RobertFKennedy
New Member
I havent written anything since I left school 8 years ago but I noticed this section of the site and I thought I'd have a wee go at contributing.
This could well be really terrible stuff but I know i'm a bit rusty. Here goes anyway.
He woke with a start just as the savage tone of the digital alarm clock on the floor by the bed reached its piercing crescendo. Every morning at this time he cursed this monstrous device. Not only was it the kind of alarm the beeping of which grew louder and louder until acknowledged, but even when he hit the snooze button before scrambling around in the dark for clothes and climbing into a shower to prepare for the challenges of the day, it was certain to sound again. And he’d be down the hall, in the shower, powerless to act against its relentless racket.
Not today though. It was a split second decision which he knew he would regret in a few hours but to hell with going in to work today. The bills of quantities and tiresome cajoling of lazy subcontractors could wait. In 5 years as a Quantity Surveyor with G.Y Thompson Group he had never had a day off sick. His timekeeping was good if not perfect and his disciplinary record was without blemish. His boss liked him. His boss’s bosses liked him. He could get away with this. These and other such thoughts swirled in his waking mind in his vain attempts to self-justify the foul deed.
“Allan? It’s Tommy here. I’m feeling like crap so I don’t think I’m going to come in if that’s OK? I’ve been up half the night and I’m feeling really feverish.” He added a small fake cough just for good measure and started to feel guilty.
“Aw, hard luck wee man. That’s fine. Were you meant to meet up with the guy from Fairmile Homes today? I can get Brian to do it. Or will I tell the guy you’ll rearrange?”
“Aye, tell him I’ll give him a call tomorrow when I get back in. I might come in after lunch today if I’m feeling better.” He knew this was a transparent attempt to appear noble and keen to be back at his desk.
Allan dismissed the suggestion.
“Just get yourself right Tam, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Ok. Cheers mate.” Beep. He placed the phone back in its docking station and rolled over and closed his eyes. He didn’t go straight back to sleep though. The memory of the previous night was beginning to wash over him and he lay there for a while, contemplating and feeling uneasy.
A vibration and an Indiana Jones mobile phone ring-tone near his ear woke him again and he looked at the clock in his line of vision. 12.30pm. The text message read “Hot Girls in Your Area.” Just more junk. 12.30pm was the time on the phone too. He’d been asleep for another 4 hours and felt much better. Then he remembered why he was so exhausted when he had originally woken and he felt uneasy again as he had earlier that morning.
Tommy felt a sinking feeling. Last night had been really weird. In fact, lots of things had been a bit on the strange side lately.
Last night was different though.
Tommy rolled out of bed and made his way to the shower. He needed to think straight and there was a ritual to perform before having a stab at this properly.
It was time for that shower followed by fried food, orange juice, coffee and a cigarette. In the shower, he couldn’t shake the feeling of discomfort and apprehension and his mind swam with thoughts of the previous night. Dressing quickly, he read the Herald as he prepared his breakfast, hoping that reading would take his mind away from his concerns, if only for a short while.
By the time he had achieved all this it was 1.15pm and all earlier notions of going into work had evaporated.
Now, what the hell happened last night? Every way Tommy looked at it, he had been the target of an attempted kidnapping. Nah! Surely he was just being overly dramatic. He tried to look at it logically.
Walking home from the Golden Goose the previous night a black transit type van (he thought it was a Mercedes but he couldn’t be sure) had pulled alongside him and 2 men had gotten out. One of them had opened the back door while the other had approached Tommy asking for directions while walking towards him. Something hadn’t felt right and the man at the rear door of the vehicle looked familiar but Tommy couldn’t place him. His instincts were still in play, even with 6 pints of lager inside him, and he had started to back away, but the guy from the van kept coming towards him. Something told Tommy he didn’t want to talk to talk to this guy.
