cool old thing, or I’d have the most boring flat in Camden.
Alex: Ah, Camden. I envy you now, I’ve always wanted to live there.
Mary-Lou: You’d fit right in if you listen to electro.
Alex: Er, well, I don’t, really. It’s mostly California punk for me, like AFI, Rancid, Tiger Army, Offspring… That lot.
Mary-Lou: Good stuff.
Alex: Yeah. ‘tis. Anyway, I just checked Blaqk Audio out ‘cause it’s by Davey and Jade from AFI, and I loved it right away.
Mary-Lou: It is awesome, yeah. Very full and vivid soundscapes, like, it doesn’t matter how many times you listen to the songs, you’ll keep hearing new sounds, new beats. And you know, I never realised screechy little Davey Havok had so many different voices.
Alex: Guh, tell me about it! Especially in Cities Of Night, it’s like velvet and honey and dark chocolate and nngh!
Mary-Lou: The analogy I keep coming back to is Noel Fielding, being serious. Or possibly after singing lessons.
Alex: Oh that’s perfect! And now I want Blaqk Audio to show up on the Mighty Boosh. They need to.
Mary-Lou: I wonder is Fielding’s heard of them… I see him sashaying around Camden from time to time, maybe I should stick CexCells in his hand next time I spot him.
Alex: Do iiit! And give him a snog from me while you’re at it.
Mary-Lou: Only if you promise to bail me out when I’ve been arrested for sexual harassment!
Alex: Deal! By the way, do you have Facebook or something? I’m planning a Great Big Mighty Boosh Party with some mates, and, you know, the more the merrier.
Mary-Lou: No Facebook, no, but Twitter, and you can have my email address too. I’ve never been to a Boosh-related party that didn’t rock, so I’d love to come.
Alex: All right then! I’m Alex, by the way. Alexandra Pagani.
Mary-Lou: Mary-Lou Reventon, at your service.
Alex: Uh, oh yeah, I almost forgot I was buying the cd.
Mary-Lou: Heh. That’s four ponds fifty for that, and here’s my email.
Alex: Right, I’ll get back to you as soon as I know where and when the party’s going to be, next Saturday is the best bet right now.
Mary-Lou: Can I bring the boy?
Alex: Sure!
Mary-Lou: All right then, I’ll see you when I see you.
Alex: Cheers!
-------
"Kim?"
"Mmm?"
"What... what happened last night?"
"...What?"
"I mean, er, did we really...?"
"Make love?"
"...Er, yes?""Quite certainly."
"Oh."
"You hadn't forgotten, had you? I don't recall you drinking all that much."
"No, I just... it's kinda hard to believe it actually happened, is all."
"Yeah..."
"So..."
"Did you enjoy it?"
"I'm pretty sure you know I did."
"I'm pretty sure everyone within a five mile radius knows you did, considering the noise you were making."
"Heh, yeah, sorry."
"Don't be. I liked that."
"...Really?"
"Yes."
"...Huh."
"So... What now?"
"I don't know. I wasn't really expecting this to happen."
"Neither was I."
"Do you regret it?"
"I wouldn't undo it for all the best tea in the world."
"Told you I was good."
"Smug twit."
"You're only saying that 'cos I'm right."
"Yes, yes, all right. ...Do you regret it?"
"...No. It was new and unexpected and I've no idea where we're gonna go from here, but... no. I have no regrets about sleeping with you."
"Good."
"We should do it again some time."
"You really think that's a good idea?"
"Sounds like an excellent idea to me."
"Uh-huh, and what about when people inevitably find out about it? What about when Sam finds out?"
"You know, considering last night, I'm not too fussed about who knows or not, as long as I get to have you doing that thing you did with your tongue again."
"And Sam?"
"We'll tell him, right away. Invite him to join us if he gets upset."
"...Okay you did not just say that."
"What, you need a cup of tea before you can handle the vision of Sam in -"
"Shut up! I don't need a cup of tea, I need a bloody flooded tea plantation! And a few litres of chlorine. And stop giggling, you sound like a girl."
"And you like me to take you like a man, don't you?"
"As evidenced by last night..."
"Roawr! I could do you right now, you know."
