The first chapter of a short story I started writing a while ago, but never got around to finish.
“And when will this be delivered?”
The man was squatting, nervously fumbling to find a test tube with a
transparent liquid in a black, simple box. He flinched when I abruptly tore off
a piece of paper and started scribbling on it. I took the pencil behind my ear
and noted down 3 words: Chemistry, Morgue and Key. These would become evidently
crucial later on.
The man stretched, and sighed as he kicked the box into its
place under a rigid shelf next to a drawing board, on which fifteen separate
collections of different keys were carefully placed in order of size, color and
shape.
“Depends on..” he started walking around the table, and sat down behind the
drawing board, his face almost desaturated by the strong board lamp directed
right into his hollow eyes.
He squinted behind the thick glasses covering most
of his face and he widened his eyes. He was almost blind. Although staring into
my face, his gaze was unable to reckon mine. I scrutinized him, as he
continued.
“Considering the short time you're giving me, and for the price you're offering
me, I'd say...” he seemed to calculate something in his head.
“... 4 days. Tops.”
Chagrin was displayed on his face when I sighed.
“That's my final offer, sir. If you want it done faster, you are going to have
to pay more, considering the circumstances”. He stared at me now. I could feel
the intensity in this attempt to evaluate my reaction. They say people that
have lost one sense increase the potential of another. This man seemed to have developed
another.
After a moment of silence, I tentatively reached for a key on the
table. As I was about to clench it between my thumb and index finger, the man
lashed out, and grabbed my arm.
I turned around and contemplated his eyes. I was sure he could see me now.
“What's the matter, old man?” I asked, with a trace of surprised sarcasm in my
voice. His fist was almost spasmodically gripped around my arm, and his gaze
was remote.
He took a rattled breath, which seemed to cause him a great deal of pain.
“Have you come to unlock me?”
I closed the page of my dad's journal and buried my face in my big, gray
sweater. The tears streamed down my cheeks as I put the book back on the shelf
over my bed. I reached for my cell phone, and turned it back on. The screen
displayed “Unlock SIM. Enter pin code”. I snorted, amused. It was the key to
unlock the phone. It was almost as ridiculous as a credit card. You buy
something for money you don't even see. Yet, I guess the key to open this phone
is right there, in my head. Strange.
I started dialing the number to dad's old retirement home. The first tone
pierced the silence in my head. Three tones passed, and I became wary. What was
I supposed to say?
Then, a pleasant female voice answered.
I sat quietly for a second, listening to her soothing voice, as she enlightened
me about where I had called, and to whom I was speaking. I tried to reply, but
my voice cracked before it even left my mouth and it made me feel pathetic.
There was an awkward, uneasy episode of intense silence.
“Hello?”
Tears started dripping down and leave small, wet patches on my sleeve.
“Excuse me...? Is anybody there?”
I hung up, and chucked the phone against the wall. It was 3.56 AM, on a Monday.
I sat down on the side of the bed, frustrated at myself for losing my temper,
again. Poor lady. It's not the first time I had called, only to find myself
unable to speak. It was a miracle my phone was still intact, after all the
tantrums and fits I had pulled since I'd found dad's old journal in one of the
moving boxes.
I reached for the key resting on the nightstand, and started playing with it
between my fingers in rapid, smooth movements.
“Unlock me..” I murmured to myself, and laughed a simple, unamused laugh.
There are some minor spelling errors, which I would suggest microsoft word for spelling corrections. Overall, This piece is of great interest to me (The spelling errors were easy to over look) and I must honestly say I wanted to keep reading more and more. I am exteremly interested in reading from you. There will be more right?
Okay, so, I'm Fredric aka Fred.
Swedish, but in love with the English language.
Love writing about mostly everything that involves the critial thinking of man, and fiction.
My writing will be mos.. more..