Coffee

          Black. A small, black, steaming mirror sat before him, his gaze glaring at his own reflection before bringing it up to his lips and taking a sip. He never used to drink his coffee black, but stress and sleep deprivation brought him to it.  Better than alcohol at least.

         Wesley Grogmer. Not the name of a man of the town or suave suited fellow, but more of the guy that you see on the subway with his large rimmed glasses and his ‘man bag’ at his side, is how many probably pictured him when they read his name on the spine of a book he’s written.

    But his outwardly appearance was rather different. He stood a good six feet, hair a dark brown mess, but not in a disgusting way. He did in fact have glasses, but they were neat and compact, not large and loud. Hiding behind the spectacles sat a pair of dark brown eyes; the color being so amazingly dark, that the difference between the pupil and the iris was almost impossible to tell.

          Wesley took another sip of his hot coffee, the smell was enough to keep him awake, but the taste made his right eye twitch ever so slightly. “Five more hours…”
 He was awaiting a call from his editor. He had recently finished a book and was now trying to recooperate and regain his self again. Writing a book always brought so much out of him, almost as though he had to pull out a bit of his own sanity and print it into one of his books. Leaving him a slightly staggered mess.

     “Five more hours…” This time he spoke aloud; his voice just a rough rasp,  as he rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t sleep.  Not anymore, not after his last book.  What had brought him to write what he last wrote? He had never wrote anything other than science fiction novels concerning different species and wars of some galactic planets. This book, was nothing like those. This was a dark tale. A horrible occurance in the life of the person he had built in his mind. But how did this story evolve in his mind? He was never dark, he was always well… A nerd.

      Five hours and 4 cups of coffee later the phone rang. The loud obnoxious ring of the rather old fashioned rodery phone stirred Wesley from his haze of a state.

      “ Hello?”

     “Wes, hey, it’s me, Dan.”

      “About time you’ve called. I’ve been waiting all morning.” Wesley took another sip  before resting his head in his hand which was propped up on the dimmly lit desk that sat in front of him.

       “ I told you I would be calling at six. You know there is this lovely little thing called sleep. It’s useful when, you know, you’re tired and it’s late and you’re waiting for a call in the morning…Hint hint.”

      “ I didn’t wait for hours to talk about my sleeping habits, just tell me what you thought.”

     “Well, Wes, I have to be honest. I’m a little shocked. I’ve never seen you write something like this. I mean it’s dark and dripping with morbid action on every page. Not your style.”

    “ I think that’s quite evident, but I’m not asking if it’s my style. As a book, how is it?”

“ Well, it’s great, the grammar and vocabulary are on the dot, as usual. You’ll be booting me out of the job soon enough if you keep it up. But that’s not what’s concerning me. I’m more afraid of your reputation. You’re a science fiction writer, not some Stephen King wannabe.”

“ Look, I just…I guess I just got some other inspiration.”

   “ Well, look for the old inspiration.Your fans might not be so pleased with this one. If anyone you might be drawing the attention of the angsty teenage kids that think, ‘ life is a black hole’ or ‘ if I died no one would notice I was gone.’ That sort of crowd.”

  “ If it’s read, then I don’t care.”

“ You’re sure you want to do this?”

“…Yeah..”

 “Alright..Well, get some sleep, you sound like s**t.”

“ Yeah yeah, get to work, you bum.” Wesley hung up the phone and rested his head on the desk. Though the sun was already up, his large maroon drapes kept the light from coming in, leaving his small apartment a dark room.

  “Why did I write that book?What inspired that? I don’t even remember anymore…”

 

 

                     ~~~

 

   Grey clouds hid the blue skies from the people of New York City.  

The busy bustling crowd moved fluidly like a rushing river in the gloomy canyons made of windows.

Looking at them you see empty shells marching down the sidewalks, entering the tall buildings and small vehicles.

        Wesley stared at the rush of people as he sat an outside table at the Green Lace Café. It was a small café, but it was nice and not overly pricey.

    “Let me guess…Seventh cup of coffee since this morning; this morning being twelve AM.”

    Wesley raised his eyes to see Julia Sparks. She met him in college and seemed to always tag along. Wesley wasn’t really used to someone following him or keeping in touch, but he wouldn’t say he didn’t enjoy it.

    “It’s slightly annoying how accurate you have become.” He said rubbing his temple slowly.

   “Well, from knowing you as long as I’ve known you, and seeing as you’re going through the black coffee phase, it’s not too hard.” She said taking a seat at the same table Wesley was seated.

 

   “At this rate, it won’t stay a phase but a way of life.” Wesley said looking at the cup of coffee seated stoutly upon the glass slab that lay flat as the surface of the wooden table frame.

     “Well, I certainly hope your life doesn’t revolve around coffee. I’m not going to lie to you; that’s just sad.”

      A small grumble left his lips as he ran his finger over the condensation that adorned the vase in the center of the table. Julia’s eyes scanned the man in front of her. Something about his posture was unsettling.

        “On a serious note…Are you okay?”

His gaze did not leave the table’s general location as he searched his mind for something to tell her. He couldn’t tell her that this whole book ordeal was slightly disturbing to even him. He had to be casual. He had to be cool. He had to lie.

     “Of course I’m fine. When am I not fine?”

    

         “Well-

        

           His eyes shot up to meet hers as he lifted his index finger, “Trick question, I’m always fine. So, there couldn’t possibly be a point in time that I wasn’t fine.” He had cut her off with his redundant rambling. He wasn’t even sure if his previous statement had made sense, all he knew was that a young Miss Julia Sparks was sitting rather dumbfounded before him.

     “Seeing as you’re fine, then I guess I will get going.”

  

        “Implying I only receive your company when I am in an ill state?” He raised his bushy brow.

 

   “Ha, funny. Really, Wesley, you need more sleep.” She said simply before walking down the grey walk way; the sound of her clacking high heeled shoes adding to the sounds of so many others.

    “Easier said than done...”

 

 

    Wesley turned the fake gold colored key within the lock upon his apartment door. Upon entering he stopped; something was unsettling. Brushing off the feeling, seeing it just more of this mental stress, he turned and proceeded to lock the door and latch the many latches that kept those unwanted out. It took a moment before his eyes really adjusted to the dim lit room as he walked towards the coat closest.

         A sudden movement caught Wesley’s attention causing him to turn on his heel, completely alert.

 

  “Who’s there?” Wesley was just pissed off at this point...

 

Author's Note

It is still a rough draft.

Reviews

[Franklin...]

Wow, I'm trying to think of something helpful to say here, but I can't seem to find anything wrong with this. The descriptions, the dialog, the pacing; everything works. And the ending is a great cliff-hanger; the fact that he locks his door so well makes someone or something being in his apartment all the more uncomfortable.
There were a couple slight spelling errors, but for a "rough draft" it is remarkably clean. I hope you'll be continuing this.