"Don't. We'll be late."
"Oh yeah, lecture."
"Always bloody lectures."
"Okay, let's get up then."
"Yeah. ...Robin?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you happy?"
"Very happy, Kim. Very happy. And you?"
"Elated. Jubilant. Gleeful. Way happier than waking up next to you should make me, but there you go."
"Told you I was good."
"Arse."
fredag 16 juli 2010
torsdag 15 juli 2010
Ode to the Library Computers of KaU
Oh! Library computer
my link to the outside world!
Wherein Gmail brings tidings
(rarely)
Twitter brings twaddle
(all the time)
and LJ brings delicious smut
(but not often enough!)
And apparently there's some important stuff too, but who cares?
Oh! Library computer
where would I be without you?
(Outside, in the sun)
You have no youtube
No GIFs that dance and sparkle
But that matters not
(well, a little)
For you and your reasonably shiny internet
are my links to the outside world
my link to the outside world!
Wherein Gmail brings tidings
(rarely)
Twitter brings twaddle
(all the time)
and LJ brings delicious smut
(but not often enough!)
And apparently there's some important stuff too, but who cares?
Oh! Library computer
where would I be without you?
(Outside, in the sun)
You have no youtube
No GIFs that dance and sparkle
But that matters not
(well, a little)
For you and your reasonably shiny internet
are my links to the outside world
tisdag 29 juni 2010
E-assignment 1
It seemed like any other morning, really. The cacophonic racket of the alarm, a drizzly grey dawn outside the window, and Danny in the bed, rolling over, trying to pretend reality wasn’t happening. But, of course, it was. Eventually he managed to drag himself upright, and groaned like a zombie when he saw that it was ten past seven already. Great. Late again.
Like any other morning he opted to forgo breakfast, focusing on getting dressed and brushing his teeth before running to the bus stop. He caught the bus with about two seconds to spare, but found it to be packed (as usual), and had to spend the long journey into the city standing next to a dumpy woman who smelled like old cheese.
Danny stared out through the window, at the grey clouds, grey buildings, and the long line of grey cars the bus was trundling past. After a while all the greyness blurred together, and he returned to the dream he’d been having before the alarm went off. It had been a good one. He’d been driving an orange convertible, an insanely fast one, like a Lamborghini or a Koenigsegg. The road was twisting along a beautiful, possibly Mediterranean coastline, bathed in the light of a golden sunset. And there’d been some simply gorgeous bird in the passenger seat, although now he couldn’t really remember what she’d looked like. That was the kind of life he’d expected to be living at 25, not this rubbish, dreary pile of utter misery –
The bus jolted, and Danny realised with a start that he’d missed his stop. Fan-fucking-tastic. He got off at the next one, and jogged through the heavy rain towards the office. He walked into the lobby out of breath, fifteen minutes late, and completely soaked. His boss, Mrs Wilman, saw him come in, but as usual she didn’t say anything. She just pursed her thin, dark lips, raised a razor-sharp eyebrow, and that was that. She’d make her move at the end of the day, giving Danny some dreadfully dull and above all slow job to sort out before he went home. And since he’d been late he wouldn’t get paid for the overtime either, even if he wound up staying at the office until nine or ten in the evening. Such was her way.
Danny headed for the coffee machine, trying to put the inevitable future out of mind, but then a memory from the recent past popped up. His wallet. It had been on the kitchen counter, and it was still there, because he hadn’t grabbed it on the way out. He groaned. Here he was, facing what could be a ten hour workday, on an empty stomach, with no means of buying breakfast, lunch, or even a tiny paper cup of what the machine pretended was coffee.
"Out of order?" came a voice from behind him, and Danny turned around.
"Hey, Mitch. No, it’s working, it’s just… Can I borrow a tenner? Or a fiver? I left my wallet at home, and I haven’t had any breakfast. I’ll give it back tomorrow, I promise."
He knew it was hopeless when Mitch raised the blond, male equivalent of Mrs Wilman’s Eyebrow of Death. Bloody smug Mitch with his Hollywood looks, six-figure salary, and pointless Range Rover that had never been outside the city or carried anything heavier than his supermodel wife’s chihuahua! He was precisely everything Danny wasn’t, and Danny resented him for it. When had he ever had to struggle for anything? When had he every been stuck with a rotten job, knowing that he was capable of so much more, if only he ever got the chance to show it?
