14 April 2012
A well groomed man sporting a tailor -made suit; sits perched like a toucan in his refined leather chair; his hands sensuously sliver up and down its subtle, smooth and soft silky skin upholstery. His eyes are fixated on his wive's photo that takes first preference on his gleamingly polished, oak-wood desk. Tears start to swell up as he recalls the devastating moment his beloved wife, Sarah , announced a separation. Instantly, an emotionless expression over-laps acute face.
To his astonishment, his employee fiercely forces his way into the office, waving his hands like an Italian policeman directing traffic in Turin. His employee's face turns as red as a tomato as steam bellows from each side of his head, as he reaches boiling point. "Mr Evans! You promised us all a pay rise. How can I afford to live on the pittance of money that I receive every month?" His employee screeches. "How dare you come storming into my office? You are very lucky to still have your job". Mr Evans snarls with an uncreased expression. It's five in the afternoon and Mr Evans prepares to retire early for the afternoon. As he steps outside, a gust of wind blows savagely. He tries his best to fight against the swirling wind, but is blown over like a tree in a hurricane. Eventually he reaches his car and drives incompetently, like a bad-tempered Turkish taxi driver, swerving from one lane to the next to reach his home. His mobile phone rings, and to his surprise it's his wife, Sarah. "I would like to give our marriage another go"... She hesitates, then continues..."I am pregnant with your child. I will meet you at the office". She cries tears of joy. Suddenly he swerves to avoid an oncoming car. In his head he hears his wife; she lets out a terrifying scream. His car pounds head on into a tree to the sound of metal crumpling and plastic crackling. His head bashes angrily onto the steering wheel and then he blacks out. As he is semi-conscious, images flash before him that his wife is killed in a car accident.
Mr Evans miraculously wakes up from his deep sleep, and is disorientated. A raging crackling sound comes from his mobile phone. Suddenly an almighty deafening sound, which vibrates for miles around, sends his spine trembling with fear. The noise drowns his silent thoughts, which spew out from the phone's inner core. He arose from his twisted metal cage, his head pounding with the painful images of disaster. He gradually pulls himself from the wreckage with the phone in his fragile hand , and limps towards the other metal wreckage that is bellowing smoke and fire, ahead. Through perplexity he stares, witnessing the remains of the crash; the true extent of his horror. The licence plate reads S4RAH.
~MICHAELA ~
Second Chance • Opuss № I