Sunday, 17 June 2012

The Traveller (a story I wrote ages ago)

Found this today, I wrote it during Intermediate 2 English last year, but never finished it obviously. For me, I thought this was actually pretty good. If you like it too, let me know, and I’ll see if I can finish it. :D
Another day, another airport. The sound of well polished shoes fills the room, the slight movement of dark shades hides the face of the wandering traveller. He walks in time to the beeping of cash registers at the duty-free, blends into his surroundings. He never speaks, he just stares at the gate where his destination lies. No-one gives a hint of thought about him, he never gives a thought about them. He walks through security unscathed with a hint of restriction framing his life. He buys the Times newspaper and the most expensive bottle of wine to remove him of his troubled past. Too many time he left hearts broken and guns pointed at his face, for once he is going to put things right. After all, a father always wants the best for his child.
Of course he never thought his life would be like this. He did used be acknowledged, he did used to be cared for. Then it happened. Imagine losing your family at the age of three, seeing your mother with a bullet through her head, how would you feel? Mind you, you may have forgotten about it or you might’ve misunderstood, got told that your mummy and daddy are resting in heaven, having fun with the angels playing with angels. He didn’t.
A young boy goes on a bus to travel to London, years later he boards his first plane, still trying to forget. Without a home and just enough money to stay on his feet, he carries on like he’s running a marathon. The one night stands he has to try to feel that rare piece of love once again, fall deep into the pits of a dark grave. Trying not to affect anymore lives of the women he sees, the enemies he meets, he still carries on, until a day rose up from the sunset that changed his life forever.
A bright light blinds the pits of his eyes as he slowly rises up from his rest. 7:13am. Wine glasses are smashed on the floor, lipstick marks on the mirror, his shoes stand behind the door. What happened last night? He turns to see a note, written with a hint of Estée Lauder. It reads:
Need to go home. Early day tomorrow. The groom is waiting for me.
After that, he did realise she did say she had a ‘previous engagement’ but he never thought of it in that way. He gets ready to set off once again in his most expensive suit, the shades are waiting on the table to hide his identity. Then, he hears something in the distance, thinking it’s possibly the drilling outside. He doesn’t realise that his phone is calling his name. Picking up the non-broken glass, he turns around in an alarming matter……

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