"Never mind, I’ll get – I’ll ask someone else." Danny mumbled, and slunk away to the relative safety of his cubicle. Yeah, right. Like he could ask anyone else. Pretty much everyone at Initech saw him as the company’s resident oddball loner, and the ones that didn’t… He owed Luke twenty quid since last month, and Mari-Lou, the receptionist he’d been dating, and thought about one day proposing to, had left the week before. To sail around the Caribbean with her newfound girlfriend, who apparently was The Love of Her Life. C’est la vie, bitch. Ignoring the beginning rumbles of his stomach, Danny settled down, and started working.
As five o’clock drew near he was dizzy with hunger. He’d been drinking loads of water, but that meant he’d had to visit the loo every five minutes or so, which had earned him another disapproving look from Mrs Wilman. The numbers on the computer screen flickered and blurred like a horizon in a heat wave, and as he did the last few sums he knew he couldn’t do any more that day. He looked at the clock: four forty-two. Mrs Wilman was a punctual creature – if she had extra work for someone to do, she always handed it to the sorry screw at 4:45 PM, sharp. And sure enough, he could hear the click-click of her lethal heels as she approached.
He couldn’t think clearly. All he knew was that he couldn’t do any more sums that day, which meant he’d be stuck in the office till long after the last bus had left, and since he didn’t have his wallet with him, he couldn’t take a cab home. So he’d have to walk, which would take four hours, and the rain wasn’t showing any signs of letting up and moving on.
He couldn’t do it. The ominous clicking of the heels was all he could hear, and suddenly his mind was filled with a dread much stronger than anything he’d ever felt before. What if this is it? What if the whole point of my existence is to do meaningless sums for Initech, day in and day out, until I’m laid off, or retired with a pension that’s just enough to feed, say, a squirrel? It’s not going to change, is it? Nothing’s going to change for the better, unless I change it myself.
He stood up. Mrs Wilman had reached his cubicle, she was speaking to him, but he could only see her lips moving. He couldn’t hear anything except the rush of blood in his ears. He walked right past her, and when he felt her sharp fingers clutching at his arm he started to run. Through the cube farm, through the corridor, past the canteen, into the lobby. He was flying now. Through the front doors, into the pouring, cleansing rain. Some semi-subconscious part of him knew that he wouldn’t have a job to go to in the morning, but it didn’t matter. He was free! He could do whatever he wanted to, and if he found a job he really liked, he was going to get it!
He laughed as he ran, feeling so light-headed and invincible that he figured he’d better run along the bus route a bit before he got on, or he’d just explode with joy. This was it! A miniscule shuffle for mankind, a bloody great leap for the man! Who’d have thought that something so simple could be so hard, and that something so hard could be so simple? If he’d known how good it’d feel he would’ve left Initech many years a–
The world changes alignment, tilting sideways. He is flying, but not because he’s running, or because he’s leapt. His legs are going in a direction he never intended them to, looking all floppy, and then his face hits tarmac. Everything goes dark.
Wet. He’s all wet. Well, he’s been running in the rain, he should be wet. He’s lying down. Why? He’s not lying on anything soft, he’s lying on – tarmac? Now that’s a silly thing to do, isn’t it? He tries to sit up, but something pushes him back down. Someone. He opens his eyes. Well, one of them. The left one seems to be stuck, or covered, or something. There’s someone – who is that? – a girl. A pretty girl. I know her, he thinks. She’s crying. Why? She’s holding him down, holding him still, and she’s leaning on – orange. Very orange. With something black near the bottom. No, not black. Grey. Clear-coated carbon fibre. Car. Insanely fast car. He remembers.
"You…"
"Please, just lie still, the ambulance is on its way."
"I dreamt about you."
"What?"
"Last night. It was you, and me, in this… Lambo?"
"Koenigsegg."
"Yeah, that. We were driving on the Riviera, or – or someplace like that. Was nice."
"I’ll take you to the Riviera, okay? I promise, as soon as you’re out of the hospital, we can drive around the entire Mediterranean, if you want to."