Black Van Man (Tommy had already given his that name in his mind, strange the way the human mind works) was now about 3 foot from Tommy and it appeared as though he was about to rush forward towards him. At that moment a screech of tyres penetrated the night sky and around the corner, 100 yards or so back from where the van was now stationary, had appeared a gun metal silver coloured BMW 5 series. It may have been “gun metal” in colour, it may not but since first reading the term in a magazine, every nice, silver car was “gun metal” to Tommy.
Tommy heard the familiar looking man at the back door swear and the approaching vehicle was pulling to a stop behind the van within seconds. Black Van Man turned and headed back towards the van, climbing into the drivers seat and the familiar looking guy made his way round to the front of the van, eyeballing Tommy all the way before climbing into the passenger seat. The engine kept running as Tommy strained his eyes to see through the tinted windows of the BMW, to no avail. The van was pulling away now and the BMW followed suit leaving Tommy alone on the street again. What the hell had just happened? Tommy wondered how much he had actually had to drink.
Two hundred yards. He wasn’t far from home at all. Tommy decided to move with urgency and he sprinted those two hundred yards. Once inside and having checked every room in the flat twice it took him 2 hours to get to sleep, even with the normally slumber inducing alcohol rocking and rolling inside him, dulling his senses.
What the hell had just happened to him? Mistaken identity? What would anyone want with a no mark ordinary joe like HIM?” Surely they weren’t a goon squad from Reid Contracting, the small subcontractor who he had refused to pay and who had subsequently gone bust. He had heard that Stewart Reid had some business ties with the Hamilton family. Nah. That all happened over a year ago.
Thinking about it, he had felt like he was being watched recently. In truth, he had felt like that off and on for as long as he could remember but he put it down to depression. Not that he suffered from depression, of course, but it was in his family, in his blood and when these creeping feelings came upon him it was easiest just to dismiss them. He usually surmised that maybe the big D was just having another go at getting a grip on him and he generally shrugged the feelings off with contempt.
These creeping feelings had always seemed so real to him in the past but the previous night seemed like a dream. Although waking suddenly in the night wasn’t unusual for him, he had had a real fright this time.
4.30am. Tommy had been asleep for a couple of hours or so now after his adventure on the way home when he sat up, suddenly alert, senses tingling. He assumed he must have heard something but couldn’t now quite remember the sound which had woken him. He walked into the hall where he could see his front door and observed it in the shadows for a minute or so, apprehension building in his gut, spreading up through his windpipe into his chest and larynx. A terror like he had never known gripped him fully. He felt physically sick. The sound of his own heartbeat and blood pumping in his veins grew louder and louder and he stood, breathless one minute breathing heavily and sweating the next. He felt rooted to the spot by his bedroom door. And he felt very cold. Then it happened.
It was only a slight movement but his front door handle had definitely turned downwards as if someone was turning it from the other side. Was this just a bad dream, was he freaking out and losing his mind or was this really happening? Please let it be a dream.
Then a sound. Sounds in fact. Swearing, a foreign accent with words he couldn’t understand and what sounded like a struggle right outside his front door. Tommy willed himself to move or cry out. Bizarrely he then heard the sound of the low threatening growl of what sounded like a largish dog then nothing. Maybe a big bad dog was after him, a giant cocker spaniel or Yorkshire terrier. These and other such thoughts tumbled through his still groggy thought processes as he tried to make light of things in his own mind. It wasn’t working. Please let it be a dream.
He stood rooted to the spot for what seemed like an hour when the sound of another dog barking in the distance brought him to his senses. Tommy felt cold and a bit sheepish. Through the spy hole in the door everything looked normal on the 1st floor landing. He grabbed his keys and quickly opened the door. Only an empty hallway and the closed doors of his neighbours greeted him.
There was only 1 thing for it. Back to bed, hide under the covers and hope for the best. If he closed his eyes he would wake up to find everything normal and off to work he’d go. Or maybe not, maybe he’s take that sickie he’d been promising himself. The next thing he had heard was his alarm. Had he dreamed the whole nocturnal incident? He knew this was just wishful thinking.
