Well, recently on a bit of a whim I have decided to write. Inspired by my dreams of the future, now while I plan to make this as long as a novel I'd like you guys. The people that well I have some respect for to take a quick look for me. And if you have any criticism, I'd love to hear it as long as it's constructive otherwise I shall just ignore you, praise couldn't hurt to.
A note to the Grammar freaks: Pick it apart. Tell me what needs to be changed. Thank you people of he escapist.
EXTRA INFO: If you want more of this as it comes just ask and I shall keep this updated as much as I can bare in mind I have other things and may not be able to update regularly. and this is meant to be a full sized novel if a year or two.
EDITS:The new day, the crack in the darkness where the flower-pattern blinds failed to reach the wall and failed to block out the dazzling light of a new dawn,
Dawn was previously another "A new day" Spotted by "The Maddest March Hare"
2. Someone was going on about the narrative of the story being an actual person. I tend to like the idea of the narrator being able to talk to the reader, so its sort as if the narrator is a character only the reader knows exists with and odd habit of narrating other peoples lives. If you have some advise how to make that obvious or pull it off do speak up.
Thanks if you read, if its: TL;DR then its To long don't post. Okay? Thanks. be evil. Tear it apart. If its the wrong place sorry
A note to the Grammar freaks: Pick it apart. Tell me what needs to be changed. Thank you people of he escapist.
EXTRA INFO: If you want more of this as it comes just ask and I shall keep this updated as much as I can bare in mind I have other things and may not be able to update regularly. and this is meant to be a full sized novel if a year or two.
Picture Perfect
07/07/09
The new day, the crack in the darkness where the flower-pattern blinds failed to reach the wall and failed to block out the dazzling light of a new dawn, the navy blue blinds where illuminated by the beam of light darting trough the empty space, to the further side light began to pierce trough the older more worn fabric, coupled with the brightness of the opposite side, mesmerising patterns emerged, abstract, accidental yet in there chaotic existence, they were still perfect, perfect like the starts on a clear night, Illuminating the sky with the natural curiosity that filled the minds of men as they gazed up into the unknown. The same eyes that gazed into the infinite wonder of the stars, now started to open, disturbed by the light the blinds had failed to hold back. Its golden beams glittered in his eyes. It was a dazzling sight, but he didn?t sit to appreciate it as the light was directly in his eyes, disorientating him. In a flurry of his hands reaching to pull something over his eyes. His hands fell on his pillow; the feathers inside crumpled in his grip as his swung it into his face in an attempt to stop the light. The block was effective enough that he could concentrate on getting up. Letting a half-sigh half-groan at the problem he called ?Mondays are evil syndrome?.
While I regret to dwell upon his appearance it is necessary. He was twenty-three and wearing only his boxers, they where a gift, from his girlfriend, last Christmas, jokingly she had brought him a pair of ?Thomas the Tank Engine? Boxers, now as he was alone in the house had the bright blue train across his waist. With the head of the train, unfortunately meeting where I?d rather not go into detail. In his early morning state his vision had been reduced to a blur his balance was never that good often tripping over air , even when he was wide awake, he stumbled over a lose pair of jeans left from the night before almost falling face first into the laminate flooring of the bedroom is the wall had not beaten the floor to the punch. He stuck his head against the violet wallpaper. Composing himself he put his hand to his head, in that way you do, even though it doesn?t help at all. Rubbing the spot that had made contact with the wall, he shambled over to the bedside cupboard ripping the trousers of his Three-piece-suit of the hanger and attempting to put them on, if it hadn?t been for the fact he apparently forgot he had two legs as he pulled them up with only one leg in place and even then he was standing on the leg of the trousers. The polyester blend was fortunately strong enough to resist his tugs and eventually his right foot which had been standing on the leg, gave way leaving his left foot to keep the balance but the force of his weight and the polished wood sent his flying, less than gracefully backwards, with one leg still in the trousers he flew into the chest of drawers behind him, hitting this time the back of his head on the mahogany wood corner which for the sake of craftsmanship had curved yet still sharp enough edges to cause considerable pain.