"I’d like that. It’s what life is all about, you know. Enjoying it. I’ve just started."
His legs are coming online, bringing damage reports in little packages of pain. Then in bigger packages of pain. His head doesn’t feel right, either. He can hear sirens, but they’re light years away. He’s shaking all over, and the pain is increasing rapidly, but still he feels all right. He’s left the job he hated, he’s met the girl of his dreams (literally), and together they’re going to the Riviera in that awesome car. Really, apart from the whole needing medical attention bit, could life be any better? He takes a deep breath, relaxes, and smiles up at the girl when she starts to fret.
"What’s your name?"
"Elise."
"I’m Daniel. Nice to meet you, Elise."
"Oh, the same to you, I just wish the circumstances had been a bit different."
"Don’t worry, I’ll be fine."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
And the world was dark once more.
Like any other morning he opted to forgo breakfast, focusing on getting dressed and brushing his teeth before running to the bus stop. He caught the bus with about two seconds to spare, but found it to be packed (as usual), and had to spend the long journey into the city standing next to a dumpy woman who smelled like old cheese.
Danny stared out through the window, at the grey clouds, grey buildings, and the long line of grey cars the bus was trundling past. After a while all the greyness blurred together, and he returned to the dream he’d been having before the alarm went off. It had been a good one. He’d been driving an orange convertible, an insanely fast one, like a Lamborghini or a Koenigsegg. The road was twisting along a beautiful, possibly Mediterranean coastline, bathed in the light of a golden sunset. And there’d been some simply gorgeous bird in the passenger seat, although now he couldn’t really remember what she’d looked like. That was the kind of life he’d expected to be living at 25, not this rubbish, dreary pile of utter misery –
The bus jolted, and Danny realised with a start that he’d missed his stop. Fan-fucking-tastic. He got off at the next one, and jogged through the heavy rain towards the office. He walked into the lobby out of breath, fifteen minutes late, and completely soaked. His boss, Mrs Wilman, saw him come in, but as usual she didn’t say anything. She just pursed her thin, dark lips, raised a razor-sharp eyebrow, and that was that. She’d make her move at the end of the day, giving Danny some dreadfully dull and above all slow job to sort out before he went home. And since he’d been late he wouldn’t get paid for the overtime either, even if he wound up staying at the office until nine or ten in the evening. Such was her way.
Danny headed for the coffee machine, trying to put the inevitable future out of mind, but then a memory from the recent past popped up. His wallet. It had been on the kitchen counter, and it was still there, because he hadn’t grabbed it on the way out. He groaned. Here he was, facing what could be a ten hour workday, on an empty stomach, with no means of buying breakfast, lunch, or even a tiny paper cup of what the machine pretended was coffee.
"Out of order?" came a voice from behind him, and Danny turned around.
"Hey, Mitch. No, it’s working, it’s just… Can I borrow a tenner? Or a fiver? I left my wallet at home, and I haven’t had any breakfast. I’ll give it back tomorrow, I promise."
He knew it was hopeless when Mitch raised the blond, male equivalent of Mrs Wilman’s Eyebrow of Death. Bloody smug Mitch with his Hollywood looks, six-figure salary, and pointless Range Rover that had never been outside the city or carried anything heavier than his supermodel wife’s chihuahua! He was precisely everything Danny wasn’t, and Danny resented him for it. When had he ever had to struggle for anything? When had he every been stuck with a rotten job, knowing that he was capable of so much more, if only he ever got the chance to show it?
"Never mind, I’ll get – I’ll ask someone else." Danny mumbled, and slunk away to the relative safety of his cubicle. Yeah, right. Like he could ask anyone else. Pretty much everyone at Initech saw him as the company’s resident oddball loner, and the ones that didn’t… He owed Luke twenty quid since last month, and Mari-Lou, the receptionist he’d been dating, and thought about one day proposing to, had left the week before. To sail around the Caribbean with her newfound girlfriend, who apparently was The Love of Her Life. C’est la vie, bitch. Ignoring the beginning rumbles of his stomach, Danny settled down, and started working.
