uncleduck

8.50am, Tuesday 1st May.
John Alvison sat on a hard wodden chair in a cold, dark 8x8 room contemplating his fate. In ten minutes' time, the door would open and he would be summoned down the long, equally dark, hallway. Once there, it would all be over in minutes. His past deeds would finally have caught up with him. His fate was entirely deserved.

He sat with both feet firmly on the floor, elbows on knees that barely supported upright arms.  His head was planted in his hands and dull, senseless eyes stared blankly at the cracked plaster on the opposite wall.  His mind full of what was about to happen and of memories of events that brought him here.

For a year-and-a-half he had waited for the coming day and its date had been fixed sometime just after Christmas. He had no way out. His friends had deserted him - the ones who had brought him along this path to destruction, who taught him to disrespect authority. Now it was John, all alone, awaiting his fate.

He wanted to go back in time and tell that stupid young man he had once been to wise up: to have sense, to choose the right path. It was too late for that. Plenty of people had told him to have sense and he had laughed at them. Oh sure, it seemed like a good idea at the time. His soul was filled with regret.

8.53am. In seven minutes the door would open and the formalities would begin. They would ask him if he felt well (like it would matter if he didn't?). He would be walked down the hall and then....

The night before he had talked to his parents and confessed all that had brought him here. He had never been scared before, but oh boy was he scared now. For an hour he had talked and cried.

Nomatter what you've done, you are still our son and we love you.

He knew that deep down, they were ashamed of him. His sister, the high-flier, stood in stark contrast to this waster.

8.57am. A uniformed figure glanced through the window with a look of contempt. "I could take you on," John thought, "I could take you all on". Then he remembered that it was that sort of behaviour that had contributed to his current situation. If only they would let him start again - he knew he would be different - he would be a good, hard-working person - a model citizen.

9.00am. Footsteps marched in time up the hallway, clicking sharply on the wooden floor. The door opened - "Alvison?"

John stood straight without thinking - at least he had finally learnt some respect.

"How do you feel this morning?"

"Fine sir."

Of course, he really wanted to beg, recalling the sleepless night of worry and fear, of bowels turning to liquid, of breakfast being repulsive and of managing a few mouthfuls of stinking coffee. He wanted to tell them he would be different if he had a second chance.

"Follow me" the Voice of Authority commanded. John followed, walking straight and proud behind him, a few uniformed figures looking at him scornfully. He would not show fear

They reached the end of the dark hallway and passed through a door, the light from tall windows almost blinding John. The Voice of Authority stood behind a desk. The formalities were about to begin.

"Just get it over with!" he wanted to scream.

"Alvison, you have been briefed on the procedures?"

"Yes Sir." He kept telling himself to be brave- it would be over in ten minutes. He would be free from their torture. Tears began to well in his eyes.

"Please sit... comment t'appelles-tu?"

His GCSE French Oral had begun.

»Tuesday, August 15, 2006, 10:36:57 PM BST    »1 comments (2 )     »Send entry    

Posted by: uncleduck

Mike struggled at school for a variety of reasons. Mostly, it just bored him. He always enjoyed reading but the way his teachers presented their knowledge failed to stimulate him. His careers teachers did not have high aspirations for his chances of success. He was another waster of time; another waste of their time.
If only they could see him now.
Work, if you could call it that, was a great source of joy to Mike. It had taken him time to find a career he enjoyed but like many things in his life, once he found something that gave him satisfaction he pursued it with methodical thoroughness. The hours were light and the pay good, though he often put in longer than needed – just to make sure all details were attended to and customers were happy. He got to travel and in a strange way, had started to become famous in a way only understood by people in the same field. The general public had no idea who he was but he knew that would eventually come, much to his bemusement.
Mike sat down, sipping from a bottle of mineral water. It was his routine: before starting he would drink around half a pint of water and then assemble his equipment. He would eat a banana, finish the water and work would commence.
It was a bright spring morning with not a hint of breeze. He could feel the warmth of the air in direct comparison to the chill of a few weeks before and offered a silent prayer, thanking God for the renewing of nature after a harsh winter. Outside work was easier in good weather. Sometimes he had to work inside, though he found it too claustrophobic.
He reached into a holdall, removing equipment that looked like simple pipes and pumps to any onlooker. Like the skilled craftsman he was, Mike put them together quickly. There was no cold to force his hands to numbly seize up. He went through his mental checklist: everything was in place.
A check of the watch: 9.10am. He made the mental note that traffic would be easing and slowly stood up to survey the world. He hated this part: stuck on a rooftop hundreds of feet up and getting cramp, waiting for wind to make life difficult. Today, nobody could see him: he was on the highest building and could see for miles but he knew nobody would think of looking up. Peace to get on with the job in hand. Sometimes Mike wondered about his customers' lives but generally got on with what he was paid to do. Go in, do the job, go home. Easy money and job satisfaction: what more would you want.
The time, 9.17 was carefully etched in his mind. It was now 9.12 and Mike flicked through the paper, denouncing useless politicians who failed to mop up common criminals and general scum. It was 9.15: better stop messing round and get to action. Another sip of water.
Mike lifted the tools of his trade carefully, admiring the craftsmanship of another man. Metal gleamed in the rising sun as Mike took up his tools carefully.
Somewhere below, at 9.17, every weekday, Jack Williamson exited the Mirror-Life Insurance building, where he was a company director and walked across the road to a small bakery. This had been his routine for thirty years since he joined the firm. His pay and stature had gained but May's bakery still made the best scones in town. When the price went up he complained, as he had done for thirty years and May still gave him his scone for free on Friday simply because he was once penniless and she took pity on him and the habit remained.
She was due to retire and he planned to buy the business, lest it become a Starbucks or McDonalds.
Jack and Mike had never met and never would. For two months though, Mike had been watching Jack: perfect preparation. Mike did not know who had hired him and liked it that way. He did not know why his services were needed, not did he particularly care - he had a lovely house to pay for and a lovely wife who made a wonderful home while studying with the Open University.
At two seconds past 9.17, Jack left the building, right on cue. Two seconds later, Jack collapsed, thinking he was having a heart attack. A lady screamed and the pool of red, warm liquid pouring from his chest was enough for Jack to realise this was no heart attack. His last thought was "Why?" The screaming lady fainted.
Ten minutes later, a man who appeared to be on his way to the gym walked past and even held traffic up to let the ambulance through. He placed an empty bottle and a banana-skin in a street-bin: he could not stand litter. Walking on, he congratulated himself on a good day's work. Passing a Travel Agent, he picked up some brochures: time to surprise his wife with a cruise.