The pain had knocked him sick, but hell was he going to be sick on a One-hundred-and-fifty pound suit from Armani. So he forced himself back up and slotted his other foot into the trousers. This time he managed it without causing himself any more pain. He whipped the belt that was on the brown leather chair to the right of his bed, which looked more like a bomb had just hit it rather than the bed of a man with an Armani suit. The belt was something else that his girlfriend brought him; this was from much further back. Almost a year ago, it was vintage leather brought back from one of her trips to the United States. The craftsmanship was suburb she got it made from a specialist so it was a one of a kind, the light brown almost tan in colour, leather had been pressed only a week before in Texas and then sent to New York to be sold, stitched into the leather were the words ?A Year Today, A Year every Day? .
A homage to the song he had wrote for her on the 1st anniversary, she was 14, and he was 15 both first time lovers, by a year they were already in love, not the teenage love that means so little but a true pure and beautiful love, a love which shone trough and bad days they had, no matter what life threw at them, they always had each other to rely on. They could sit and talk for hours on end, never wasting a breath, then for what seemed like eons they would stare into the others eyes, each would see that little sparkle in the corner of the others eye, the one that proved to them that they were in turn loved by the other. His deep blue eyes had always attracted the girls; they were like little oceans in a sea of bleached stone, pure blue against pure white. People had said that no matter what he was looking at, her reflection was always in his eye. It?s true that he never stopped thinking of her the past 10 years since they have been together, but the reflection always seemed like an exaggeration to him. His vivid imagination could project a crystal clear image of her into his mind, but never out of it. It his troubled days, which are long gone, he would try in vain, he knew it was in vain to get her to appear, they spent hours talking on the phone from the second they got back from the company of the other, until they fell asleep in the early hours of the morning.
08/07/09
Drifting back into reality from his vivid daydream of days gone by he grabbed the T-shirt hanging up to the right of where the trousers had been hanging a few moments earlier, it was a pearl white, with faint grey strips going vertically down about an inch away from each other, the silver coloured buttons where on the right hand side. He began to slot them neatly like threading a needle he whisked trough them as he did every day until all eight buttons had been done up. His collar button left undone as if it had been done up it would be an intolerable day at work. He had enough practice in his school days to hide the unbuttoned collar with a tie that no one ever noticed, even if they had, he could get away with it. He glanced over his shoulder to look at the assortment of ties that where clean enough to be presentable at any meeting with anyone even Royalty, he had an excitable imagination, as will become obvious soon enough. He smiled as he noticed his favorite tie was in good condition he pulled on its tail flipping it upwards, by now he had woken up and resumed to his usual self, and with a cocky smirk grabbed it as it fell towards the floor. A sharp pain can do wonders on a drowsy Monday morning to wake someone up. This particular tie was a shade of crimson red with a single gold stripe across the bottom at a 45o Slant to the rest of the tie, above the line there was a small Insignia with the image of a dragon lovingly embroiled into the tie. He always did have a fondness for dragons, having received numerous qualifications including an A level in biology he was always quick to point out he knew they were very much make- believe but the idea of such power and beauty still resounded trough his mind as much as it did when he was a child drifting into a dream after reading his new, and very blue book on dragons. The kind of blue that captures the sky, the sea and that little bit you?re not quite sure of, the kind of blue everyone loves, the kind of blue twinkle he had sparking in his eyes when he was thinking about her.
Adorning the tie he pulled the final piece to his suit, and his favorite: a deep black sports jacket, it looked official enough to go to work in, casual enough to go out in, and handsome enough to go on a date in, its why he bought the suit in the first place. So he had something to wear on their 7th anniversary three of so years back. It was hand made by his long term tailor and friend. The old man?s wrinkled fingers while they fumbled for a walking stick worked wonders with a suit. He could sit there and make the suit in perfect silence with a little grin across his old worn out face, he had that he made the suit exceptionally well because he was reminded of his own youth when a man came running in a panic looking for something to wear to impress a girl ever since then that man became his tailor for every occasion and day in and out the grew into good friends, stories of both sides passed over to the other, tales of laughs and tales of camaraderie and every now and again the old tailor would talk about his late-wife Elana a name which was chosen for her out of a reason that had not yet been told. The tailor was always mute when the topic was brought up.