This could well be really terrible stuff but I know i'm a bit rusty. Here goes anyway.
He woke with a start just as the savage tone of the digital alarm clock on the floor by the bed reached its piercing crescendo. Every morning at this time he cursed this monstrous device. Not only was it the kind of alarm the beeping of which grew louder and louder until acknowledged, but even when he hit the snooze button before scrambling around in the dark for clothes and climbing into a shower to prepare for the challenges of the day, it was certain to sound again. And he’d be down the hall, in the shower, powerless to act against its relentless racket.
Not today though. It was a split second decision which he knew he would regret in a few hours but to hell with going in to work today. The bills of quantities and tiresome cajoling of lazy subcontractors could wait. In 5 years as a Quantity Surveyor with G.Y Thompson Group he had never had a day off sick. His timekeeping was good if not perfect and his disciplinary record was without blemish. His boss liked him. His boss’s bosses liked him. He could get away with this. These and other such thoughts swirled in his waking mind in his vain attempts to self-justify the foul deed.
“Allan? It’s Tommy here. I’m feeling like crap so I don’t think I’m going to come in if that’s OK? I’ve been up half the night and I’m feeling really feverish.” He added a small fake cough just for good measure and started to feel guilty.
“Aw, hard luck wee man. That’s fine. Were you meant to meet up with the guy from Fairmile Homes today? I can get Brian to do it. Or will I tell the guy you’ll rearrange?”
“Aye, tell him I’ll give him a call tomorrow when I get back in. I might come in after lunch today if I’m feeling better.” He knew this was a transparent attempt to appear noble and keen to be back at his desk.
Allan dismissed the suggestion.
“Just get yourself right Tam, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Ok. Cheers mate.” Beep. He placed the phone back in its docking station and rolled over and closed his eyes. He didn’t go straight back to sleep though. The memory of the previous night was beginning to wash over him and he lay there for a while, contemplating and feeling uneasy.
A vibration and an Indiana Jones mobile phone ring-tone near his ear woke him again and he looked at the clock in his line of vision. 12.30pm. The text message read “Hot Girls in Your Area.” Just more junk. 12.30pm was the time on the phone too. He’d been asleep for another 4 hours and felt much better. Then he remembered why he was so exhausted when he had originally woken and he felt uneasy again as he had earlier that morning.
Tommy felt a sinking feeling. Last night had been really weird. In fact, lots of things had been a bit on the strange side lately.
Last night was different though.
Tommy rolled out of bed and made his way to the shower. He needed to think straight and there was a ritual to perform before having a stab at this properly.
It was time for that shower followed by fried food, orange juice, coffee and a cigarette. In the shower, he couldn’t shake the feeling of discomfort and apprehension and his mind swam with thoughts of the previous night. Dressing quickly, he read the Herald as he prepared his breakfast, hoping that reading would take his mind away from his concerns, if only for a short while.
By the time he had achieved all this it was 1.15pm and all earlier notions of going into work had evaporated.
Now, what the hell happened last night? Every way Tommy looked at it, he had been the target of an attempted kidnapping. Nah! Surely he was just being overly dramatic. He tried to look at it logically.
Walking home from the Golden Goose the previous night a black transit type van (he thought it was a Mercedes but he couldn’t be sure) had pulled alongside him and 2 men had gotten out. One of them had opened the back door while the other had approached Tommy asking for directions while walking towards him. Something hadn’t felt right and the man at the rear door of the vehicle looked familiar but Tommy couldn’t place him. His instincts were still in play, even with 6 pints of lager inside him, and he had started to back away, but the guy from the van kept coming towards him. Something told Tommy he didn’t want to talk to talk to this guy.