As five o’clock drew near he was dizzy with hunger. He’d been drinking loads of water, but that meant he’d had to visit the loo every five minutes or so, which had earned him another disapproving look from Mrs Wilman. The numbers on the computer screen flickered and blurred like a horizon in a heat wave, and as he did the last few sums he knew he couldn’t do any more that day. He looked at the clock: four forty-two. Mrs Wilman was a punctual creature – if she had extra work for someone to do, she always handed it to the sorry screw at 4:45 PM, sharp. And sure enough, he could hear the click-click of her lethal heels as she approached.
He couldn’t think clearly. All he knew was that he couldn’t do any more sums that day, which meant he’d be stuck in the office till long after the last bus had left, and since he didn’t have his wallet with him, he couldn’t take a cab home. So he’d have to walk, which would take four hours, and the rain wasn’t showing any signs of letting up and moving on.
He couldn’t do it. The ominous clicking of the heels was all he could hear, and suddenly his mind was filled with a dread much stronger than anything he’d ever felt before. What if this is it? What if the whole point of my existence is to do meaningless sums for Initech, day in and day out, until I’m laid off, or retired with a pension that’s just enough to feed, say, a squirrel? It’s not going to change, is it? Nothing’s going to change for the better, unless I change it myself.
He stood up. Mrs Wilman had reached his cubicle, she was speaking to him, but he could only see her lips moving. He couldn’t hear anything except the rush of blood in his ears. He walked right past her, and when he felt her sharp fingers clutching at his arm he started to run. Through the cube farm, through the corridor, past the canteen, into the lobby. He was flying now. Through the front doors, into the pouring, cleansing rain. Some semi-subconscious part of him knew that he wouldn’t have a job to go to in the morning, but it didn’t matter. He was free! He could do whatever he wanted to, and if he found a job he really liked, he was going to get it!
He laughed as he ran, feeling so light-headed and invincible that he figured he’d better run along the bus route a bit before he got on, or he’d just explode with joy. This was it! A miniscule shuffle for mankind, a bloody great leap for the man! Who’d have thought that something so simple could be so hard, and that something so hard could be so simple? If he’d known how good it’d feel he would’ve left Initech many years a–
The world changes alignment, tilting sideways. He is flying, but not because he’s running, or because he’s leapt. His legs are going in a direction he never intended them to, looking all floppy, and then his face hits tarmac. Everything goes dark.
Wet. He’s all wet. Well, he’s been running in the rain, he should be wet. He’s lying down. Why? He’s not lying on anything soft, he’s lying on – tarmac? Now that’s a silly thing to do, isn’t it? He tries to sit up, but something pushes him back down. Someone. He opens his eyes. Well, one of them. The left one seems to be stuck, or covered, or something. There’s someone – who is that? – a girl. A pretty girl. I know her, he thinks. She’s crying. Why? She’s holding him down, holding him still, and she’s leaning on – orange. Very orange. With something black near the bottom. No, not black. Grey. Clear-coated carbon fibre. Car. Insanely fast car. He remembers.
"You…"
"Please, just lie still, the ambulance is on its way."
"I dreamt about you."
"What?"
"Last night. It was you, and me, in this… Lambo?"
"Koenigsegg."
"Yeah, that. We were driving on the Riviera, or – or someplace like that. Was nice."
"I’ll take you to the Riviera, okay? I promise, as soon as you’re out of the hospital, we can drive around the entire Mediterranean, if you want to."
"I’d like that. It’s what life is all about, you know. Enjoying it. I’ve just started."
His legs are coming online, bringing damage reports in little packages of pain. Then in bigger packages of pain. His head doesn’t feel right, either. He can hear sirens, but they’re light years away. He’s shaking all over, and the pain is increasing rapidly, but still he feels all right. He’s left the job he hated, he’s met the girl of his dreams (literally), and together they’re going to the Riviera in that awesome car. Really, apart from the whole needing medical attention bit, could life be any better? He takes a deep breath, relaxes, and smiles up at the girl when she starts to fret.
"What’s your name?"
"Elise."
"I’m Daniel. Nice to meet you, Elise."
"Oh, the same to you, I just wish the circumstances had been a bit different."
"Don’t worry, I’ll be fine."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
And the world was dark once more.
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