Once more dropping back into reality, he shot the mirror a quick glance, his admittedly handsome face smiled back at him. Letting of a little smirk as he saw his own bed hair, which was no matter how fluffy his hair naturally was, it was frankly terrible. He didn?t mind it always was like this he just went about his usual routine of styling his hair. Once he had worked his magic, he learnt hair of his brother, who had always been the ladies man of the family and with a swept fringe sliding to the right, and a thick band of spikes running down the centre of his hair which had now been bent to the right to match the fringe in a sort of wave with a slight twist in its curls. He smiled at the mirror his hair turned out exactly how he had felt like doing it, he rarely had the same style for more than a day, this style was similar to the one he wore in his teenage days, the one she was so fond of. Letting of a little muffled laugh at his appearance and at how daft he looked with this style he reverted to a more official looking style as he was due for a meeting with some executives from some place. He wasn?t going to become too much of a stuffed suit so he left swept the fringe diagonally to the right like a sort of mini quaff without the doubling back, and only spiked the top with a quick flick of his wrists so it gave enough of a casually look that he didn?t lose his soul, but smart enough he didn?t lose his job.
On the nightstand next to the bed there was a blue box with the initials ?Gc? written in gold lettering across its top. He walked over to the box careful to avoid slipping on the mess of bed sheets that twisted like vines over the floor prying open the box with his fingers a shot of light spawning from the small crack in the blinds reflected of the silver accessory in the box into his eyes blinding him in his left eye quickly moving the watch out of its box as to stop the attacking light. He slid the silver chain over his right hand, the wrong hand he had been told but the hand he had always used, and spun the 70% silver clock frame into the right position on his wrist. Using the stainless steel catches that where now below his wrist he fastened the watch to his wrist. The Dark blue clock-face Stared back into his face with the silver hands pointing to the time 6:30am. He reveled in the luxury of time that he had been given he had a whole two hours before he needed to set out on his way to London. This was nestled a nice 107.8 miles away. Or so ?Google Earth? told him when he looked it up the other day. He turned and dodged his way across the mess to the wooden doors which lead to the landing of the house. Turning to look at the mess he smiled as he knew he didn?t have to clean it up. He thought to himself: ?you have gotta love having money when you?re as messy as I am?. And with that he whipped the door open and stepped into the third floor hall of his house.
07/07/09
The new day, the crack in the darkness where the flower-pattern blinds failed to reach the wall and failed to block out the dazzling light of a new dawn, the navy blue blinds where illuminated by the beam of light darting trough the empty space, to the further side light began to pierce trough the older more worn fabric, coupled with the brightness of the opposite side, mesmerising patterns emerged, abstract, accidental yet in there chaotic existence, they were still perfect, perfect like the starts on a clear night, Illuminating the sky with the natural curiosity that filled the minds of men as they gazed up into the unknown. The same eyes that gazed into the infinite wonder of the stars, now started to open, disturbed by the light the blinds had failed to hold back. Its golden beams glittered in his eyes. It was a dazzling sight, but he didn?t sit to appreciate it as the light was directly in his eyes, disorientating him. In a flurry of his hands reaching to pull something over his eyes. His hands fell on his pillow; the feathers inside crumpled in his grip as his swung it into his face in an attempt to stop the light. The block was effective enough that he could concentrate on getting up. Letting a half-sigh half-groan at the problem he called ?Mondays are evil syndrome?.
While I regret to dwell upon his appearance it is necessary. He was twenty-three and wearing only his boxers, they where a gift, from his girlfriend, last Christmas, jokingly she had brought him a pair of ?Thomas the Tank Engine? Boxers, now as he was alone in the house had the bright blue train across his waist. With the head of the train, unfortunately meeting where I?d rather not go into detail. In his early morning state his vision had been reduced to a blur his balance was never that good often tripping over air , even when he was wide awake, he stumbled over a lose pair of jeans left from the night before almost falling face first into the laminate flooring of the bedroom is the wall had not beaten the floor to the punch. He stuck his head against the violet wallpaper. Composing himself he put his hand to his head, in that way you do, even though it doesn?t help at all. Rubbing the spot that had made contact with the wall, he shambled over to the bedside cupboard ripping the trousers of his Three-piece-suit of the hanger and attempting to put them on, if it hadn?t been for the fact he apparently forgot he had two legs as he pulled them up with only one leg in place and even then he was standing on the leg of the trousers. The polyester blend was fortunately strong enough to resist his tugs and eventually his right foot which had been standing on the leg, gave way leaving his left foot to keep the balance but the force of his weight and the polished wood sent his flying, less than gracefully backwards, with one leg still in the trousers he flew into the chest of drawers behind him, hitting this time the back of his head on the mahogany wood corner which for the sake of craftsmanship had curved yet still sharp enough edges to cause considerable pain.
