1 May 2012
This is the opening to what will be my 3rd novel - the first two were before I really developed properly in myself, and then this follows after 3 years of a break from writing, so I certainly feel rusty! That being said, the many creatives on here have inspired me to rediscover a passion, so I hope you like this - comments/feedback welcome and appreciated!
*** Heavy rain crashed onto the single-paned window. It was dark outside; the only light was a soft orange glow from the street lamp. The garden had become overgrown with the hazardous hedges, gangly grass and worm-infested weeds. Albert sat in his armchair, as he always did, just watching out into nothingness.
The house was aged, the smell of tobacco masking the musty dampness that surrounded the walls, peeling the yellowing paper at all corners. The geometric circle curtains were no better, but the 1970s fashion still felt so fresh in Albert's mind. His youth and service days echoed the walls in frames, showing his achievements and his four stars. Pictures of his family lay steadily on top of the old analogue television - no longer able to receive the channels - whilst the radio mocks quietly in the background, whispering the news over the static. The room was as dimly lit as the streets. Only the table lamp illuminated the oak furniture, the most light shining directly onto the glass of scotch resting next to a folded newspaper. Albert parted the pipe from his lips to refresh his pallet with a taste of the scotch.
He sat fashioning corduroy slacks, a mustard sweatshirt and suede slip-on shoes, with a tartan blanket resting over his thin legs to keep him warm. He moved slowly, but confidently. His frail face softly wrinkled, his thin but copious hair sat white as snow over his darker eyebrows, his stubble coarse. He looked unkempt, as though he hadn't moved in days. His wise eyes stared through the net curtains. He had no idea what he was looking for, but he knew it was coming. He had been waiting for years, but after his wife passed he grew more anxious, anticipating the day they would come for him.
A black Mercedes pulled up under the lamppost outside the house. Albert couldn't see more than a silhouette inside the car, but it was a lone man. He knew this was it; the end of the life he knew. The figure got out of the car, opening a black umbrella to shelter him from the rain. Still just a shadow, he creaked open the gate and began walking across the gravel path, through the jungle garden, crunching with each footstep. Albert began to stand, removing his military issue Smith & Wesson Victory from the side of the armchair, and equipping it in the back of his trousers. He picked up a miniature case from the coffee table, placed it in his front-right pocket and began walking to the front door, anticipating his fate.
The steps grew closer. And closer. They stopped outside the door. Knock. Knock. Knock. Albert reached the door. He took a deep breath. Leaving the chain on, he opened the door by a few inches. He placed his right hand behind his back, onto his pistol. He peered round the door. "I wondered when this day would come" he started, hoarsely. "Are you here to kill me?" "No, General. I'm here because I need your help." I replied.
Opening • Opuss № I