Black Van Man (Tommy had already given his that name in his mind, strange the way the human mind works) was now about 3 foot from Tommy and it appeared as though he was about to rush forward towards him. At that moment a screech of tyres penetrated the night sky and around the corner, 100 yards or so back from where the van was now stationary, had appeared a gun metal silver coloured BMW 5 series. It may have been “gun metal” in colour, it may not but since first reading the term in a magazine, every nice, silver car was “gun metal” to Tommy.
Tommy heard the familiar looking man at the back door swear and the approaching vehicle was pulling to a stop behind the van within seconds. Black Van Man turned and headed back towards the van, climbing into the drivers seat and the familiar looking guy made his way round to the front of the van, eyeballing Tommy all the way before climbing into the passenger seat. The engine kept running as Tommy strained his eyes to see through the tinted windows of the BMW, to no avail. The van was pulling away now and the BMW followed suit leaving Tommy alone on the street again. What the hell had just happened? Tommy wondered how much he had actually had to drink.
Two hundred yards. He wasn’t far from home at all. Tommy decided to move with urgency and he sprinted those two hundred yards. Once inside and having checked every room in the flat twice it took him 2 hours to get to sleep, even with the normally slumber inducing alcohol rocking and rolling inside him, dulling his senses.
What the hell had just happened to him? Mistaken identity? What would anyone want with a no mark ordinary joe like HIM?” Surely they weren’t a goon squad from Reid Contracting, the small subcontractor who he had refused to pay and who had subsequently gone bust. He had heard that Stewart Reid had some business ties with the Hamilton family. Nah. That all happened over a year ago.
Thinking about it, he had felt like he was being watched recently. In truth, he had felt like that off and on for as long as he could remember but he put it down to depression. Not that he suffered from depression, of course, but it was in his family, in his blood and when these creeping feelings came upon him it was easiest just to dismiss them. He usually surmised that maybe the big D was just having another go at getting a grip on him and he generally shrugged the feelings off with contempt.
These creeping feelings had always seemed so real to him in the past but the previous night seemed like a dream. Although waking suddenly in the night wasn’t unusual for him, he had had a real fright this time.
4.30am. Tommy had been asleep for a couple of hours or so now after his adventure on the way home when he sat up, suddenly alert, senses tingling. He assumed he must have heard something but couldn’t now quite remember the sound which had woken him. He walked into the hall where he could see his front door and observed it in the shadows for a minute or so, apprehension building in his gut, spreading up through his windpipe into his chest and larynx. A terror like he had never known gripped him fully. He felt physically sick. The sound of his own heartbeat and blood pumping in his veins grew louder and louder and he stood, breathless one minute breathing heavily and sweating the next. He felt rooted to the spot by his bedroom door. And he felt very cold. Then it happened.
It was only a slight movement but his front door handle had definitely turned downwards as if someone was turning it from the other side. Was this just a bad dream, was he freaking out and losing his mind or was this really happening? Please let it be a dream.
Then a sound. Sounds in fact. Swearing, a foreign accent with words he couldn’t understand and what sounded like a struggle right outside his front door. Tommy willed himself to move or cry out. Bizarrely he then heard the sound of the low threatening growl of what sounded like a largish dog then nothing. Maybe a big bad dog was after him, a giant cocker spaniel or Yorkshire terrier. These and other such thoughts tumbled through his still groggy thought processes as he tried to make light of things in his own mind. It wasn’t working. Please let it be a dream.
He stood rooted to the spot for what seemed like an hour when the sound of another dog barking in the distance brought him to his senses. Tommy felt cold and a bit sheepish. Through the spy hole in the door everything looked normal on the 1st floor landing. He grabbed his keys and quickly opened the door. Only an empty hallway and the closed doors of his neighbours greeted him.
There was only 1 thing for it. Back to bed, hide under the covers and hope for the best. If he closed his eyes he would wake up to find everything normal and off to work he’d go. Or maybe not, maybe he’s take that sickie he’d been promising himself. The next thing he had heard was his alarm. Had he dreamed the whole nocturnal incident? He knew this was just wishful thinking.