The pain had knocked him sick, but hell was he going to be sick on a One-hundred-and-fifty pound suit from Armani. So he forced himself back up and slotted his other foot into the trousers. This time he managed it without causing himself any more pain. He whipped the belt that was on the brown leather chair to the right of his bed, which looked more like a bomb had just hit it rather than the bed of a man with an Armani suit. The belt was something else that his girlfriend brought him; this was from much further back. Almost a year ago, it was vintage leather brought back from one of her trips to the United States. The craftsmanship was suburb she got it made from a specialist so it was a one of a kind, the light brown almost tan in colour, leather had been pressed only a week before in Texas and then sent to New York to be sold, stitched into the leather were the words ?A Year Today, A Year every Day? .
A homage to the song he had wrote for her on the 1st anniversary, she was 14, and he was 15 both first time lovers, by a year they were already in love, not the teenage love that means so little but a true pure and beautiful love, a love which shone trough and bad days they had, no matter what life threw at them, they always had each other to rely on. They could sit and talk for hours on end, never wasting a breath, then for what seemed like eons they would stare into the others eyes, each would see that little sparkle in the corner of the others eye, the one that proved to them that they were in turn loved by the other. His deep blue eyes had always attracted the girls; they were like little oceans in a sea of bleached stone, pure blue against pure white. People had said that no matter what he was looking at, her reflection was always in his eye. It?s true that he never stopped thinking of her the past 10 years since they have been together, but the reflection always seemed like an exaggeration to him. His vivid imagination could project a crystal clear image of her into his mind, but never out of it. It his troubled days, which are long gone, he would try in vain, he knew it was in vain to get her to appear, they spent hours talking on the phone from the second they got back from the company of the other, until they fell asleep in the early hours of the morning.
08/07/09
Drifting back into reality from his vivid daydream of days gone by he grabbed the T-shirt hanging up to the right of where the trousers had been hanging a few moments earlier, it was a pearl white, with faint grey strips going vertically down about an inch away from each other, the silver coloured buttons where on the right hand side. He began to slot them neatly like threading a needle he whisked trough them as he did every day until all eight buttons had been done up. His collar button left undone as if it had been done up it would be an intolerable day at work. He had enough practice in his school days to hide the unbuttoned collar with a tie that no one ever noticed, even if they had, he could get away with it. He glanced over his shoulder to look at the assortment of ties that where clean enough to be presentable at any meeting with anyone even Royalty, he had an excitable imagination, as will become obvious soon enough. He smiled as he noticed his favorite tie was in good condition he pulled on its tail flipping it upwards, by now he had woken up and resumed to his usual self, and with a cocky smirk grabbed it as it fell towards the floor. A sharp pain can do wonders on a drowsy Monday morning to wake someone up. This particular tie was a shade of crimson red with a single gold stripe across the bottom at a 45o Slant to the rest of the tie, above the line there was a small Insignia with the image of a dragon lovingly embroiled into the tie. He always did have a fondness for dragons, having received numerous qualifications including an A level in biology he was always quick to point out he knew they were very much make- believe but the idea of such power and beauty still resounded trough his mind as much as it did when he was a child drifting into a dream after reading his new, and very blue book on dragons. The kind of blue that captures the sky, the sea and that little bit you?re not quite sure of, the kind of blue everyone loves, the kind of blue twinkle he had sparking in his eyes when he was thinking about her.
