The beginning of a short story.
He woke up that morning with a
start. He pressed his eyes shut. Sun beams, coming in through his bedroom
window, penetrated his pupils. He turned over, but unable to go back to sleep,
sat up, with his feet on the fluffy carpet, trying to remember where his
subconscious had taken him a few seconds before, but the more he strained to
recall the fuzzier the image got. He picked up a gold ring from his bedside
table and put it around his finger.
"Joseph, dear! Are you
alright?" - a female voice shouted from a distance.
"I'm fine." - Joseph
got up and walked to the kitchen. A strong smell of fried bacon filled his
nostrils.
"I heard you screaming,
dear."
"Oh, that was nothing.
Just a bad dream. Good morning, darling." - he felt her smooth hair
against his lips and turned to switch on the kettle. He sat at the table. In
front of him the daily newspaper lay opened, on the sports section, next to it
his reading glasses. He put on his glasses and held up the paper. As he did so
he felt his hair being brushed back by a sudden breeze, and then a whooshing
noise announced a harsh gust of wind. Not expecting the window to be open, he
let one of the sections escape and land on the floor.
"The obituary section
fell on the floor, dear." - the woman laid it back in front of him. He
glanced at it before burying his nose back in the newspaper.
His wife carried to the table a white mug with
a cartoon of a man kissing the pink cheek of a well developed woman, with the
words "Joseph, a true
gentleman" underneath. Absentmindedly, he raised the mug to touch his lips
and felt the steam humidify his nose. He felt a tingly sensation on his tongue
settled the coffee mug on the table. This was followed by a plate of brownish
pink bacon next to a slice of freshly baked home bread with a gold-yolked egg.
He began to chew through his food as he read the daily paper.
"Is it nice, dear?"
"Hmm?"
"Breakfast. Is it nice?
Do you like it?"
"I suppose. Same as
always. You use anything special?"
"Hm? Oh, no, dear. Like
you said. Same as always."
Although he threw on the same
old blue jeans, he put on his most expensive brown suit jacket. As much as his
wife had begged him to buy the set, he had only bought the jacket, for
"who needs a set when you can just wear the jacket with a nice pair of
jeans, and still look classy!" He pecked his wife's forehead and left for
work in his ford fiesta.
"Hey! Josey! / How's the
missus?"
" / Joseph. She's
just fine, thanks."
"Hey, sorry man. It's
jus' last time we was at yours- Hey, Phil, d'you remember the last time we was
at Josey's / here? Remember his wife?"
" / It's
Joseph. / What about my wife?"
" / 'Course it is. Nothin' man. She jus' reminds me of that film-
what is it- Step Forward Wives or summin'!"
"Right. Phil, which am I
using today?"
"Today you're stuck with
the double decker. Sorry, mate."
"It's all right. I'll see
you later."
"Wait. Mate. You alright?
You sound a bit-"
"Yeah. Fine. Thanks.
Well, just a headache. Nothing to worry about. Besides the fact that now I'm
late. I'm off."
"Alright then. See ya
later, mate. Down the pub?"
"Hey, Josey! Josey!"
Driving the double decker bus
through his usual route, he picked up many familiar people. There was Mrs.
Chit-chat, an eighty year old lady who enjoyed talking as much as tea. For her
own benefit, her youngest grandson lived seven blocks away from her house, as
she pointed out to every old or new passenger that got on. There was Mr.
Late-a-lot, who ran, round the corner, towards the stop everyday, at the last
second. Other recurring passengers were nicknamed after a more common physical
trait, such as Miss Winky or Mr. Rudolph. But the stop which he enjoyed the
most was the one Miss Sweet Kissingdale was at. She did not glance towards him,
even as she was swiping her oyster card; her soft flowery perfume, pushed
towards him by the breeze flowing through the open doors, brimmed his cabin.
As she swiped the card a beep
emanated from the machine and a small red light appeared on the corner. She
turned to face the cabin.
"Return ticket to Egham,
please."
He froze. His eyes fixated on
the top of her head as she tried to find change in her small red purse. She
looked up, possibly noticing his lack of response. For the first time, he
stared into her eyes. They were marine blue and accentuated by the light black
line around it. Her eyebrows were two perfect black lines and her eyelashes,
long and curved, had a slight hint of mascara. Her nose was petite and her lips
were full and smooth, highlighted by her red lipstick.
"…Egham, please.
Hello?"
"Yes. I'm sorry.
Single?"- he readjusted his brown jacket and flashed her a crocked smile.
"I told you, no."
"Oh? Not, single?"
"No. Return."
"Oh. You meant- Ticket. /
Right. Yeah. Two pounds thirty. Yeah, fine, thanks. Don't forget your ticket.
Heheh."
" /
Yeah. Are you alright, sir? You look kinda pale. I got it. Thank you."
When he arrived at the pub,
Phil was already sitting at a table with a loud crowd of guys in jeans and
shirts. Joseph stumbled towards the bar, and trying to stand up straight by
holding on to the counter, he asked for a pint of Foster's. He grabbed his
drink and walked slowly to the table where Phil sat and settled on an empty
wooden stool.
"Hey. Jo. I was just
tellin' the guys about this morning. You and 'Johnny man'."- a roaring
laughter surrounded the table.- "You alright mate? Seriously, since
morning you look kinda off."
"Yeah, fine. Honestly.
Must just be coming down with something. Man, I hate John. The guy has no
brain."
"Yeah, but the ladies
sure seem to get on board with that. Overheard someone say he left work today
with a couple of passengers."
"Did they specify the
gender?"- another thundering guffaw. Joseph glanced at the trembling
drinks on the table. Around him, the group divided itself into smaller groups.
Each side of the table had a different conversation going on.
"You goin' home early
today, mate?"
"Nah! Janice is probably
gonna be in with her hen- friends. I need a few drinks to handle them."
"So, how was your day,
lad?"- Lee was the guys everyone laughed at, but eventually confided in.
He had been the one in the group to invent nicknaming the recurring passengers.
"You won't believe it if
I tell you!"
"Go on."- enticed
Phil, moving in closer to hear Joseph over the explosions of laughter and
arguments surrounding them.
"You know Mrs.-"
"Sweet Nightingale?"
"It's Kissingdale,
mate!"
"Whatever. What happened
this time, lad? Did she breathe?"
"She-"
"Walk?"
"Wel-"
"Smile?"
"Can-"
"Cough?"
"Do you wanna hear it or
not?"
Joseph parked his car in his
driveway. He staggered to his front door, unlocked it and went in. He felt
queasy, and the sweet odour inhabiting the house did not help. A hissing sound
came from the kitchen. Stumbling, he went in to see a fresh pot of water fuming
at the cooker.
"Janice!"
Since there was no response,
he went upstairs, to check their bedroom, holding on to the banister. On his
way to the bedroom, he noticed the bathroom door was ajar. He pushed it open,
to reveal Janice laying in a pool of blood.
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