Adorning the tie he pulled the final piece to his suit, and his favorite: a deep black sports jacket, it looked official enough to go to work in, casual enough to go out in, and handsome enough to go on a date in, its why he bought the suit in the first place. So he had something to wear on their 7th anniversary three of so years back. It was hand made by his long term tailor and friend. The old man?s wrinkled fingers while they fumbled for a walking stick worked wonders with a suit. He could sit there and make the suit in perfect silence with a little grin across his old worn out face, he had that he made the suit exceptionally well because he was reminded of his own youth when a man came running in a panic looking for something to wear to impress a girl ever since then that man became his tailor for every occasion and day in and out the grew into good friends, stories of both sides passed over to the other, tales of laughs and tales of camaraderie and every now and again the old tailor would talk about his late-wife Elana a name which was chosen for her out of a reason that had not yet been told. The tailor was always mute when the topic was brought up.
Once more dropping back into reality, he shot the mirror a quick glance, his admittedly handsome face smiled back at him. Letting of a little smirk as he saw his own bed hair, which was no matter how fluffy his hair naturally was, it was frankly terrible. He didn?t mind it always was like this he just went about his usual routine of styling his hair. Once he had worked his magic, he learnt hair of his brother, who had always been the ladies man of the family and with a swept fringe sliding to the right, and a thick band of spikes running down the centre of his hair which had now been bent to the right to match the fringe in a sort of wave with a slight twist in its curls. He smiled at the mirror his hair turned out exactly how he had felt like doing it, he rarely had the same style for more than a day, this style was similar to the one he wore in his teenage days, the one she was so fond of. Letting of a little muffled laugh at his appearance and at how daft he looked with this style he reverted to a more official looking style as he was due for a meeting with some executives from some place. He wasn?t going to become too much of a stuffed suit so he left swept the fringe diagonally to the right like a sort of mini quaff without the doubling back, and only spiked the top with a quick flick of his wrists so it gave enough of a casually look that he didn?t lose his soul, but smart enough he didn?t lose his job.
On the nightstand next to the bed there was a blue box with the initials ?Gc? written in gold lettering across its top. He walked over to the box careful to avoid slipping on the mess of bed sheets that twisted like vines over the floor prying open the box with his fingers a shot of light spawning from the small crack in the blinds reflected of the silver accessory in the box into his eyes blinding him in his left eye quickly moving the watch out of its box as to stop the attacking light. He slid the silver chain over his right hand, the wrong hand he had been told but the hand he had always used, and spun the 70% silver clock frame into the right position on his wrist. Using the stainless steel catches that where now below his wrist he fastened the watch to his wrist. The Dark blue clock-face Stared back into his face with the silver hands pointing to the time 6:30am. He reveled in the luxury of time that he had been given he had a whole two hours before he needed to set out on his way to London. This was nestled a nice 107.8 miles away. Or so ?Google Earth? told him when he looked it up the other day. He turned and dodged his way across the mess to the wooden doors which lead to the landing of the house. Turning to look at the mess he smiled as he knew he didn?t have to clean it up. He thought to himself: ?you have gotta love having money when you?re as messy as I am?. And with that he whipped the door open and stepped into the third floor hall of his house.
17/07/09
The kitchen was so modern; the word modern was an understatement to it, the place basically cooked for you. However Mike did enjoy a bit of cooking however terrible he was at it, he always like to cook for her. The walls where plain white, with a border of tiles separating the counter-top and appliances from the wall paper. The Appliances around the room was an assortment of chromed black and silver, matching the black marble work tops, the blend of silver-black against the stark white, had created a contrast which in its oddity was still suitable. Without even looking, Mike flicked his wrist to switch on the coffee machine to his right he then turned to his left reaching into the box for his favorite style ?Espresso? during his years when sleep was a rarity for him, he had got quite the addiction to caffeine and now needed the strong stuff for a kick. The machine had reached a boil in a time much faster than that of a kettle and he placed an espresso cup underneath the mouth of the machine and pressed the button sending the machine into a whirl of mechanical noises, and shooting the light brown liquid into the cup. Settling down into his usual spot, sipping his espresso he waited. 3.2.1 Today?s newspaper slid through the letter box. The events that follow are rehearsed every day, Mike was always proud of teaching this to his closest friend. Verendus or in English ?awesome? it?s a rough Latin translation.
The dog came sliding into the kitchen slipping all over the tiles; he hopped up on his hind legs and dropped the newspaper on the table that Mike was sitting at. Verendus was a Golden Labrador, Mike had always wanted one so last year he bought a small puppy last year, he was now a sizeable dog, not full grown but still big enough to Mike a hell of a tough time in the tug of war. With Verendus generally won.
Mike drained the last drop from his cup placed it on in the dishwasher, which was like every other appliance in the room; black and silver, and opened up the door to the ?dog cupboard? at that moment Verendus looked up from where he had been lying in his basket. He saw the tin enter Mike?s hand, barked and sprinted right for it. If this didn?t happen every day he would have knocked Mike right to his feet. But it did so Mike was already braced and instead was only knocked back by the speeding bullet of a dog leaping on him. Knowing what was coming Mike grabbed a nearby oven mitt ready to fight of the exited dog. Laughing holding the dog with one hand and opening the tin in the other his dropped the content of the tin into the bowl, braced himself, and released the dog, which was in this state impossible to control without a bit of friendly force, the dog kicked of Mike?s chest knocking him back into the door. The dog was in such a rush that it missed the bowl completely and slid into the back door face first. Mike had slumped against the door in a fit of laughter, and said to the dog ?You boy, are as much as a klutz as I am. Congrats that?s hard to do.? With that he went back into the kitchen still laughing sat back down.
The kitchen was so modern; the word modern was an understatement to it, the place basically cooked for you. However Mike did enjoy a bit of cooking however terrible he was at it, he always like to cook for her. The walls where plain white, with a border of tiles separating the counter-top and appliances from the wall paper. The Appliances around the room was an assortment of chromed black and silver, matching the black marble work tops, the blend of silver-black against the stark white, had created a contrast which in its oddity was still suitable. Without even looking, Mike flicked his wrist to switch on the coffee machine to his right he then turned to his left reaching into the box for his favorite style ?Espresso? during his years when sleep was a rarity for him, he had got quite the addiction to caffeine and now needed the strong stuff for a kick. The machine had reached a boil in a time much faster than that of a kettle and he placed an espresso cup underneath the mouth of the machine and pressed the button sending the machine into a whirl of mechanical noises, and shooting the light brown liquid into the cup. Settling down into his usual spot, sipping his espresso he waited. 3.2.1 Today?s newspaper slid through the letter box. The events that follow are rehearsed every day, Mike was always proud of teaching this to his closest friend. Verendus or in English ?awesome? it?s a rough Latin translation.
The dog came sliding into the kitchen slipping all over the tiles; he hopped up on his hind legs and dropped the newspaper on the table that Mike was sitting at. Verendus was a Golden Labrador, Mike had always wanted one so last year he bought a small puppy last year, he was now a sizeable dog, not full grown but still big enough to Mike a hell of a tough time in the tug of war. With Verendus generally won.
Mike drained the last drop from his cup placed it on in the dishwasher, which was like every other appliance in the room; black and silver, and opened up the door to the ?dog cupboard? at that moment Verendus looked up from where he had been lying in his basket. He saw the tin enter Mike?s hand, barked and sprinted right for it. If this didn?t happen every day he would have knocked Mike right to his feet. But it did so Mike was already braced and instead was only knocked back by the speeding bullet of a dog leaping on him. Knowing what was coming Mike grabbed a nearby oven mitt ready to fight of the exited dog. Laughing holding the dog with one hand and opening the tin in the other his dropped the content of the tin into the bowl, braced himself, and released the dog, which was in this state impossible to control without a bit of friendly force, the dog kicked of Mike?s chest knocking him back into the door. The dog was in such a rush that it missed the bowl completely and slid into the back door face first. Mike had slumped against the door in a fit of laughter, and said to the dog ?You boy, are as much as a klutz as I am. Congrats that?s hard to do.? With that he went back into the kitchen still laughing sat back down.
EDITS:The new day, the crack in the darkness where the flower-pattern blinds failed to reach the wall and failed to block out the dazzling light of a new dawn,
Dawn was previously another "A new day" Spotted by "The Maddest March Hare"
2. Someone was going on about the narrative of the story being an actual person. I tend to like the idea of the narrator being able to talk to the reader, so its sort as if the narrator is a character only the reader knows exists with and odd habit of narrating other peoples lives. If you have some advise how to make that obvious or pull it off do speak up.
Thanks if you read, if its: TL;DR then its To long don't post. Okay? Thanks. be evil. Tear it apart. If its the wrong place sorry
